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A minor wizard behind him started to laugh. Esk gave him a look.
“Being a witch is quite good,” she conceded. “But I think wizards have more fun. What do you think?”
“I think you are a very singular little girl,” said Cutangle.
“What does that mean?”
“It means there's only one of you,” said Trestle.
“That's right,” said Esk, “and I still want to be a wizard.”
Words failed Cutangle. “Well, you can't,” he said. “The very idea!”
He drew himself up to his full width and turned away. Something tugged at his robe.
“Why not?” said a voice.
He turned.
“Because”, he said, slowly and deliberately, “because . . . the whole idea is completely laughable, that's why. And it's absolutely against the lore!”
“But I can do wizard magic!” said Esk, the faintest suggestion of a tremble in her voice.
Cutangle bent down until his face was level with hers.
“No you can't,” he hissed. “Because you are not a wizard. Women aren't wizards, do I make myself clear?”
“Watch,” said Esk.
She extended her right hand with the fingers spread and sighted along it until she spotted the statue of Malich the Wise, the founder of the University. Instinctively the wizards between her and it edged out of the way, and then felt rather silly.
“I mean it,” she said.
“Go away, little girl,” said Cutangle.
“Right,” said Esk. She squinted hard at the statue and concentrated ....
The great doors of Unseen University are made of octiron, a metal so unstable that it can only exist in a universe saturated with raw magic. They are impregnable to all force save magic: no fire, no battering ram, no army can breach them.
Which is why most ordinary visitors to the University use the back door, which is made of perfectly normal wood and doesn't go around terrorising people, or even stand still terrorising people. It had a proper knocker and everything.
Granny examined the doorposts carefully and gave a grunt of satisfaction when she spotted what she was looking for. She hadn't doubted that it would be there, cunningly concealed by the natural grain of the wood.
She grasped the knocker, which was shaped like a dragon's head, and rapped smartly, three times. After a while the door was opened by a young woman with her mouth full of clothespegs.
“Ot o0 00 ont?” she enquired.
Granny bowed, giving the girl a chance to take in the pointy black hat with the batwing hatpins. It had an impressive effect: she blushed and, peering out into the quiet alley-way, hurriedly motioned Granny inside. There was a big mossy courtyard on the other side of the wall, crisscrossed with washing lines. Granny had the chance to become one of the very few women to learn what it really is that wizards wear under their robes, but modestly averted her eyes and followed the girl across the flagstones and down a wide flight of steps.
They led into a long, high tunnel lined with archways and, currently, full of steam. Granny caught sight of long lines of washtubs in the big rooms off to the sides; the air had the warm fat smell of ironing. A gaggle of girls carrying washbaskets pushed past her and hurried up the steps - then stopped, halfway up, and turned slowly to look at her.
Granny set her shoulders back and tried to look as mysterious as possible.
Her guide, who still hadn't got rid of her clothes-pegs, led her down a side-passage into a room that was a maze of shelves piled with laundry. In the very centre of the maze, sitting at a table, was a very fat woman with a ginger wig. She had been writing in a very large laundry book-it was still open in front of her-but was currently inspecting a large stained vest.
“Have you tried bleaching?” she asked.
“Yes, m'm,” said the maid beside her.
