The cobblestone streets of the Dutch Republic felt solid and ancient beneath Faust's boots, a sharp contrast to the muddy, unformed paths of the New World.
The city—likely Leiden, a heart of European learning—was a labyrinth of canals and narrow brick houses that smelled of peat fires and canal water.
They stopped before a prestigious-looking townhouse in the city center.
Faust took a deep breath, adjusting the collar of his coat.
He looked at Lola and Don-Fran.
"I hope my Professor is at home."
He knocked firmly.
After a moment, the heavy oak door creaked open to reveal a man in his late fifties.
His hair was a distinguished silver, and he wore the spectacles of a man who spent his life over manuscripts. This was Hendrik, once Faust's most brilliant pupil, now a celebrated physician in his own right.
The moment Hendrik's eyes landed on Faust, they widened in a mixture of terror and disbelief. His mouth opened to utter a title that would have blown Faust's cover instantly—Professor.
Before he could speak, Faust stepped forward and pulled the older man into a vigorous embrace.
"Professor!" Faust cried out for the benefit of the neighbors and the family following him. As he leaned into Hendrik's ear, his voice dropped to a sharp, urgent whisper. "Help me. For the world, you are my teacher from the University. I am your humble assistant, Faust. Play along."
Hendrik stiffened, then slowly relaxed, his mind racing to catch up with the impossible sight. He stepped back, patting Faust on the shoulder with trembling hands.
"Ah... yes! Faust! My most... diligent pupil," Hendrik stammered, his voice thin. "Come in, come in. Out of the damp."
They were led into a warm parlor filled with the scent of beeswax and old paper. A woman, Marta, came in carrying a tray of tea. She was elegant, her face lined with the grace of middle age.
When she saw Faust, she nearly dropped the tray.
"Doctor Faust?" she whispered, her eyes searching his face.
Twenty years ago, Marta had been a patient at the university clinic where Faust presided.
She had suffered from a rare respiratory consumption that Hendrik, then a student under Faust's watchful eye, had successfully treated.
It had been the start of their romance.
Hendrik quickly took her by the hand after setting the tea down, and cued with his eyes to Faust.
Lola watched the exchange with a keen, suspicious eye, her hand resting habitually on the hilt of her rapier.
She didn't miss the way the "Professor" looked at Faust with the eyes of a frightened child looking at a giant.
Faust had followed them deeper into the house, where the family of Francissco couldn't hear them.
"Marta, please!" he was whisperring to loudly at his wife.
"It is a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Marta," Faust said, inclining his head.
"But... how?" she murmured. "Professor, I remember you from the lectures when Hendrik was just a boy. You were a man of standing then. You should be... well, you should be in your nineties. You look as if..."
Hendrik stepped in quickly, catching his wife's gaze.
"Marta, dear, the Doctor has... You, have such a good memory, ha-ha. I'll explain everything to you later, for now, Professor, Faust is my student. He seems to have his reasons."
"Thank you, Hendrik, you did not change at all, such a kind man," Faust chuckled.
They came back laughing, as if it was just a casual conversation.
Faust quickly steered the conversation toward Mateus, who was slumped in a chair, his face grey with pain.
Hendrik examined the shoulder, but as he peeled back the dressing, his hands began to shake.
He looked at the black, necrotic flesh and then back at Faust.
"I... I cannot do this, Faust," Hendrik whispered, leaning back. "I am sorry... but age has taken its toll. My eyes are dimming, and my hands... they are not the steady tools I taught you with. I am a little awkward now."
It was a strange sight: the man who looked like an elder apologizing to the man who looked like a youth for being too old.
"I know," Faust said gently, placing a hand on Hendrik's shoulder. "That is why I am here. I will do the cutting. I will do the stitching."
Faust turned to the group.
"We need a proper theater. The university or the city hospital. Somewhere with the right light and the right tools."
Hendrik nodded slowly, wiping sweat from his brow.
"The University theater is available to me. We can claim it is a 'demonstration' for the senior students. But Faust..."
"Prepare the theater for tomorrow at dawn," Faust said, his voice regaining that cold, professor-like steel. "And we'll need a place to live in for a couple of days. "
Faust smiled at Hendrik.