He tapped on the door; a muffled sound answered, and Teren opened it, and putting a hand just between Skif’s shoulder blades, gently propelled Skif inside before he got a chance to hesitate.

The door shut behind him.

Skif found himself in a cluttered room, a very small room, but one that, from the open door to the side, must be part of a larger suite. There were four things in this room, besides Dean Elcarth; books, papers, chairs, and a desk. There were bookshelves built into the wall that were crammed full of books; books and papers were piled on every available surface. Elcarth motioned to Skif to come in and take the only chair that wasn’t holding more books, one with a deep seat and leather padding that was cracked and crazed with age.

He sat in it gingerly, since it didn’t look either sturdy or comfortable. He should have known better; nothing bad that he’d assumed about the Heralds ever turned out to be right. The chair proved to be both sturdy and comfortable, and it fit him as if it had been intended for him.

Herald Elcarth folded his hands under his chin, and regarded Skif with a mild gaze. “You,” he said at last, “are a puzzle. I must say that Myste and I have searched through every Chronicle of the Collegium, and I cannot find a single instance of a thief being Chosen. We’ve had several attempted suicides, three murderers—which, I will grant, were all self-defense, and one of them was Lavan Firestorm, but nevertheless, they were murderers. We’ve had a carnival trickster, a horse sharper, and a girl who pretended to be a witch, told fortunes which turned out to be correct ForeSight, but also took money for curses she never performed, relying instead on the fact that she’d be long gone before anyone noticed that nothing bad had happened to the person she cursed. We’ve had a former assassin. We’ve even had a spy. But we’ve never had a thief.”

Skif tried to read his expression, and didn’t get any clues from it. Elcarth merely seemed interested.

“So, I have to ask myself, Skif. Why you? What is it about you that is so different that a Companion would Choose you?” He tilted his head to the side, looking even more birdlike. “Alberich, by the way, has told me nothing of why he recognized you. In fact, he didn’t say much at all about you, except that he knew who you were, but until Kantor told him, he had not known you were specifically a thief.”

“What d’ye wanta know?” Skif asked. The best way to limit the damage might be to get Elcarth to ask questions, so that he could carefully tailor his answers.