“Please,” Andy said. “I could swear in five languages by the time I was ten.”

“Which five?” Hayver said.

“Would you please,” Marcus interrupted, “tell me where Captain Vahkerson is?” He’d raised his voice a little, but he was still surprised to find all four of them staring at him. He cleared his throat.

“Also,” he went on, “I’d like to know what the . . .” He paused, glancing at Andy, and then deliberately went on: “. . . what the hell is going on outside. If you wouldn’t mind.”

*   *   *

The University’s vaunted gas lamps were shut off, and all the windows had heavy curtains drawn across them. They made their way down the corridor by the light that leaked past the heavy cloth. Paintings hung on the walls, darkened and anonymous, and here and there sculptured busts or ornamental tables made for dangerous obstacles.

“It all started,” said the first student, whose name was Norman, “with one of those awful broadsheets.”

“The New Patriot, it calls itself,” said the other, who was called Geoff.

“Somebody got their hands on the University records—”

“Probably bribed the bursar, the man could have given Rackhil Grieg lessons—”

“—and found out that there were a bunch of foreigners still here.”

“Most of the students left when all this started,” Geoff explained. “And a lot of the rest volunteered for the army. That’s why they put Captain Vahkerson’s gunnery school here, and moved the casualties who need long-term care into our hospital. There was plenty of space. It’s mostly just us medical types left.”

“Along with a few foreigners who couldn’t go home or didn’t want to. They’re not spies.” Norman gave a disgusted snort. “But this New Patriot person started giving the mob ideas, and before long they’re convinced we’ve got a whole nest of conspirators in here.”

“What’s that got to do with Captain Vahkerson?” Marcus said.

“Well, the thing is, there’s nobody really in charge around here anymore,” Norman said. “The master and his people took off during the revolution, and now the bursar’s locked himself in his cellar and won’t see anybody. Captain Vahkerson’s the only one willing to give orders, so people are listening to him.”

“He does have a talent for being obeyed,” Marcus muttered.

“He’s using Professor Indica’s office, since it’s got a good view of the gate,” Geoff said. “Here. Captain? I’ve brought Colonel d’Ivoire.”

The door, one of many identical doors on the second-floor corridor, was so dark with multiple coats of resin that it looked as though it might be made of iron. It opened, and to Marcus’ surprise a young woman stood behind it. It was the girl he’d seen at Farus’ Triumph with the Preacher, her dress still severe, her tight hairstyle showing some signs of coming apart at the edges.