He let himself fall into a stoop and let a little crackle enter his voice.
“But I’m rather unsteady on my legs these days,” he quavered. “It would really be a great favor if someone could help me along. Could you see me as far as the University, young lady?”
“Ludmilla doesn’t go out much these days because her health—” Mrs. Cake began briskly.
“Is absolutely fine,” said Ludmilla. “Mother, you know it’s been a whole day since full moo—”
“Ludmilla!”
“Well, it has.”
“It’s not safe for a young woman to walk the streets these days,” said Mrs. Cake.
“But Mr. Poons’ wonderful dog would frighten away the most dangerous criminal,” said Ludmilla.
On cue, Lupine barked helpfully and begged. Mrs. Cake regarded him critically.
“He’s certainly a very obedient animal,” she said, reluctantly.
“That’s settled, then,” said Ludmilla. “I’ll fetch my shawl.”
Lupine rolled over. Windle nudged him with a foot.
“Be good,” he said.
There was a meaningful cough from One-Man-Bucket.
“All right, all right,” said Mrs. Cake. She took a bundle of matches from the dresser, lit one absent-mindedly with her fingernail, and dropped it into the whiskey glass. It burned with a blue flame, and somewhere in the spirit world the specter of a stiff double lasted just long enough.
As Windle Poone left the house, he thought he could hear a ghostly voice raised in song.
The trolley stopped. It swiveled from side to side, as if observing the wizards. Then it did a fast three-point turn and trundled off at high speed.
“Get it!” bellowed the Archchancellor.
He aimed his staff and got off a fireball which turned a small area of cobblestones into something yellow and bubbly. The speeding trolley rocked wildly but kept going, with one wheel rattling and squeaking.
“It’s from the Dungeon Dimensions!” said the Dean. “Cream the basket!”
The Archchancellor laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be daft. Dungeon Things have a lot more tentacles and things. They don’t look made.”
They turned at the sound of another trolley. It rattled unconcernedly down a side passage, stopped when it saw or otherwise perceived the wizards, and did a creditable impression of a trolley that had just been left there by someone.
The Bursar crept up to it.
“It’s no use you looking like that,” he said. “We know you can move.”
“We all seed you,” said the Dean.
The trolley maintained a low profile.
“It can’t be thinking,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. “There’s no room for a brain.”
“Who says it’s thinking?” said the Archchancellor. “All it does is move. Who needs brains for that? Prawns move.”
He ran his fingers over the metalwork.
“Actually, prawns are quite intell—” the Senior Wrangler began.