It turned out that Huon of Sagar had also been right in his claim that “all theory is grey,” since the disquisitions of the Prague doctor about mental control were true only to a limited extent. A very limited extent. Having assured Reynevan that Scharley and Samson were safe, the flying bench completely stopped being dependent on his will. In particular, it wasn’t Reynevan’s will at all to fly so high that the moon appeared to be at arm’s length, where it was so cold his and Nicolette’s teeth began to chatter like Spanish castanets. It was also far from Reynevan’s will to fly in circles like a buzzard hunting for prey. His will had been to follow Samson and Scharley—but the flying bench didn’t appear to give a toss about that.

Neither did Reynevan feel like studying the geography of Silesia from a bird’s-eye view, so who knew how and under whose mental influence the item of furniture descended and flew north-east, above the slope of Reichenstein. Having passed the massifs of Javorník and Borůvková on their right, the bench soon flew over a town surrounded by a double wall bristling with towers, which could only have been Paczków. Then it carried them over the valley of a river that could only have been the Nysa. Soon the roofs of the towers of Otmuchów passed by beneath them. Here, however, the bench changed direction, made a big curve, returned to the Nysa and this time flew upstream, following the meandering ribbon, silver in the moonlight. Reynevan’s heart beat faster for a moment, for it looked as though the bench planned to return to Bodak. But no, it suddenly turned and headed north, soaring over the lowlands. Soon, the monastery complex of Kamieniec flashed beneath them and Reynevan was once again alarmed. After all, Nicolette had also applied the flying mescolanza to herself and may also have been using her willpower to influence the flying bench. They might have been—which their trajectory appeared to be suggesting—flying straight towards Stolz, the Bibersteins’ seat. Reynevan doubted he would be well received.

But the bench turned a little westwards and flew over some town or other. Reynevan was slowly losing his sense of direction and beginning not to recognise the scenery passing by under his eyes, which were watering from the wind.

They were not flying as high now, so they had stopped shaking and their teeth were no longer chattering. The bench was gliding smoothly and stably, without any aerobatics, and Nicolette’s fingernails weren’t digging into Reynevan’s hands any more. He felt sure that the girl had relaxed a little. He was also breathing freely again, no longer being choked by the rush of air or the adrenaline.

They were flying beneath moonlit clouds. A chequerboard of forests and fields passed by below.