“Your jokes are inopportune,” frowned Tomasz Alpha, “and what’s more, smack of heresy.”

“I swear,” the Institor added gloomily. “You blaspheme. Just like with that rat of yours—”

“Enough, enough,” Koppirnig quietened him with a gesture. “Let us return to Malachy. Who’ll be the next pope, then?”

“I checked and know,” Tomasz Alpha looked around proudly, “that only one cardinal may be considered. Gabriel Condulmer. At one time the Bishop of Sienna. And Sienna, please note, has a she-wolf in its arms. This Condulmer—mark well my and Malachy’s words—will be elected by the conclave after Pope Martin, may God give him a lengthy papacy.”

“It doesn’t seem probable to me,” said Horn, shaking his head. “There are more likely candidates, more well known, who are pursuing more brilliant careers. Albert Branda Castiglione and Giordano Orsini, both members of the College. Or Juan de Cervantes, cardinal at San Pietro in Vincoli. Or for example, Bartolomeo Capra, Archbishop of Milan.”

“The Camerlengo John of Palomar,” added Scharley. “Gilles Charlier, Dean of Cambrai. Cardinal Juan de Torquemada. And finally, John Stojković of Ragusa. In my view and if I’m to be frank, Condulmer, about whom I know nothing, has meagre chances—”

“Malachy’s Prophecy,” Tomasz Alpha cut off the discussion, “is infallible.”

“Which one can’t say about its interpreters,” replied Scharley.

The rat sniffed Scharley’s bowl. Reynevan raised himself up with difficulty and leaned back against the wall.

“Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen,” he said with effort, wiping sweat from his forehead and stifling a cough. “You’re locked in a tower, in a sombre prison. No one knows what tomorrow will bring. Perhaps they’ll take us away to be tortured and killed? And you’re arguing about a pope who won’t take office for six years…”

“How do you know it’ll be six?” Tomasz Alpha choked.

“I don’t. It just came to me.”

On Saint Martin’s Eve, the tenth of November, by which time Reynevan was completely recovered, Isaiah and Normal were deemed healed and freed. They had previously been taken out several times to be examined. Whoever conducted the evaluations must have concluded that compulsive masturbation and communicating entirely by means of passages from the Book of Isaiah said nothing adverse about their mental health, for after all, the Pope had been known to quote the Book of Salvation and masturbation was a natural human act. Nicolaus Koppirnig had a different opinion about their releases.

“They are preparing the terrain for the Inquisitor,” he pronounced gloomily. “They’re removing the nutcases and loonies so that the Inquisitor won’t have to waste time on them. They’re leaving the cream. Meaning us.”

“I think so, too,” said Urban Horn.