as powerful as that? And she even had permission from the Watches and the Inquisition!'
'I suppose so . . .' I muttered. 'So, there was an experiment . . . And the result?'
'As should have been expected,' Edgar said, his eyes glinting with irony. 'Some of them went insane, took to drink or killed themselves. Some were repressed – for over-zealous devotion to their ideals. And some found ways to get round the remoralisation.'
'The Dark Ones were proved right?' I asked, so stunned that I stopped dead in my tracks. 'But even so the Inquisition considers that the witch corrupted the spell, acting on instructions from the Light Ones?'
Edgar nodded.
'That's raving lunacy,' I said, walking on. 'Utter nonsense! The Dark Ones effectively proved their point. And you say the Light Ones were to blame!'
'Not all the Light Ones,' Edgar replied imperturbably. 'One particular individual . . . maybe a small group. Why they did it, I don't know. But the Inquisition is dissatisfied. The objectivity of the experiment was compromised, the balance of power was undermined, some kind of long-term, obscure intrigue was launched . . .'
'Aha,' I said with a nod. 'If there's intriguing involved, let's put it all down to Gesar.'
'I didn't mention any names,' Edgar said quickly. 'I don't know any. And allow me to remind you that at that time the highly respected Gesar was working in Central Asia, so it would be absurd to charge him with anything . . .'
He sighed – perhaps remembering recent events at the Assol complex?
'But you want to find out the truth?' I asked.
'Absolutely!' Edgar said. 'Thousands of people were forcibly turned to the Light – that is a crime against the Day Watch. All those people came to harm – that is a crime against the Night Watch. The social experiment authorised by the Inquisition was disrupted – that is a crime . . .'
'I get the idea,' I interrupted. 'I must say, I find this story extremely unsavoury.'
'You'll help me to uncover the truth?' Edgar asked. And he smiled.
'Yes,' I said, with no hesitation. 'It's a crime.'
We shook hands.
'Do we have to tramp much further?' the Inquisitor asked.
I looked round and was glad to recognise the familiar features of the clearing where I'd seen that amazing bed of mushrooms the day before.
Today, however, there wasn't a single mushroom left.
'We're almost there,' I reassured the Dark Magician. 'Let's just hope the lady of the house is at home . . .'
CHAPTER 5
ARINA WAS BREWING a potion – just as any self-respecting witch should – in her little house in the forest. Standing by the stove with the oven-fork in her hands, holding a cast-iron pot that was giving off clouds of greenish fumes. And muttering:
Spindle tree, white furze – a pinch,
Rocky cliff sand – quite a sprinkling
Heather branch and skeleton of finch
Pustule squeezings – just an inkling.
Edgar and I went in and stood by the door, but the witch didn't seem to notice us. She carried on standing with her back to us, shaking the pot and chanting:
More white furze and spindle tree,
Three tail feathers from an eagle . . .
Edgar cleared his throat and continued:
Kneecaps of a bumble bee,
And the collar off my beagle?
Arina started violently and exclaimed:
'Oh, good heavens above!'
It sounded perfectly natural . . . but somehow I knew for sure that the witch had been expecting us.
'Hello, Arina,' Edgar said without expression. 'Inquisition. Please stop working your spells.'
Arina deftly thrust the pot into the stove and only then turned round. This time she looked about forty – a sturdy, full-fleshed, beautiful countrywoman. And very annoyed. She put her hands on her hips and exclaimed peevishly:
'And hello to you, Mr Inquisitor! Why are you interfering with the spell? Am I supposed to catch the finches and pluck the eagle's feathers all over again?'
'Your ditties are no more than a way of remembering the amounts of the various ingredients and the right sequence of actions,' Edgar replied, unmoved. 'You'd already finished brewing the light footfall potion, my words could not possibly have interfered with it. Sit down, Arina. Why not take the weight off your feet?'
'How's that supposed to improve things?' Arina replied sullenly and walked across to the table. She sat down and wiped her hands on her apron with its pattern of daisies and cornflowers. Then she glanced sideways at me.
'Good morning, Arina,' I said. 'Edgar asked me to act as his guide. You don't mind, do you?'