“No sudden movements,” I said, just in case. I lit the match and threw it into the oven, trying to keep my eyes on Arina.

There was a flash of flame. Quiet a powerful one—the concentration of petrol fumes must have built up. Nadya even cried out—but, like the fine young fellow he was, Kesha stepped forward towards the stove, to face up to the danger.

“That’s it,” I said to Arina. “Happy now?”

Arina was gazing intently into the oven.

“So, you made up your mind after all, Daddy?” Nadya asked in a deliberately loud voice, evidently ashamed of being frightened.

“Yes. No one should hear this prophecy,” I said. “It has already . . . done enough damage today.”

Arina suddenly laughed.

“Ah, Anton,” she said. “Straight, honest, simple, and naive. So you still haven’t realized?”

“Daddy, I think the prophecy is revealed when the chalice is destroyed . . .” whispered Nadya.

I managed to turn round in time. I even managed to take a step towards the open oven, towards the wooden chalice blazing with a bluish flame . . .

But the next second the threshold of destruction that Erasmus had implanted in his handiwork was reached.

And I was on the edge of a dark forest at night.

About five meters away from me I could just barely make out a village track running through the darkness. Beyond it were fields, and beyond the fields were dim lights that I guessed at rather than saw with my eyes. Yes, the electricity supply wasn’t so good back then—or rather, there wasn’t any.

There were two shadows darting about in silence on the track. One was almost incorporeal and moved with incredible speed. The other was moving fast, too, but was far more material—and it was carrying a glowing blue whip in its hand. The blows of the whip occasionally connected with its adversary, but didn’t seem to cause him any serious injury at all.

I suddenly realized that I was starting to respect Zabulon. He hadn’t abandoned his underage pupil to be torn to pieces by the Tiger. The Great Dark Magician had accepted the challenge of a combat that should have been his last.

I heard strange sounds beside me, as if someone was being sick. I dragged my eyes away from the magical duel, and saw a thick old oak tree. There was a hole in the oak at about the level of my chest, and protruding from the hole were Erasmus Darwin’s legs. He ought to have been fourteen years old, but he seemed to be only the same height as Kesha, and he had only half as much bulk as the modern young Prophet. So the idea of historically increasing rates of development was clearly no myth after all.