Tim Pratt - Sympathy for the Devil

Into the arcane hollows

Of these hallowed halls

The ivy covered walls

Of this great institution.

I won’t dis the reputation of the Wittenberg Man

The most Powerful Professor in all of Europe.

Faustus: If you’re looking, pal, for knowledge

Let me give you a clue

Don’t go to college

It’s the worst you could do

Take my word for it, buddy

I work here every day

Before your first semester

You’ll begin to fester

In a most distressful way.

But if you must matriculate

Here’s a tip I can relate:

Make a deal with the devil

Before you step through the door.

Don’t worry about perdition

It’s a faculty tradition

He’ll get you grants galore

You’ll publish oceans, magic potions

Win mysterious promotions

That a Chancellor can’t ignore

Take a warlock’s degree

Major in astrology

For a minor, sorcery

And a concentration in dissimulation.

For whatever the alumni say

About the university way

This fact is indisputable:

That it’s a storehouse of knowledge

Because none of it ever leaks out.

Wagner: None of it ever leaks out

It’s sealed in weighty books where

It’s a heavy-duty obligation

To open even one

That old humanistic science

That new deconstructive fun

I’ve been searching for it full time

But a glimpse of a pretty ankle

Is all I’ve ever won.

Faustus: Take the kid’s word, he should know

I’m the door that he can’t peek through

Can’t storm or even leak through

Can’t speculate or guess, no

Students aren’t here to be blessed, so

Forget the father confessor

I’m the universal professor.

Still I don’t want to be inhospitable

’twould be pitiful, Bro’ Albergus.

Leave ambition on the doorstep

And I’m the honcho, at your service.

But just don’t mess with the Wittenberg Man

The Hottest Burgher in all of Germany.

He knows where your body’s buried

Or meant to be.

Albergus: I take your point, noble Faustus. But my questions were entirely innocent.

Faustus: But late at night, lights turned low, when you’re alone with your answers? That’s a different story!

Albergus: My dear colleague! There’s no need to treat me like a mountebank.

Faustus: Oh, so now it’s high finance? Well, money means nothing here, friend.

Albergus: Why must you keep speaking of money?

Faustus: This is a public university. What else are we going to talk about? You’ll learn soon enough that a little Latin goes a long way in this institution. There used to be a little Latin around here, but he went away. That’s how I got this job. You look a little Latin yourself, and I wish you’d gone with him. You foreign scholars want to dance to the music without paying the piper. And what does it get you? Asparagus, or contract bridge. But a card like you could care less who maintains the bridge contract, as long as you can pass water under it. Speaking of contracts, what makes you think you’re going to get your hands on mine?

Albergus: I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Faustus: If you’re so sure, why aren’t you rich? You brute! No, don’t try to apologize!

Albergus: I didn’t come here to be insulted.

Faustus: This is a good place for it. Where do you usually go?

Albergus stands, throwing down his napkin.

Albergus: I beg your pardon?

Faustus: Don’t grovel, I can’t pardon you. You’ll have to talk to the Pope. Too bad, I hear he’s not much of an audience. Well, it’s certainly been a pleasure talking to myself this evening. I must visit myself more often. As for you, sir, I want you to remember that scholarship is as scholarship does, and neither does my wife, if I had one, which I don’t. Nor do my children, if I had any, who would be proud of me for saying so. Now get out!

Albergus leaves in a huff. Faustus goes to his side of the table, sits in his chair, takes a bite out of a chicken leg from Albergus’s plate and sips his wine.

Clock: TEN O’CLOCK. ALL IS WELL.

Faustus holds out his cup to Wagner.

Faustus: More wine, boy.

Scene opens in Albergus’s room at The Boar’s Bollocks inn. Albergus is at his table composing a report for the Pope.

Albergus: When will those students arrive?

Bateman: They should be here soon.

Albergus: They’re completely reliable men?

Bateman: As a logician, you realize as well as I that such judgments are necessarily subjective.

Albergus: Never mind logic. Stick to the facts.

Bateman: They’re men. I would say that’s a completely reliable statement.

Albergus seals the letter, hands it to Bateman.

Albergus: Fair enough. Send this off to the Pope.

Bateman leaves. A knock comes at the door.

Albergus: Enter.

The door opens and two sloppy men come in. The darker of the two, Dicolini, wears a black hat that comes to a point that hints at the pointed skull beneath it. His coat is shabby and two sizes too small. He wears an expression of small-minded guile. His companion Robin’s face is round and empty as the full moon. His ragged clothes are even shabbier than Dicolini’s if that is possible. He smells like a fishmonger and a mass of curly red hair explodes from beneath his floppy hat. They come forward in unison, hands extended.

Albergus: Noble Robin and gentle Dicolini, welcome!

Robin shakes his hand. Albergus recoils, draws back his hand and finds he is holding a dead fish. Robin contorts in silent laughter, slaps his knee. Albergus throws down the fish. Robin looks offended.

Dicolini: Atsa some joke, eh boss?

Albergus: Gentlemen, gentlemen. Let us speak of our business. I have called you here because you are brother scholars, acquainted with the university, and students of the renowned Doctor Faustus. I have also heard that you are available for delicate work and for a reasonable fee can keep your mouths shut. I trust I have not been mislead?

Dicolini: I keepa my mouth shut for nothing. Robin, his mouth cost extra.

Robin opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, from which a price tag dangles.

Albergus: What I want you to do is keep an eye on Doctor Faustus for me.

Dicolini: Atsa different story. Eyes cost more.

Albergus: No, no. “Keep an eye on him”-that’s just an expression.

Dicolini: You want the whole expression, it cost you a pretty penny. We give you a pretty expression, though.

Robin puffs out his cheeks, purses his lips and crosses his eyes. Albergus controls himself, ignores him.

Albergus: I want you to find out how Faustus spends his evenings. Does he practice black magic? Is he in league with infernal forces? And I need proof, the sooner the better. Should you do this for me, your investigation shall receive such thanks as fits aking’s remembrance.

Dicolini: How much you gonna pay?

Albergus: I’ll pay you ten silver pieces.

Dicolini: We a-no want no pieces. We want the whole thing.

Robin honks a horn and nods, surly.

Albergus: Another ten pieces then, if you provide me the information I need. That’s all.

Dicolini: How do we know thatsa all?

Albergus: What?

Dicolini: Look, we shadow Faustus for you, how we gonna know when you give us ten pieces thatsa the whole thing?

Albergus: But I’m offering you twenty pieces for shadowing Faustus.

Dicolini: See what I mean? First you gotta ten pieces, now you gotta twenty pieces, but we no gotta the whole thing.

Albergus: You shadow Faustus for me, and then we’ll talk about the whole thing.

Dicolini: You no understand. Suppose I drop a vase, itsa break. How many pieces I got? I don’t know; I gotta count them. Now you give me ten pieces, you give me twenty pieces, I still don’t have them all, maybe. I shatter vase, we shadow Faustus, itsa same thing: we no gonna do the job until we know we getta the whole thing.