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“Only -”said Trestle.
“Only what?” asked Cutangle.
“Only what was it you understood?” said Trestle. “That's what's bothering me. I mean, can you explain it?”
“How do you mean, explain?” Cutangle looked worried.
“What he keeps talking about,” said Trestle, a hint of desperation in his voice. “Oh, it's the genuine stuff, I know. But what exactly is it?”
Cutangle looked at him, his mouth open. Eventually he said, “Oh, that's easy. Magic fills the universe, you see, and every time the universe changes, no, I mean every time magic is invoked, the universe changes, only in every direction at once, d'you see, and -” he moved his hands uncertainly, trying to recognise a spark of comprehension in Trestle's face. “To put it another way, any piece of matter, like an orange or the world or, or -”
“- a crocodile?” suggested Trestle.
“Yes, a crocodile, or - whatever, is basically shaped like a carrot.”
“I don't remember that bit,” said Trestle.
“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,” Trestle insisted.
“You're sure he didn't mean someone else's head?”
Trestle 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.”
Trestle 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 Trestle 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?”
