I said nothing for a while. Then I remarked: “In the book it said it was an elm tree.”

“An oak,” Erasmus responded immediately. “I’m not very fond of elms. Oaks are far more profound and substantial.”

“And what was your teacher called?”

“I assumed that you knew,” Erasmus said briefly.

“I think I have a good idea already, but . . .”

“His name was Zabulon. We have never met again, but I know he has been the head of the Day Watch in Moscow for a long time already. You two are acquainted, I believe?”

“The creep, he could have told us everything straight away!” I exclaimed angrily. “He had already dealt with a Tiger!”

“Zabulon never tells everything,” Erasmus replied.

“And how about you, Erasmus?”

“Neither do I,” Erasmus chuckled. “I don’t play the Watches’ games, thank you very kindly! But only idiots tell everything. Information is both a weapon and a commodity.”

“If it’s a commodity . . . it seems to me that you owe us something,” I threw out tentatively, and looked at the absurd bonsai standing above the fireplace.

Erasmus frowned and also gazed at the gift from Gesar.

“I do,” he admitted reluctantly. “Only I can’t tell exactly how much . . . All right, ask. I’ll answer a few more questions. Let’s say three. Three questions, three answers.”

Oh, these old magicians, with their old-style formalities! Three questions, three answers . . .

“You said you were waiting for me,” I said. “That you’d been waiting for a long time, thinking that I was French . . .”

“Perhaps it’s for the best that you are Russian,” said Erasmus. “I haven’t really liked you Russians very much, begging your pardon, since the Sebastopol campaign. But I like the French even less.”

“Ever since the Hundred Years’ War . . .” I murmured.

“Just about. But you Russians are past history now. You’re a dead enemy, and a dead enemy can be respected and pitied.”

I wouldn’t have expected myself to respond like that. The glass cracked in my hand, scattering splinters and the remaining drops of whisky across the floor, and something very unpleasant must have appeared in my glance. Erasmus instantly raised his hands in a reassuring gesture.

“Stop, stop, stop . . . This is only my opinion, the opinion of an old clairvoyant who has withdrawn from the affairs of the world. I . . . I did not take into account that you are still so very young, Antoine. And I was overly brusque.”

“To put it mildly,” I said under my breath.

“None of the Great Ones links himself with the nation from which he has emerged,” Erasmus said in a conciliatory tone. “But you are young, and I forgot that. I offer my apologies, An . . . Anton.”

“Accepted,” I replied sullenly.