'Never felt better!'
'Old Arthur Crank's always doing that,' said the watchman. 'He's just after tobacco money. Still, everyone clapped when he carried you down. It's amazing how he can still climb drainpipes like that.'
'Is it really... ?' William felt oddly empty.
'It was great when you were sick. I mean, from four storeys up it looked quite pretty. Someone ought to have taken a picture--'
'Got to be going!' William screamed.
I must be going mad, he thought, as he hurried towards Gleam Street. Why the hell did I do it? It wasn't as if it was my business.
Except, come to think of it, it is now.
Mr Tulip burped. 'What're we going to do now?' he said.
Mr Pin had acquired a map of the city and was examining it closely.
'We are not your old-style bother boys, Mr Tulip. We are thinking men. We learn. We learn fast.'
'What're we going to do now?' Mr Tulip repeated. Sooner or later he'd be able to catch up.
'We're going to buy ourselves a little insurance, that's what we're going to do. I don't like no lawyer having all that muck on us. Ah... here we are. It's the other side of the University.'
'We're going to buy some magic?' said Mr Tulip.
'Not exactly magic.'
'I fort you said this city was a --ing pushover?'
'It has its good points, Mr Tulip.'
Mr Tulip grinned. '--ing right,' he said. 'I want to go back to the Museum of Antiquities!'
'Now, now, Mr Tulip. Business first, pleasure later,' said Mr Pin.
'I want to --ing see all of 'em!'
'Later on. Later on. Can you wait twenty minutes without exploding?'
The map led them to the Thaumatological Park, just hubwards of Unseen University. It was still so new that the modern flat-roofed buildings, winners of several awards from the Guild of Architects, hadn't even begun to let in water and shed window panes in a breeze.
An attempt had been made to pretty up the immediate area with grass and trees, but since the site had been built partly on the old ground known as the 'unreal estate' this had not worked as planned. The area had been a dump for Unseen University for thousands of years. There was a lot more below that turf than old mutton bones, and magic leaks. On any map of thaumic pollution the unreal estate would be the centre of some extremely concentric circles.
Already the grass was multi-coloured and some of the trees had walked away.
Nevertheless, several businesses were thriving there, products of what the Archchancellor, or at least his speech writer, had called 'a marriage between magic and modern business; after all, the modern world doesn't need very many magic rings and magic swords, but it does need some way to keep its appointments in order. Lot of garbage, really, but I suppose it makes everyone happy. Is it time for that lunch yet?'
One of the results of this joyful union was now on the counter in front of Mr Pin.
'It's the Mk II,' said the wizard, who was glad there was a counter between him and Mr Tulip. 'Er... cutting edge.'
'That's good,' said Mr Tulip. 'We --ing love cutting edges.'
'How does it work?' said Mr Pin.
'It's got contextual help,' said the wizard. 'All you have to do is, er, open the lid.'
To the wizard's horror a very thin knife appeared magically in his customer's hand and was used to release the catch.