Biele?, newly promoted department chair. By default.
“Dewclaws don’t have troves,” observed Lukasz, snuffing out his cigarette in an ashtray. “Only bits of metal and trash.”
Biele? shot bolt upright. Up close, he did not seem quite as impressive. He was small and pale and, without a podium or a captive audience, even a little pathetic. He’d probably escaped the dragon because he simply wasn’t very appetizing.
Biele? took in everything from the black army cap on Lukasz’s head to the tall leather boots.
“L—Lieutenant Smoków—” he began. “I didn’t realize—”
While Biele? gathered his wits, Lukasz licked his fingertips and reached into the projector to snuff out the gaslight. He didn’t mind the tiny sear of pain. If you hunted dragons, you got used to burns.
Lukasz interrupted:
“Heard you’ve got an Apofys on the loose.”
Biele? wiped sweaty hands on his elegant suit, eyes running down to the old-fashioned broadsword at Lukasz’s side. What was it Eryk used to say?
Lukasz remembered the eyes, darker than mountain skies. The laugh, easier than a falling blade. Teeth brighter than dragon bones.
Dress us like gentlemen, and we’ll hunt like wolves.
“Aren’t there two of you?” Biele? was asking. “It’s really quite a dangerous creature—”
Hand still in his pockets, Lukasz fiddled with the cap of the lighter.
“You want it dead or not?” he cut in. “Just show me where to find it.”
“Well—it’s—” Biele? struggled. “Well, it’s in the department of Unnatural history. You should be able to find it. The hallways are very clearly labeled, and we’ve even put up a sign—”
For a second time that afternoon, Lukasz felt uneasy. Maybe Franciszek had been right after all, about that whole reading thing.
“I’d rather you showed me,” he interrupted as casually as he could. “Just as far as the department. After that, it’ll find me.”
Biele? blanched.
“Well . . .” He hesitated. “Very well, I suppose. Could you take this, please?”
Lukasz took the briefcase and the projector and followed Professor Biele? out of the auditorium. They moved in silence through the uniwersytet’s lobby. It had the kind of richness designed to make a man like Lukasz feel small: an enormous gold globe to his left, a mural of the country’s founding covering the entire wall on his right. Jarek would have loved that mural. A wide pink velvet carpet ran from the auditorium doors to a white stone desk inlaid with gold lettering. Two clerks, one male and one female, each of astounding beauty, sat behind it. And flanking either side of the desk, twin white staircases curled up to a second story, which promised more velvet and gold.
They left the professor’s belongings at the front desk and at the top of the staircase took a sharp left at an expansive stone atrium. They entered a dingy hall, hemmed in by doors on either side.
“My apologies for the lighting,” said Professor Biele?. “We’ve turned the lamps down. Evacuated the whole wing, you understand. In case the dragon wishes to, erm, explore.”
The walls had auburn wallpaper and the doors were oak, with brass plates inscribed with what Lukasz presumed were numbers and names. The only light was the dim brown glow of gaslights. They took a right and entered another identical hallway.
“You know,” began the professor, “when this—this is, um, handled—if you’re available, I mean—I would love—be honored, really—to interview you and your brother.” The professor seemed to hesitate before asking in a small voice: “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to wait for your brother?”
Lukasz swallowed against the tightness that rose suddenly in his throat. Your brother. How much longer would people describe the Brothers Smokówi in the plural? When would this morning’s events make it into the newspapers?
When would the world realize that they were down to their last Wolf-Lord?
“It’s just,” continued Professor Biele?, misinterpreting Lukasz’s silence, “I have a special interest in historical peoples.”
“What’s historical about the Wolf-Lords?”
“Well, they’re extinct, of course.”
Biele? was so short compared to Lukasz that he could see the hair thinning over his flushed scalp.
“There are two of us left,” said Lukasz coldly.
It was a lie. But Biele? didn’t need to know about Franciszek. Not now.
“Indeed,” agreed the professor, clearly oblivious. “And yet, anthropologically speaking, the Wolf-Lords are an extinct people.”
“Keep it up,” Lukasz returned coolly, “and I’m going to make you an extinct people.”
Biele? fell silent.
They took another abrupt turn into yet another hallway. For a moment, Lukasz wondered whether, in a different life, he might have ended up in a place like this.