'It's me, Cutwell,' said Cutwell.
'Oh, that's all right, then. You can come in.'
Cutwell pushed past the girl and tried to ignore the muffled laughter as the maid fled the room. Of course, everyone knew a wizard didn't need a chaperon. It was just the tone of the princess's 'Oh, that's all right then' that made him writhe inside.
Keli was sitting at her dressing table, brushing her hair. Very few men in the world ever find out what a princess wears under her dresses, and Cutwell joined them with extreme reluctance but with remarkable self-control. Only the frantic bobbing of his adam's apple betrayed him. There was no doubt about it, he'd be no good for magic for days.
She turned and he caught a whiff of talcum powder. For weeks, dammit, for weeks.
'You look a bit hot, Cutwell. Is something the matter?'
'Naarg.'
'I'm sorry?'
He shook himself. Concentrate on the hairbrush, man, the hairbrush. 'Just a bit of magical experimenting, ma'am. Only superficial burns.'
'Is it still moving?'
'I am afraid so.'
Keli turned back to the mirror. Her face was set.
'Have we got time?'
This was the bit he'd been dreading. He'd done everything he could. The Royal Astrologer had been sobered up long enough to insist that tomorrow was the only possible day the ceremony could take place, so Cutwell had arranged for it to begin one second after midnight. He'd ruthlessly cut the score of the royal trumpet fanfare. He'd timed the High Priest's invocation to the gods and then subedited heavily; there was going to be a row when the gods found out. The ceremony of the anointing with sacred oils had been cut to a quick dab behind the ears. Skateboards were an unknown invention on the Disc; if they hadn't been, Keli's trip up the aisle would have been unconstitutionally fast. And it still wasn't enough. He nerved himself.
'I think possibly not,' he said. 'It could be a very close thing.'
He saw her glare at him in the mirror.
'How close?'
'Um. Very.'
'Are you trying to say it might reach us at the same time as the ceremony?'
'Um. More sort of, um, before it,' said Cutwell wretchedly. There was no sound but the drumming of Keli's fingers on the edge of the table. Cutwell wondered if she was going to break down, or smash the mirror. Instead she said:
'How do you know?'
He wondered if he could get away with saying something like, I'm a wizard, we know these things, but decided against it. The last time he'd said that she'd threatened him with the axe.
'I asked one of the guards about that inn Mort talked about,' he said. Then I worked out the approximate distance it had to travel. Mort said it was moving at a slow walking pace, and I reckon his stride is about —'
'As simple as that? You didn't use magic?'
'Only common sense. It's a lot more reliable in the long run.'
She reached out and patted his hand.
'Poor old Cutwell,' she said.
'I am only twenty, ma'am.'
She stood up and walked over to her dressing room. One of the things you learn when you're a princess is always to be older than anyone of inferior rank.
'Yes, I suppose there must be such things as young wizards,' she said over her shoulder. 'It's just that people always think of them as old. I wonder why this is?'