“He died in Australia in the 1960s,” said Erasmus. “As an infant. He lived for less than a month.”

“What of it?”

“I don’t know. But then, did the film The Greek Fig Tree really have a powerful effect on people? Or miniskirts?”

“Miniskirts certainly did!” I said firmly.

“Let’s assume so. Then Alistair probably had an influence too.”

“How?”

Erasmus shrugged and spread his hands.

“Sometimes prophecies are not clear straight away. The effect of Maxwell’s birth on humankind evidently has yet to be clarified.”

“Half a century after his death in infancy?”

“ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio . . .’ There have been a few other strange prophecies, but it was never possible to prove that they were prophecies and not just predictions. Well, and naturally, there are some things we’ve never heard. Because of the Tiger, or for other reasons.”

“Including your prophecy,” I said.

Erasmus was embarrassed. “Including mine . . . But, you know, I really wanted to live.”

“It’s hard to blame you for that,” I agreed.

The teacher woke Erasmus as morning was approaching. He acknowledged no difference between the night and the day and, naturally, people could not hinder his movements in any way.

“Get up!” said the teacher, pressing his hand over the boy’s mouth. “Be quiet and do not make a sound!”

Erasmus crawled off the bed. The teacher threw him his clothes—stockings, trousers, shirt, jerkin . . .

“He is close,” said the teacher, pale-faced and with his lips trembling faintly. “I managed to get away . . . he was distracted by the village . . .”

“By the village?” Erasmus asked uncomprehendingly as he dressed hastily.

“Yes, I made the people attack him . . . that will win us nothing except time—the Executioner is always thorough, he will finish with the people first.”

Someone stirred sleepily in Erasmus’s bed, someone buried under the eiderdown. The teacher looked at Erasmus’s crimson face and said: “Don’t wake Betty! She’ll give us another minute or two . . .”

Erasmus only hesitated for a moment. Then he nodded and clambered out through the window after his teacher.

The garden was fragrant with the cool freshness of the imminent dawn. Erasmus trudged after his teacher, who muttered quietly as he walked:

“How could I . . . what a mistake . . . you’ve been ready to make the prophecy for a long time . . . I missed the harbingers . . .”

“If I speak the prophecy, will the Executioner go away?” asked Erasmus.

“Yes, but only if no one hears the prophecy. Or if humans hear it.”

“And if you hear it . . .”

“The prophecy is for people!” his teacher snapped. “It will come true if humans hear it! It will not come true if no one hears it. You will not remember what you have said—he won’t touch you after that—but if I hear it . . . he will kill me! So that I don’t tell the people!”