Once upon a time there was a corner office in a large university building, full of offices that belonged to the humanities faculty. Many European and More Confusing language departments had offices there, as well as Art and History, and a number of auditoriums on the lower floors which were full of undergraduates who never seemed to chew gum but always left it behind them.

Near the top floor, in a corner office at the end of a warren of corridors there is an explosion of books and a computer and a man with glasses. The man is very shrewd about human nature and very kind to everybody, two qualities that usually don’t go together.

“Come in,” he said when I knocked. I opened the door and mumbled carefully past the books in the entranceway to find the office already occupied by another student whom I knew. I apologised for interrupting and explained that I was only there to return my graded essay. I manoeuvred around a stack of books to sign a form saying I’d seen my grade and by the time I was done my classmate, too, was about to go.

On the way out, but not visible on the way in, is a row of postcards of sculpted faces from cathedrals in Germany. The only one with any real character is exactly where it would catch the eye the most; a smirking little fellow with a crown, looking straight at the viewer.

“Ha, ha. What a cheeky little fellow! I like him the best,” said my classmate as it caught her eye. Our lecturer rose from his chair to see us out of the office. “I always thought he was a bit creepy,” I said as I readjusted my shoulder strap, giving the smirker my best librarian-style glare. My classmate was out of the office, texting on her cell phone, and probably didn’t hear.

The professor looked the postcard and gave me a funny smile, pointing to the caption, which was in German with a tiny line of English translation underneath: “The Prince of this World”.