“Yes, sir. I spent a fair bit of time wandering around on crutches while I waited for my leg to mend. Captain Vahkerson’s offices are over in the Old Bully.”

“Lead the way, then.”

Hayver headed off down a lane at a confident walk. Evidently, being asked to lead made him feel buoyant, because as they went he pointed out various ancient landmarks and structures along the way and explained their origins and nicknames. Marcus soon learned more than he ever wanted to know about the Vermillion Hall, Bungo’s Ass, the Three Virgins, and other minutiae of University life.

“Where did you learn all this stuff?” Andy said as they passed a cracked, faceless statue that, for some reason lost in the mists of time, was called the Pole-Vaulter.

“While I was in the hospital,” Hayver said, looking suddenly apologetic. “I had a lot of time on my hands.”

“I spent most of my time in bed with a fever,” Andy said. “But still!”

“I just talked to people.” He shrugged shyly. “I like finding things out.”

“Remind me to introduce you to Fitz someday,” Marcus said. “I think you’d get along.”

“Here we are, sir.” Hayver gestured to another long, low building, covered in wilted, browning ivy. “The Old Bully. I think the captain is on the second floor.”

The doors—heavy oak studded with iron, looking as old as the University itself—were solidly closed. Marcus rapped as loud as he could, then rubbed his knuckle.

“Yes?” said a nervous voice from inside. “Who is it?”

“Colonel Marcus d’Ivoire,” Marcus said. “I’m here to see Captain Vahkerson. He asked for me.”

A whispered conversation took place behind the door, and then there was the squeal of a rusty bolt being drawn. The door swung inward, revealing dusty, gloomy darkness. Two young men in the traditional black robes of University students stood behind it, squinting in the daylight.

“He’s upstairs,” one of the students said. “Come in, quick. I have to bolt the door.”

That took quite a bit of effort, the young man grunting as he forced the rusty bolt closed. He looked at his palms afterward and frowned.

“Cut myself,” he said, wiping away a little trickle of blood.

“Bad essence in rusty metal,” the other said. “Better clean it out. Argvine pollen and honey—”

“Don’t be stupid. De Calabris says argvine pollen makes things worse—”

“De Calabris wouldn’t know a bone saw from a toothpick. All his really good work was done after Effartes joined his salon, and he was clearly cribbing.”

“Oh, if you’re so fond of Effartes, why don’t you suck his fucking cock?”

“Better him than de Calabris. He died of quicksilver sores—”

“Excuse me,” Marcus said. “Medical students, right?”

“That’s right,” the first student said, rubbing at his lacerated palm. He appeared to notice Hayver and Andy for the first time, and his cheeks flushed. “Oh. Sorry for the language, miss.”