“These are my belongings,” said Rupilius, making a sweeping gesture towards the cases. “Books and other things I need for my work. Some of them have a price. Most don’t. Most of them are priceless, if you understand what I mean.

“You, Reynevan, are Toledo. What you are, Samson, I don’t fully know, but you, too, undoubtedly guess the essence of the matter, which will save us time and trouble. Thus, without details—which, if you don’t mind, are none of your bloody business—I’ll tell you: Otto of Bergow, for ten years my sponsor and benevolent master, suddenly stopped being benevolent and began making demands that I couldn’t fulfil. Or didn’t want to. It was thus planned for me to starve to death in the oubliette, having fallen out of favour with my master. In the dungeon, I managed to end the existence of my good old body, and of the soul of the other person that I separated from its body, the one I currently use. The transfer took place in some haste, and I also chose my object in haste. The result is that I am only a servant at Trosky. As such, I cannot remove my effects from here. Effects I am very attached to. Very attached, do you understand? So the agreement is this: I’ll help you escape from the castle. In return, you must come back in two years and help me to move out. Agreed? I’m waiting.”

“One thing first of all, Master Rupilius,” said Reynevan, stroking the metal binding of The Enchiridion of Pope Leo. “I entered Trosky in order to—”

“I know why you’re here,” interrupted the sorcerer. “Samson and I have already chatted briefly about that. And we know a little.”

“It’s true,” said the giant, smiling at Reynevan’s expression. “We know a little. Not everything. But there is some progress.”

“I’m not interested in ‘some progress,’” said Reynevan, biting his lip, “but in finding a way to solve the problem once and for all. You said it’s high time you returned home, Samson. You asked me to do what I could. And now, when a chance is within reach—”

“Weren’t you listening?” Rupilius didn’t let him finish again. “I said that we have spoken, and that we know a little. But nothing is yet within reach, regrettably. Not yet.”

“We already know a little,” replied Reynevan. “Vincent Axleben took an interest in Samson in Prague—and he’s a master among masters, after all. He claimed it concerned the astral body. And the perispirit. The perispirit… Hm… Positively circling.”

“A circulating perispirit.” Rupilius grimaced. “Well, well. Indeed, one knows the master by his hypotheses. But did the master among masters ever explain what it’s all about?”