The Professor sat back in his leather chair and took a final puff on his old pipe before knocking it out into the copper bowl. The pain in his right shoulder flared up again, and he rubbed at it, though it was the skin that ached, rather than the joint. He pushed his chair back and slowly, painfully, levered himself to his feet. He walked to the far end of his study, turned the key in the lock of the French windows, pushed the right-hand one open, and walked outside into his garden. There was no moon, so the only illumination came from the desk lamp back in the study and by the time he had gone ten paces he was in almost complete darkness.
He looked up at the stars, naming the constellations to himself. He shivered and he sensed that he was no longer alone. He fought the urge to turn around, and kept on staring upwards. Finally the voice came from behind him, quiet, almost affectionate in its tone, yet completely authoritative.
‘It seems you have done well, Wilhelm. You carried out the instructions you were given.’
The Professor nodded but didn’t turn. He kept his eyes on the stars above. ‘I hope I did as instructed. Most of what I told him was true, though some of it you told me personally, rather than it being the product of my knowledge and research, as I said to him. I think no living man, or woman, could have known some of it.’
‘I know, but it was important that he should know everything, and you were the means to inform him. You think he accepted your little lies?’
‘Why not? Many Germans came here before the war to escape persecution. He assumed I was Jewish. Why would he suspect I did not arrive until later? A fugitive from the Allies, rather than the Nazis?’
‘Why indeed, but it was a necessary fiction. He would accept a learned Professor, with a hobby of research into ancient legends, but not the son of Himmler’s coven master, and one of my most loyal followers. He is a trusting soul, and accepts too much at face value. He has always had problems in seeing beneath the surface.’
‘Indeed so.’
‘You have done well, as I knew you would.’
The Professor took a deep breath, as if summoning up the courage for what he needed to do. ‘May I ask a question?’
There was no affection in the voice now, the tone was sharp, as it answered. ‘You may.’
‘It seems that many of those with knowledge of these matters have died recently. Am I to die this night?’
The voice spoke more calmly this time. ‘No, Wilhelm, your life is not required from you tonight. You have served me well for many decades, as did your father before you. There is not long left to you, but you will die peacefully, and without pain. And then, of course, you will fulfil the pact you made all those years ago.’
‘I know what will be required of me, and I will pay that price. My wife will never know? She still prays for my immortal soul.’
‘She is wasting her efforts, but she will never know that. Farewell, Wilhelm, we shall not meet again in this world.’
There was no sound from behind him, but the Professor knew instantly that he was alone again. He turned, walked back to the French windows, through into the study, locking up behind him, then out of his study, and slowly, painfully, up the stairs to his bedroom. His joints ached with the effort, but the skin on his shoulder no longer burned.