"I see. Is that all?"
"Outside of the fact that you are known to keep company with hoodlums, there is some doubt as to the validity of your degree."
"Weatherton again?"
"The source is unimportant. The conclusion is not. I do not feel that you are what you purport to be."
"Why choose tonight, here, to air your doubts?"
"The semester's over, I know that you want to go away, and tonight was your last session with the machine-according to the time you applied for. I want to know what you are taking away with you and where you are taking it."
"Carl," he said, "what if I admitted that I did misrepresent myself a bit? You've already stated that I'm an expert in my area. We both know I'm a popular lecturer. Whatever Weatherton dug up-What of it?"
"Are you in some kind of trouble, Jack? Something I might be able to help you with?"
"No. Not really. No trouble."
Quilian crossed the room and seated himself on a low couch.
"I've never seen one of you this close before," he said.
"What are you implying?"
"That you are something other than a human being."
"Like what?"
"A darkborn. Are you?"
"Why?"
"They are supposed to be taken into custody, under certain conditions."
"I take it that if I am, those conditions will be deemed to have been met?"
"Perhaps," said Quilian.
"And perhaps not? What do you want?"
"For now, all that I want is to know your identity."
"You know me," he said, folding the pages and reaching for his briefcase.
Quilian shook his head.
"Of the things about you which trouble me," he said, "I've just recently found a new one which gives me considerable cause for concern. Allowing for a moment that you are a darksider who has emigrated into day, there are certain correspondences which force me to pursue the question of your identity. There is a person whom I had considered possessed only of a mythological existence, on the darkside of the world. I wonder, would the legendary thief dare to walk in sunlight? And if so, for what reason? Could Jonathan Shade be the mortal equivalent for Jack of Shadows?"
"And what if it is?" he asked, striving to keep his eyes from moving to the window, where something seemed now to be occluding much of the dim light. "Are you prepared to place me under arrest?" he asked, moving slowly to his left so that Quilian would turn his head to follow.
"Yes, I am."
He glanced toward the window himself then, and an old loathing returned to him as he saw what was pressed against it.
"Then I take it that you have come armed?"
"Yes," he said, removing a small pistol from his pocket and pointing it.
I could throw the briefcase and risk taking one round, he decided. After all, it's a small enough weapon. Still, if I buy time and get closer to the light, it may not be necessary.
"It is strange that you came alone, if you had such a thing in mind. Even if you do have the authority to make a security arrest on campus-"
"I did not say that I am alone."
"-Not really strange, though, now that I think of it." He took a step nearer the flickering light. "I say that you are alone. You would like to handle this yourself. It may simply be that you wish to kill me without witnesses. Or it may be that you desire full credit for my apprehension. I'd guess the former, though, because you seem to dislike me very much. Why, I'm not certain."
"I fear that you overestimate your ability to create a disliking, as well as my own for violence. -No, the authorities have been notified and an arresting party is on its way here. My intention is only to require your presence until they arrive."
"It would seem that you waited until about the last possible moment."
With his free hand, Quilian gestured toward the briefcase.
"I've a suspicion that once your latest project has been deciphered, it will be found to have little to do with the social sciences."
"You are a very suspicious person. There are laws against arresting people without evidence, you know."
"Yes, that's why I waited. I'm betting that's evidence that you are holding-and I am certain that more will turn up. I have noted, too, that when it comes to matters of security the laws are considerably relaxed."
"You do have a point there," he replied, turning so that the light caught him full in the face.
"I am Jack of Shadows!" he cried out. "Lord of Shadow Guard! I am Shadowjack, the thief who walks in silence and in shadows! I was beheaded in Igles and rose again from the Dung Pits of Glyve. I drank the blood of a vampire and ate a stone. I am the breaker of the Compact. I am he who forged a name in the Red Book of Ells. I am the prisoner in the jewel. I duped the Lord of High Dudgeon once, and I will return for vengeance upon him. I am the enemy of my enemies. Come take me, filth, if you love the Lord of Bats or despise me, for I have named myself Jack of Shadows!"
Quilian's face showed puzzlement at this outburst, and though he opened his mouth and tried to speak, his words were drowned out by the other's cries.
Then the window shattered, the candle died, and the Borshin sprang into the room.
Turning, Quilian saw the gashed, rain-drenched thing across the room. He let out an incoherent cry and stood as if paralyzed. Jack dropped his briefcase, found the vial of acid and unstoppered it. He buried its contents at the creature's head, and without pausing to observe the results, he snatched up his briefcase and dodged past Quilian.
He was to the door before the creature let out its first shriek of pain. He passed into the hallway, locking the door behind him, having paused only sufficiently to steal Quilian's raincoat from where it was hanging.
He was halfway down the building's front steps when he heard the first shot. There were others, but he was crossing the campus when .they came, clutching the raincoat about his shoulders and cursing the puddles, and so he did not hear them. Besides, there was thunder. Soon, he feared, there would be sirens too.
Thinking stormy thoughts, he ran on.
The weather assisted him in some ways, hindered him in others.
What traffic there was had been slowed down considerably, and when he reached a stretch of open road, its long dry surface had become sufficiently slippery to preclude his moving at the speeds he desired. The darkness of the storm was causing motorists to depart from the streets at the first opportunity, as well as keeping those already home where they were, safe in the glow of many candles. There were no pedestrians in sight. All of which made it easy for him to abandon his vehicle and appropriate another before he had gone very far.
Getting out of town was not difficult, but outrunning the storm was another matter. They both seemed headed in the same direction: one of the routes he had mapped out and memorized long ago as both expeditious and devious in returning him to darkness. On any other occasion he would have welcomed a diminution in that constant glare which had first burned, then tanned his unwilling hide. Now, it slowed him, and he could not risk an accident at this point. It bathed the vehicle, and its winds caused it to sway, while its bolts of lightning showed him the skyline he as leaving.
Police lanterns set on the road caused him to slow apprehensively, seeking exit from the highway. He sighed and grinned faintly as he was waved on by the scene of a three-car accident, where a man and woman were being borne on stretchers toward a gaping ambulance.
He played with the radio but obtained only static. He lit a cigarette and opened the window partway. An occasional droplet struck against his cheek, but the air was cool and sucked the smoke away. He breathed deeply and attempted to relax, having just realized how tense he had been.