Moving pictures

'Up your end, Dean!'

The wizards grunted with effort.

'-and, mm, I can remember it as if it was only yesterday, the look on his face when?'

'Now lower away!'

The iron-shod wheels clanged gently on the cobbles of the alley.

Poons nodded amiably. 'Great times. Great times,' he muttered, and fell asleep.

The wizards climbed slowly and unsteadily over the wall, ample backsides gleaming in the moonlight, and stood wheezing gently on the far side.

'Tell me, Dean,' said the Lecturer, leaning on the wall to stop the shaking in his legs, 'have we made . . . the wall . . . higher in the last fifty years?'

'I . . . don't . . . think . . . so.'

'Odd. Used to go up it like a gazelle. Not many years ago. Not many at all, really.'

The wizards wiped their foreheads and looked sheepishly at one another.

'Used to nip over for a pint or three most nights,' said the Chair.

'I used to study in the evenings,' said the Dean, primly.

The Chair narrowed his eyes.

'Yes, you always did,' he said. 'I recall.'

It was dawning on the wizards that they were outside the University, at night and without permission, for the first time in decades. A certain suppressed excitement crackled from man to man. Any watcher trained in reading body language would have been prepared to bet that, after the click, someone was going to suggest that they might as well go somewhere and have a few drinks, and then someone else would fancy a meal, and then there was always room for a few more drinks, and then it would be 5 a.m. and the city guards would be respectfully knocking on the University gates and asking if the Archchancellor would care to step down to the cells to identify some alleged wizards who were singing an obscene song in six-part harmony, and perhaps he would also care to bring some money to pay for all the damage. Because inside every old person is a young person wondering what happened.

The Chair reached up and grasped the brim of his tall, wide and floppy wizarding hat.

'Right, boys,' he said. 'Hats off.'

They de-hatted, but with reluctance. A wizard gets very attached to his pointy hat. It gives him a sense of identity. But, as the Chair had pointed out earlier, if people knew you were a wizard because you were wearing a pointy hat, then if you took the pointy hat off, they'd think you were just some rich merchant or something.

The Dean shuddered. 'It feels like I've taken all my clothes off,' he said.

'We can tuck them in under Poons' blanket,' said the Chair. 'No­one'll know it's us.'

'Yes,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, 'but will we?'

'They'll just think we're, well, solid burghers.'

'That's just what I feel like,' said the Dean. 'A solid

burgher.'j

'Or merchants,' said the Chair. He smoothed back his white hair.

'Remember,' he said, 'if anyone says anything, we're not wizards. Just honest merchants out for an enjoyable evening, right?'