“Ha!” The beguiler slapped his knee. “We’ll solve that problem in a trice! Find the object of your desire? A trifle. We just need a little magic. Get up, we’re going.”

“I’m not visiting the witches.”

“It’s your loss, bugger you. I’ll go and sample the bigos… Erm… But most importantly, I’ll bring back some ingredients for a spell… I’ll be back soon and we’ll knuckle down. In order not to waste time, I’ll draw a Scheva on the floor here.”

“You mean the Fourth Pentagram of Venus?”

“I see you know a thing or two. Do you know the inscription, too?”

“Elohim and El Gebil in the Hebrew script and Schii, Eli, Ayib in the Malachim alphabet.”

“Bravo. Very well, I’m off. Expect me… What day is it today?”

“The twenty-eighth of November. Friday before the first Sunday in Advent.”

“Then expect me on Sunday.”

The beguiler kept his word. He appeared first thing on the thirtieth of November, the first Sunday in Advent, and got down to work at once. He looked at the pentagram drawn by Reynevan with a critical eye, checked the inscriptions and nodded to indicate his approval of everything. He stood red wax candles at the corners and lit them, then shook the ingredients—mainly bunches of herbs—from his bag. He affixed a small cast-iron bowl to a tripod.

Reynevan couldn’t restrain himself. “I thought you used the magic of the Older Folk. Your own.”

“I do.”

“But the Fourth Pentagram of Venus is from the canon of human magic.”

“And where do you think people got their magical canons from?” said Malevolt, straightening up. “Thought they invented it?”

“You mean—”

“I mean,” interrupted the beguiler, pouring salt, herbs and powders into the bowl, “we put what’s needed with what’s needed. I also possess the Arcane Knowledge of humans. I’ve studied it.”

“Where? How?”

“In Bologna and Pavia. And how? In the normal way. What did you mean? Ah, I understand. My appearance. It surprises you, does it? Well, I’ll tell you: nothing is difficult if you want it. The key is to think positively.”

“One day,” said Reynevan, sighing, “they’ll even start admitting girls to universities…”

“That’s taking it a little too far,” the beguiler said sourly. “We won’t see girls at varsities, not even if we wait a hundred years. And it’s a shame, frankly speaking. But that’ll do, enough daydreaming. Let’s get down to brass tacks… Dammit… Where’s that flacon of blood… Ah, here it is.”

“Blood, Malevolt? What for? Black magic?”

“For protection. Before we begin the Scheva, we must protect ourselves.”

“From what?”

“What do you think? From danger!”

“What danger?”