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Cutangle shook his head. “The river's flooding,” he said. “It's a million-to-one chance.”
Granny smiled grimly. It was the sort of smile that wolves ran away from. Granny grasped her broomstick purposefully.
“Million-to-one chances,” she said, “crop up nine times out of ten.”
There are storms that are frankly theatrical, all sheet lightning and metallic thunder rolls. There are storms that are tropical and sultry, and incline to hot winds and fireballs. But this was a storm of the Circle Sea plains, and its main ambition was to hit the ground with as much rain as possible. It was the kind of storm that suggests that the whole sky has swallowed a diuretic. The thunder and lightning hung around in the background, supplying a sort of chorus, but the rain was the star of the show. It tap-danced across the land.
The grounds of the University stretched right down to the river. By day they were a neat formal pattern of gravel paths and hedges, but in the middle of a wet wild night the hedges seemed to have moved and the paths had simply gone off somewhere to stay dry.
A weak wyrdlight shone inefficiently among the dripping leaves. But most of the rain found its way through anyway.
“Can you use one of them wizard fireballs?”
“Have a heart, madam.”
“Are you sure she would have come this way?”
“There's a sort of jetty thing down here somewhere, unless I'm lost.”
There was the sound of a heavy body blundering wetly into a bush, and then a splash.
“I've found the river, anyway.”
Granny Weatherwax peered through the soaking darkness. She could hear a roaring and could dimly make out the white crests of floodwater. There was also the distinctive river smell of the Ankh, which suggested that several armies had used it first as a urinal and then as a sepulchre.
Cutangle splashed dejectedly towards her.
“This is foolishness,” he said, “meaning no offence, madam. But it'll be out to sea on this flood. And I'll die of cold.”
“You can't get any wetter than you are now. Anyway, you walk wrong for rain.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You go all hunched up, you fight it, that's not the way. You shouldwell, move between the drops.” And, indeed, Granny seemed to be merely damp.
“I'll bear that in mind. Come on, madam. It's me for a roaring fire and a glass of something hot and wicked.”
Granny sighed. “I don't know. Somehow I expected to see it sticking out of the mud, or something. Not just all this water.”
Cutangle patted her gently on the shoulder.
“There may be something else we can do -” he began, and was interrupted by a zip of lightning and another roll of thunder.
“I said maybe there's something -” he began again.
“What was that I saw?” demanded Granny.
“What was what?” said Cutangle, bewildered.
“Give me some light!”
The wizard sighed wetly, and extended a hand. A bolt of golden fire shot out across the foaming water and hissed into oblivion.
“There!” said Granny triumphantly.
“It's just a boat,” said Cutangle. “The boys use them in the summer -”
He waded after Granny's determined figure as fast as he could.
