‘He does not seem overly inclined to use that power,’ said Carding.
‘What about Billias and Virrid?’
‘Childish pique,’ said Carding.
The other wizards stared from him to the bursar. They were aware of something going on, and couldn’t quite put their finger on it.
The reason that wizards didn’t rule the Disc was quite simple. Hand any two wizards a piece of rope and they would instinctively pull in opposite directions. Something about their genetics or their training left them with an attitude towards mutual co-operation that made an old bull elephant with terminal toothache look like a worker ant.
Spelter spread his hands. ‘Brothers,’ he said again, ‘do you not see what has happened? Here is a gifted youth, perhaps raised in isolation out in the untutored, um, countryside, who, feeling the ancient call of the magic in his bones, has journeyed far across tortuous terrain, through who knows what perils, and at last has reached his journey’s end, alone and afraid, seeking only the steadying influence of us, his tutors, to shape and guide his talents? Who are we to turn him away, into the, um, wintry blast, shunning his-’
The oration was interrupted by Gravie blowing his nose.
‘It’s not winter,’ said one of the other wizards flatly, ‘and it’s quite a warm night.’
‘Out into the treacherously changeable spring weather,’ snarled Spelter, ‘and cursed indeed would be the man who failed, um, at this time-’
‘It’s nearly summer.’
Carding rubbed the side of his nose thoughtfully.
‘The boy has a staff,’ he said. ‘Who gave it to him? Did you ask?’
‘No,’ said Spelter, still glowering at the almanackical interjector.
Carding started to look at his fingernails in what Spelter considered to be a meaningful way.
Well, whatever the problem, I feel sure it can wait until morning,’ he said in what Spelter felt was an ostentatiously bored voice.
‘Ye gods, he blew Billias away!’ said Gravie. ‘And they say there’s nothing in Virrid’s room but soot!’
‘They were perhaps rather foolish,’ said Carding smoothly. ‘I am sure, my good brother, that you would not be defeated in affairs of the Art by a mere stripling?’
Gravie hesitated. ‘Well, er,’ he said, ‘no. Of course not.’ He looked at Carding’s innocent smile and coughed loudly. ‘Certainly not, of course. Billias was very foolish. However, some prudent caution is surely-’
‘Then let us all be cautious in the morning,’ said Carding cheerfully. ‘Brothers, let us adjourn this meeting. The boy sleeps, and in that at least he is showing us the way. This will look better in the light.’
‘I have seen things that didn’t,’ said Gravie darkly, who didn’t trust Youth. He held that no good ever came of it.
The senior wizards filed out and back to the Great Hall, where the dinner had got to the ninth course and was just getting into its stride. It takes more than a bit of magic and someone being blown to smoke in front of him to put a wizard off his food.
For some unexplained reason Spelter and Carding were the last to leave. They sat at either end of the long table, watching each other like cats. Cats can sit at either end of a lane and watch each other for hours, performing the kind of mental manoeuvring that would make a grand master appear impulsive by comparison, but cats have got nothing on wizards. Neither was prepared to make a move until he had run the entire forthcoming conversation through his mind to see if it left him a move ahead.
Spelter weakened first.
‘All wizards are brothers,’ he said. ‘We should trust one another. I have information.’ >‘Yes.’
‘Yes sir,’ snapped Spelter. Coin gave him an unblinking stare, a stare as old as time, the kind of stare that basks on rocks on volcanic islands and never gets tired. Spelter felt his mouth go dry.
Billias held out his hands for silence. Then, with a theatrical flourish, he rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and extended his hand.
The assembled wizards watched with interest. Eighth-levels were above magic, as a rule, spending most of their time in contemplation -normally of the next menu - and, of course, avoiding the attentions of ambitious wizards of the seventh-level. This should be worth seeing.
Billias grinned at the boy, who returned it with a stare that focused on a point a few inches beyond the back of the old wizard’s head.
Somewhat disconcerted, Billias flexed his fingers. Suddenly this wasn’t quite the game he had intended, and he felt an overpowering urge to impress. It was swiftly overtaken by a surge of annoyance at his own stupidity in being unnerved.
‘I shall show you,’ he said, and took a deep breath, ‘Maligree’s Wonderful Garden.’