“I don’t remember that bit,” said Treatle.
“I’m sure that’s what he said,” said Cutangle. He was starting to sweat.
“No, I remember the bit where he seemed to suggest that if you went far enough in any direction you would see the back of your head,” Treatle insisted.
“You’re sure he didn’t mean someone else’s head?”
Treatle thought for a bit.
“No, I’m pretty sure he said the back of your own head,” he said. “I think he said he could prove it.”
They considered this in silence.
Finally Cutangle spoke, very slowly and carefully.
“I look at it all like this,” he said. “Before I heard him talk, I was like everyone else. You know what I mean? I was confused and uncertain about all the little details of life. But now,” he brightened up, “while I’m still confused and uncertain it’s on a much higher plane, d’you see, and at least I know I’m bewildered about the really fundamental and important facts of the universe.”
Treatle nodded. “I hadn’t looked at it like that,” he said, “but you’re absolutely right. He’s really pushed back the boundaries of ignorance. There’s so much about the universe we don’t know.”
They both savoured the strange warm glow of being much more ignorant than ordinary people, who were ignorant of only ordinary things.
Then Treatle said: “I just hope he’s all right. He’s over the fever but he just doesn’t seem to want to wake up.”
A couple of servants came in with a bowl of water and fresh towels. One of them carried a rather tatty broomstick. As they began to change the sweat-soaked sheets under the boy the two wizards left, still discussing the vast vistas of unknowingness that Simon’s genius had revealed to the world.
Granny waited until their footsteps had died away and took off her headscarf.
“Damn thing,” she said. “Esk, go and listen at the door.” She removed the towel from Simon’s head and felt his temperature.
“It was very good of you to come,” said Esk. “And you so busy with your work, and everything.”
“Mmmph.” Granny pursed her lips. She pulled up Simon’s eyelids and sought his pulse. She laid an ear on his xylophone chest and listened to his heart. She sat for some time quite motionless, probing around inside his head.
She frowned.
“Is he all right?” said Esk anxiously.
Granny looked at the stone walls.
“Drat this place,” she said. “It’s no place for sick people.”
“Yes, but is he all right?”
“What?” Granny was startled out of her thoughts. “Oh. Yes. Probably. Wherever he is.”
Esk stared at her, and then at Simon’s body.
“Nobody’s home,” said Granny, simply.
“What do you mean?”
“Listen to the child,” said Granny. “You’d think I taught her nothing. I mean his mind’s Wandering. He’s gone Out of his Head.”
She looked at Simon’s body with something verging on admiration.
“Quite surprisin’, really,” she added. “I never yet met a wizard who could Borrow.”
She turned to Esk, whose mouth was a horrified O.
“I remember when I was a girl, old Nanny Annaple went Wanderin’. Got too wrapped up with being a vixen, as I recall. Took us days to find her. And then there was you, too. I never would have found you if it wasn’t for that staff thing, and—what have you done with it, girl?”
“It hit him,” Esk muttered. “It tried to kill him. I threw it in the river.”
“Not a nice thing to do to it after it saved you,” said Granny.
“It saved me by hitting him?”
“Didn’t you realise? He was callin’ to—them Things.”
“That’s not true!”
Granny stared into Esk’s defiant eyes and the thought came to her mind: I’ve lost her. Three years of work down the privy. She couldn’t be a wizard but she might have been a witch.
“Why isn’t it true, Miss Clever?” she said.
“He wouldn’t do something like that!” Esk was near to tears. “I heard him speak, he’s—well, he’s not evil, he’s a brilliant person, he nearly understands how everything works, he’s—”
“I expect he’s a very nice boy,” said Granny sourly. “I never said he was a black wizard, did I?”
“They’re horrible Things!” Esk sobbed. “He wouldn’t call out to them, he wants everything that they’re not, and you’re a wicked old—”
The slap rang like a bell. Esk staggered back, white with shock. Granny stood with her hand upraised, trembling.
She’d struck Esk once before—the blow a baby gets to introduce it to the world and give it a rough idea of what to expect from life. But that had been the last time. In their years under the same roof there had been cause enough, when milk had been left to boil over or the goats had been carelessly left without water, but a sharp word or a sharper silence had done more than force ever could and left no bruises.
She grabbed Esk firmly by the shoulders and stared into her eyes.
“Listen to me,” she said urgently. “Didn’t I always say to you that if you use magic you should go through the world like a knife goes through water? Didn’t I say that?”
Esk, mesmerized like a cornered rabbit, nodded.
“And you thought that was just old Granny’s way, didn’t you? But the fact is that if you use magic you draw attention to yourself. From Them. They watch the world all the time. Ordinary minds are just vague to them, they hardly bother with them, but a mind with magic in it shines out, you see, it’s a beacon to them. It’s not darkness that calls Them, it’s light, light that creates the shadows!”
“But—but—why are They interested? What do They w-want?”
“Life and shape,” said Granny.
She sagged, and let go of Esk.
“They’re pathetic, really,” she said. “They’ve got no life or shape themselves but what they can steal. They could no more survive in this world than a fish could live in a fire, but that doesn’t stop Them trying. And they’re just bright enough to hate us because we’re alive.”
Esk shivered. She remember the gritty feel of the cold sand.
“What are They? I always thought they were just a sort—a sort of demon?”
“Nah. No one really knows. They’re just the Things from the Dungeon Dimensions outside the universe, that’s all. Shadow creatures.”
She turned back to the prone form of Simon.
“You wouldn’t have any idea where he is, would you?” she said, looking shrewdly at Esk. “Not gone off flying with the seagulls, has he?”
Esk shook her head.
“No,” said Granny, “I didn’t think so. They’ve got him, haven’t they.”
It wasn’t a question. Esk nodded, her face a mask of misery.
“It’s not your fault,” said Granny, “His mind gave Them an opening, and when he was knocked out they took it back with them. Only…”
She drummed her fingers on the edge of the bed, and appeared to reach a decision.
“Who’s the most important wizard around here?” she demanded.
“Um, Lord Cutangle,” said Esk. “He’s the Archchancellor. He was one of the ones who was in here.”
“The fat one, or the one like a streak of vinegar?”
Esk dragged her mind from the image of Simon on the cold desert and found herself saying: “He’s an Eighth Level wizard and a 33-degree mage, actually.”
“You mean he’s bent?” said Granny. “All this hanging around wizards has made you take them seriously, my girl. They all call themselves the Lord High this and the Imperial That, it’s all part of the game. Even magicians do
