Muted steps above, over their heads. Voices mumble vaguely. Boards creak, sagging.

Thin dust pours on the turned up faces.

“There, at the ceiling,” Jendrich’s hissing whisper. “Do you see the bung? Pull it out. Just be silent!”

Giacomo pulled out the lump of rags bunging a rat-hole or a vent with a visible effort.

“...rode away?”

“To the forest, to the forest, where else?”

“Don’t you lie?!”

“Why would I lie, sir knight? Robbers are robbers. Pure squandering. To the forest, odd-even, they flew, their den’s there, damn them...”

“And where are the people? Why’s the tavern empty?”

“Afraid, they are. You’ll become angry, that is, order to whip. Hiding they are...”

“A sly devil you are, taverner. Well, bring here meat, wine, but see to it, you rascal, that it’s the very best! You bring us rotten stuff – I’ll order to burn your tavern down, and hang you up high on...”

“The very best, sir knight! Just a moment!.. Wife, quick: wine, wine for the good gentlemen, and I’ll, odd-even, put sausages on the pan...”

Jendrich gestured to Giacomo to put the bung back in its place.

“Here they are... Never mind: Jas will douse them with wine and they’ll melt. We’ll hole up. Well, kid, just the time for you to make noise, for the Maintz men to take us on the spot. Eh?”

The youth shuddered again, as if from a slap. Even in the unsteady light of the candle it was seen that he blushed. Anger? Shame?

“You shouldn’t say so, mister Jendrich...”

“Oh, I’m so very sorry! And who was it that threatened to sell us out when we didn’t want to take him into the hideout?”

“I was scared...”

“Scared he was! With rats we have a short talk. A knife in the belly and the bowels on a branch. Tell us, what’s there between you and the margrave Siegfried?”

“I...” The youth felt confused under the intent glances fixed on him. “I... I can’t be captured, by no means! I was going to your prince, to Razimir of Opolie. Look, take me to Wrozlav! You can do it! Surely you know all the paths!”

“What, you have a bag full of golden amulets? The prince will be awfully glad to see you! Gold for us, you for him. The last hope, that is.”

“I have no amulets. I’ve given the last one to the taverner. And as for hope... Maybe the truth is yours. I’m the only hope. Opolie won’t stand against Maintz...”

“Young man, are you experienced in military art?” Giacomo Seingalt curved his brow sarcastically. “Are you a strategist? Do you suppose the prince Razimir will appoint you commander?”

“You are mocking me. But I must! I want to give the prince this...”

The youth opened his bag, began to rustle with the rags. There came to light a casket – shabby, triangular, marked in black, red and yellow chequers like a buffoon’s tights. Its paint had peeled off in some places, its edges were severely beaten. In addition to the casket in the bag there was a big hourglass.

“A game, is it?” the chieftain made a contemptuous grimace.

Giacomo nodded with confidence: “The ‘Triple Nornscoll’, or ‘Cheat the Fate’. I would play it in my time... We may amuse ourselves now, one way or another we’ll be sitting here doing nothing for a long time. Will you play, Jendrich? And you, young man? By the way, don’t you want to introduce yourself to your fellows in misfortune?”

“Forgive me... My name is Martzin, Martzin Oblaz from the free city of Holne. From the former free city. But this is not an ordinary game. It has belonged to Byarn the Pensive.”

“The mage from Holne?!”

“Yes.”

“What a rogue you are, lad! Stole the game from Byarn himself?! First he snitched the amulet, then the game! Or all at once? You’re desperate, and a doctor too... Want to join my gang?” It was hard to understand whether the chieftain was joking, mocking or talking seriously.

“It would be better if I really stole it...” whispered Martzin faintly, lowering his eyes.

“Didn’t steal? So where did you get it?”

“This is a legacy. My teacher Byarn the Pensive died last week.”

“Died?! Tell more lies! Mages – they live for a thousand years!”

“Unfortunately, you are mistaken. Meister Byarn had a weak heart... I know this better than many others.”

“Heart? Why didn’t he make himself healthy with magic and be over with it?”

“Oh, mister Jendrich,” Martzin sighed heavily. The flame of the candle flickered, queer shadows swayed along the walls, and the hideout seemed for a moment unreal – as if the next moment it would flow like fog and disperse. “Don’t mistake a mage for God. The magic of healing uses the healer’s own power. This is not alike spells or taming of the elements. One cannot heal one’s own heart. And I... I’m just learning. Was learning.”