“Chew your carrot!” I growled.
He grunted resentfully and took my advice, biting off a huge piece.
And just then we heard a loud howl ringing across the market: “Honorable sirs! Honorable sirs!”
“Does he mean us?” Eel asked, turning round just in case.
“Honorable sirs, wait!” shouted a decently dressed young lad, running toward us and waving his arms desperately in the air.
“He definitely wants us,” said Eel, and stopped.
“What in the name of the underground kings does he want?” Deler muttered, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“Let’s go,” said Hallas, shoving his partner. “If we stand around waiting for everyone who starts shouting, we’ll never get to the barber’s before nightfall!”
“And if we keep walking, he’ll run after us, bawling his head off,” I objected reasonably. “That’s one piece of luck we can do without.”
“Uhu,” said Kli-Kli, sinking his teeth into the carrot. “Hallas, your sleeve has ridden up your arm.”
The gnome swore and pulled down the sleeve of his brown shirt to cover the tattoo of a red heart with teeth—the emblem of the Wild Hearts Brigade.
“Honorable sirs!” said the lad, breathing heavily. He was obviously worn out from chasing after us.
“What do you want, young man?” Hallas asked with a menacing frown. “Don’t you have anything better to do than go around yelling for all the town to hear?”
“I wanted to suggest—,” the young lad began, but Deler interrupted him again:
“We’re not buying!”
The dwarf and the gnome turned away and walked on, without even listening to what the poor panting fellow had to say. I shrugged. This youth was not going to sell anything to the gnome.
“Wait!” he shouted. “Aren’t you the one looking for a barber?”
Hallas froze with one foot in midair, then slowly lowered it and turned in our direction. The expression on the gnome’s face did not bode the young lad any good.
“How much?” the gnome asked, unfolding his fists.
“Free!”
That stopped our bearded friend dead in his tracks and set him thinking hard. He grunted, scratched the back of his head, and said: “I thought I heard you say that I can have my tooth pulled out absolutely free of charge. Is that right?”
“Absolutely right!”
“It’s nonsense!” Deler rumbled. “Nothing’s ever free!”
“That’s what I think, too,” said Hallas, giving the young lad another dark look.
“No, honorable sirs, I’m not lying! They’ll do everything for you at the faculty of healers in the university without taking a single coin. And they’re not barbers, but absolutely genuine healers. Luminaries of science. Professors!”
“Mm, is that so?” Hallas asked, still suspicious. “And don’t these professors of yours have anything better to do than go around pulling everyone’s teeth out?”
“But this is examination week at the university,” the student explained. “The professors tell the senior classes how to treat ailments, and demonstrate at the same time, and then they ask questions to see how well we’ve learned it all. I happened to overhear your conversation with the barber.”
Hallas sighed, and thought, then sighed again, narrowed his eyes, and said, “Lead on.”
Naturally, they hadn’t sent a cart for us, let alone a carriage, so we had to trudge all the way back on our own two feet.
Suddenly Kli-Kli gasped in fright and tugged at the edge of my jacket.
“Harold, look! Heartless Chasseurs!” he hissed in a theatrical whisper, pointing at the soldiers.
There were five of them, dressed in white uniform jackets and crimson trousers, walking toward us.
“What are we going to do?”
I wondered if Kli-Kli was in a real panic or just playing the fool.
“Smile,” I hissed through clenched teeth, and stretched my lips out into an idiotic grin.
The Heartless Chasseurs walked past without even giving us a glance and Kli-Kli gave a sigh of relief.
“Phew!”
“Why were you so frightened of them?” I asked the goblin.
“Well, you know, after Vishki…,” Kli-Kli replied anxiously.
“Vishki? Calm down, Kli-Kli,” Eel said with a smile. “I don’t think the magicians have been broadcasting the fact that we escaped from them. They were up to no good in that village, and they’ll keep quiet to avoid attracting unwelcome attention. Take no notice of these chasseurs, they’re simply quartered in Ranneng and they don’t know a blind thing about us.”
The immense bronze gates of the University of Sciences were standing wide open in welcome to all who approached from the park that flourished between the Upper City, the university, and school of the Order. From a distance, we could make out an emblem on the gates, the mark of an ancient and venerable institution—an engraving of an open book, entwined with grape leaves.
The park in which the university stood was huge, magnificent, and beautiful. Once we were in it, I felt as if I had fallen into the magical forest of my childhood dreams where the oaks propped up the heavens with their green crowns the whole year round.
We followed our guide in through the gates and turned onto one of the shady stone pathways leading past the gray faculty buildings and into the heart of the university.
“Why aren’t there any people here?” Deler asked curiously, gazing around on all sides.
“The students are either at their practical studies or taking the final examinations, or they’ve already gone off for vacation, honorable sir.”
“And this—” Deler clicked his fingers, trying to remember the word. “—healing faculty of yours. Where’s that?”
“Ah. The healing faculty’s beside the morgue, so we won’t see any of the students until we get there.”
“Beside the morgue?” Hallas asked warily.
“That’s in case they get it wrong when they pull your tooth out,” Deler said to taunt the gnome. “So they don’t have to carry the body too far.”
“What are you croaking about, you ugly crow?” Hallas asked, and swore. “You dwarves are all like that, no good for anything but croaking misery and death. You croak away the centuries, and we dig the shafts and galleries for you.”
“You dig them for us? Why, you can’t make a single decent thing with your own hands. You’re born mattockmen and you die mattockmen.”
“That’s enough,” Eel barked. “Stop squabbling!”
A group of students was sitting on the grass under the trees and leafing lazily through their books.
“They’re from the literary faculty,” our guide said disdainfully when he caught my eye. “Bohemians.”
Kli-Kli grunted theatrically at the sound of that word.
“What are you grunting for?” I asked him.
“You don’t know what bohemians are!” Kli-Kli answered back.
“Believe it or not, but I do,” I disabused him. “My teacher’s collection of books could rival the Royal Library.”
“I don’t really believe that. An educated thief is an absurdity.”
“Oh, sure. Just like an educated goblin. What do you read in Zagraba apart from your Tre-Tre’s books?”
“The great Tre-Tre,” Kli-Kli corrected me automatically. “We have many ancient books, Harold-Barold. A lot more than you think! Many people would barter their souls just to get a glance at them.”
Through the trees we saw a yellow three-story building with a broad stairway, covered as thickly with students as the Field of Sorna was with gnomes.
“An examination?” Deler asked, gazing round at the students leafing through their books.
