“The Occultum is still on the wall, Circulos’s glyphs and sigla are still there. On top of that, look, I have his amulet—I managed to take it unseen. Circulos told me the activating spell and gave me the means of conjuration. I know a little something about evocations, I studied the practice… The chance is slender, I admit. But it’s a chance! I don’t understand your reserve, Scharley. Do you doubt the existence of magic? What about Huon of Sagar? And Samson? Why, Samson—”

“Samson is a fraud.” The penitent cut him off. “A friendly, quite clever, pleasant companion, but a fraud and a charlatan nonetheless, like most people who invoke spells and witchcraft. The rest is insignificant. Reinmar, I don’t doubt the existence of magic. I’ve seen enough not to doubt it. It’s you that I doubt. I’ve seen you levitate and find roads, but as far as the flying bench goes, Sagar was certainly behind it—you couldn’t have done that yourself. But you’ve a long way to go before becoming a real demon tamer, lad. You must know that. You must understand that hieroglyphics, pentagrams and hocus-pocus scribbled on walls by a moron are fit for nothing. And that sorry excuse for an amulet is a vulgar, shitty piece of junk. You must be aware of all that. Therefore, I repeat, don’t insult my intelligence or your own.”

“I have no choice,” said Reynevan through clenched teeth. “I have to try. It’s my only chance.”

Scharley shrugged and rolled his eyes.

Circulos’s Occultum looked worse than woeful, Reynevan had to admit. It was dirty, and all the magic books demanded immaculately clean sanctuaries. The Goetic Circle on the wall had been drawn crookedly, and the rules in the Sacra Goetia stressed the importance of precise drawing. Nor was Reynevan entirely certain regarding the correctness of the spells written inside the Circle.

The ceremony of evocation itself would have to take place not at midnight, as the grimoires laid down, but at dawn, since at midnight darkness prevented any activities in the tower. The black candles demanded for the ritual were out of the question—as were candles of any other colour. For obvious reasons, the madmen in the Narrenturm weren’t given candles, cressets, lamps or any other means of starting a fire.

Actually, he thought bitterly as he began the ritual, I only conform to the principles of the grimoires in one respect: a mage intending to evoke or invoke has to meet the condition of a suitably long period of abstinence from sexual intercourse. And for two months I have been an absolute, although unwilling, abstainer in this regard.

Scharley and Horn observed him from a distance, keeping quiet. Tomasz Alpha was also quiet, mainly because he had been threatened with a beating should he in any way dare to disturb that silence.