The Mercedes with the boss and his bodyguard in it was already trundling out of the car park. I raised my hand, transmitting a light command. Remoralization or the Breath of Teresa wouldn’t do the trick here.

The Mercedes braked gently to a halt. I opened the back door: the owner of the car was sitting beside the driver in that manner that nouveau-riche second-raters have.

“Drive along the embankment for the time being,” I ordered the bodyguard. And before I slammed the door, I shouted to Sasha: “Oh, by the way, you passed the practical exam. You can take tomorrow to recover—in situations like this I usually get drunk, but you can think up something of your own. And the day after tomorrow, report to the operations section. You’re hired.”

On that day Gesar had been in an elated mood since the morning. At the briefing meeting he smiled, told an irrelevant joke that was funny but rather crude, unexpectedly increased the science department’s budget for the next quarter, gave Olga Ignat’s playful little hug when she was simply walking by and approved Ignat’s business trip to Lvov “for an exchange of experience,” although everybody knew perfectly well that Ignat was from Lvov and he simply wanted to visit his relatives and friends.

My account of Alexander’s practical exam was also received favorably. The only question was one that I was expecting.

“And are you sure it wouldn’t have been better for the girl to die than become undead?” the boss asked, toying with his ballpoint pen.

“No, I’m not,” I replied honestly. “But I didn’t have a chance to ask her, and I didn’t want to decide for her. At the end of the day, she has enough time with a relatively healthy psyche before she is totally transformed. If she should choose differently . . . And then, it was extremely useful for Alexander to realize that our actions don’t always produce the desired result. I’m sure he got the point.”

“Convincing,” Gesar said, nodding, and signed the order for Alexander’s enrolment as a full-time member of staff with a flourish.

Basically, it was a day when you could get Gesar to okay anything, or almost anything. And I tried to take advantage of that when I stayed behind after the gathering started to disperse.

“Questions, Anton?”

“Yes, I have one. About Erasmus.”

“Have you guessed how to reveal his prophecy?” Gesar asked.

“Not yet, although I’ve had one inkling of an idea. But everything here’s so interconnected . . . Boris Ignatievich, tell me, that bonsai you sent him—can you tell me what magic is concealed in it?”

“No,” Gesar snapped.

Well, it was worth a try . . .