The physician, however, seemed not to be listening, but was staring instead at Sparhawk. His eyes narrowed, his face became suddenly alert and his expression sly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said when Sephrenia had finished. ‘I think you’d better go back and take another look at your friend. What you just described matches no known illness.’ His tone was abrupt, even curt.

Sparhawk straightened, clenching his fist, but Sephrenia laid her hand on his arm. Thank you for your time, learned sir,’ she said smoothly. ‘Come along then,’ she told Sparhawk.

The two of them went back out into the corridor.

‘Two in a row,’ Sparhawk muttered.

‘Two what?’

‘People with bad manners.’

‘It stands to reason, perhaps.’

‘I don’t follow you.’

‘There’s a certain natural arrogance in those who teach.’

‘You’ve never displayed it.’

‘I keep it under control. Try another door, Sparhawk.’

In the next two hours, they spoke with seven physicians. Each of them, after a searching look at Sparhawk’s face, pretended ignorance.

‘I’m starting to get a peculiar feeling about this,’ he growled as they emerged from yet another office. ‘They take one look at me, and they suddenly become stupid – or is that just my imagination?’

‘I’ve noticed that, too,’ she replied thoughtfully.

‘My face isn’t that exciting, I know, but it’s never struck anyone dumb before.’

‘It’s a perfectly good face, Sparhawk.’

‘It covers the front of my head. What else can you expect from a face?’

‘The physicians of Borrata seem less skilled than we’d been led to believe.’

‘We’ve wasted more time, then?’

‘We haven’t finished yet. Don’t give up hope.’

They came finally to a small, unpainted door set back in a shabby alcove. Sparhawk rapped, and a slurred voice responded, ‘Go away.’

‘We need your help, learned sir,’ Sephrenia said.

‘Go and bother somebody else. I’m busy getting drunk right now.’

That does it!’ Sparhawk snapped. He grasped the door handle and pushed, but the door was locked from the inside. Irritably, he kicked it open, splintering the frame.

The man inside the tiny cubicle blinked. He was a shabby little man with a crooked back and bleary eyes. ‘You knock very loudly, friend,’ he observed. Then he belched. ‘Well, don’t just stand there. Come in.’ His head weaved back and forth. He was shabbily dressed, and his wispy grey hair stuck out in all directions.

‘Is there something in the water around here that makes everybody so churlish?’ Sparhawk asked acidly.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ the shabby man replied. ‘I never drink water.’ He drank noisily from a battered tankard.

‘Obviously.’

‘Shall we spend the rest of the day exchanging insults, or would you rather tell me about your problem?’ The physician squinted myopically at Sparhawk’s face. ‘So you’re the one,’ he said.

‘The one what?’

The one we aren’t supposed to talk to.’

‘Would you like to explain that?’