"Herr Knupf said take him back," the bald one added.
"Herr Knupf?" Jonas said, entering the conversation with a light,
pleasant tone.
"He's the ... the--" Mrs. Scharpe tried to get the word out, and then
pushed by the two men and came into the hut. "I didn't want to but
there's something strange, and we can't afford any suspicion, and--"
Jonas realized slowly that she was crying as she looked at him. "It's
all right," he said uncomfortably.
"You're--"
"I'll be perfectly all right," Jonas said. He stood up. "This Herr
Knupf," he said. "He wants to see me?"
"He said bring you along," the bald man told him.
The black-haired man nodded very slowly. "Gur," he said.
Jonas sighed and went forward to meet the two big men, leaving Mrs.
Scharpe sobbing in the background. The poor woman felt terrible, he
knew; but there was nothing he could do about that. "Then let us go,"
he said, and marched off. Feeling that one more effect wouldn't hurt,
he led the way to the Town Hall; let them figure out how he had known
just where to go, he thought.
Their minds were very, very boring, and quite blank. Herr Knupf, Jonas
reflected, might be a definite relief.
* * * * *
First there was the cell, which was in the basement of the Town Hall. It
was damp and the air was not too good, but there were compensations.
Rats, for instance. Jonas told himself, after the first couple of hours,
that he simply wouldn't have known what to do without the rats. Trying
to trap and kill them, with no weapons beyond his bare hands--even an
eating knife he had carried in his jerkin had been taken away, leaving
him to the uncomfortable reflection that he was going to have to dine
with his fingers--was a pastime that occupied him for several hours on
the first day.
On the second day, the rats began to bore him. By that evening, they
were annoying him, and when the third day dawned bright and warm--as
near as he could tell from the tiny slip of window at the top of his
cell--Jonas was telling himself that any move at all was a move in the
right direction.
He set up a shout for one of the guards. The bald one had brought his
meals every day, but the black-haired one was the man who checked his
cell at night. For once, Jonas thought, he was lucky; the bald man
appeared, after some fifteen minutes of screaming and cursing. Jonas was
not at all sure whether the black-haired man understood language: there
was little trace of it in his mind, and virtually nothing that might be
called intelligence. With the bald man, at least, he could communicate.
"What's wanted?" the guard said sourly, staring through the bars.
Jonas smiled softly. "You know why I'm here, don't you?" he said in a
voice as close to silky as he could make it.
"You?" the bald man said. "You're here. In a cell."
"That's right," Jonas said patiently. He rubbed at his face. "Do you
know why I was put here?"
"You--cast spells. You make things happen."
"That's right," Jonas said, smiling again. "I'm a wizard. A warlock.
That's what they say, isn't it?"
"You--make things happen," the bald man said.
But he had the basic idea; Jonas checked that in his mind. "Very well,"
he said. "Now, I wish to see Herr Knupf."
"The Inquisitor calls you when he wants you," the bald man said.
"Now," Jonas said.
"When he wants--"
"If I am a wizard," Jonas said, "I have powers. Strange powers. I could
make you--" He reflected for a minute. "I could make you into a beetle,
and squash you underfoot. As a matter of fact, I think I will." He gazed
reflectively at the bald man, who gulped and turned a little pale.
"You ... you are in a cell," he said at last. "Locked up."
"Do you think that will stop me?" Jonas said. He came to the barred
door, still smiling.
"You would not dare--"
"Why not?" Jonas asked. "What have I got to lose?"
He raised one hand, clawing the fingers slightly. He took a deep breath,
as if he were about to spit out an incantation. His eyes glittered. The
smile broadened.
A long second passed.
"I will tell the Inquisitor you wish to see him," the bald guard said.
Jonas relaxed and stepped back. "I shall be most grateful," he said
formally. The guard turned and started to walk away. Five paces down the
corridor, the walk turned into a run. Jonas watched him go, and then sat
down on his louse-infested cot to await developments.
The minutes ticked by endlessly. He thought of trying to reach Claerten,
but decided, not entirely with regret, that the contact would use up too
much energy. And he needed all the energy he could conserve now. The
second step had been taken--the fact that he sat in a cell in prison was
proof of that.
[Illustration]
The third step--the all-important final step--was about to begin.
* * * * *
Georg Knupf was a tall man with skin the color and apparent texture of
good leather. He had a face like an eagle, and his eyes were ice-blue.
He moved his thin, strong hands gently back and forth on the table that
held his papers, inkstand and pen, and said in a voice like audible
sandpaper: "You wanted to see me."
"True," Jonas said pleasantly. Knupf was sitting behind the table. Jonas
had not been asked to sit; he remained standing, and he was reasonably
sure that his feet were going to hurt in a minute. He tried not to let
the thought disturb him.
The man's mind was like his office in the Town Hall: sparsely furnished,
almost austere, but with all the necessaries laid out for easy access.
Underneath the strength and iron of the mind Jonas caught the spark
glowing, and nearly smiled. In spite of the reports, in spite of logic,
there had been a chance the Brotherhood had guessed wrongly about this
man.
[Illustration]
Now that chance was gone, and the Brotherhood was right again.
"Not many ask to see me," Knupf said in the same voice. He went on
looking at his hands. There was bitterness in his mind, bitterness that
had changed to hate. "Their pleas tend to be exactly the opposite."
"I did not plead," Jonas pointed out. "It was necessary that I come to
see you."
The question was, he told himself, exactly what were the Inquisitor's
real beliefs? His public professions were well-known; Jonas searched and
found the answer. Knupf was an honest man.
That, of course, made matters simpler.
"Necessary?" Knupf said, looking up for the first time. His gaze stabbed
like a sword. He was uneasy, Jonas knew; with another mind probing his,
he could not help but be uneasy. But he could not find a cause; it would
never occur to him. And he controlled his feelings superbly.
"You believe that I am a wizard," Jonas said.
Knupf waited a bare second, and then nodded.
"I can do many things," Jonas went on. "It was necessary that I bring
these to your attention--and prove to you that they are not wizardry, or
magic."
"Many have told me," Knupf muttered, "that their feats were natural. It
is a common defense."
"So I have heard," Jonas said easily. "But I shall prove what I say."
"I am under no compulsion to listen to you," Knupf said after a pause.
Jonas shrugged. His feet _were_ beginning to hurt, he realized; he
sighed briefly, but there was no time or attention to spare for them. "I
could only see you by having myself accused of witchcraft," he said. "In
that way, you would be forced to listen to me. You may listen now, or
later at a full hearing of the Inquisitor's Court."
"And I am to take my choice?" Knupf said. He smiled briefly; his face
remained cold. The strong hands moved on the tabletop.
"It is a matter of indifference to me," Jonas said. "But the wait
becomes boring, after a time."