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“On that?”
“Of course. Don't wizards fly on their staffs?”
“It's rather undignified.”
“If I can put up with that, so can you.”
“Yes, but is it safe?”
Granny gave him a withering look.
“Do you mean in the absolute sense?” she asked. “Or, say, compared with staying behind on a melting ice floe?”
“This is the first time I have ever ridden on a broomstick,” said Cutangle.
“Really.”
“I thought you just had to get on them and they flew,” said the wizard. “I didn't know you had to do all that running up and down and shouting at them.”
“It's a knack,” said Granny.
“I thought they went faster,” Cutangle continued, “and, to be frank, higher.”
“What do you mean, higher?” asked Granny, trying to compensate for the wizard's weight on the pillion as they turned back upriver. Like pillion passengers since the dawn of time, he persisted in leaning the wrong way.
“Well, more sort of above the trees,” said Cutangle, ducking as a dripping branch swept his hat away.
“There's nothing wrong with this broomstick that you losing a few stone wouldn't cure,” snapped Granny. “Or would you rather get off and walk?”
“Apart from the fact that half the time my feet are touching the ground anyway,” said Cutangle. “I wouldn't want to embarrass you. If someone had asked me to list all the perils of flying, you know, it would never have occurred to me to include having one's legs whipped to death by tall bracken.”
“Are you smoking?” said Granny, staring grimly ahead. “Something's burning.”
“It was just to calm my nerves what with all this headlong plunging through the air, madam.”
“Well, put it out this minute. And hold on.”
The broomstick lurched upwards and increased its speed to that of a geriatric jogger.
“Mr Wizard.”
“Hallo?”
“When I said hold on -”
“Yes?”
“I didn't mean there.”
There was a pause.
“Oh. Yes. I see. I'm terribly sorry.”
“That's all right.”
“My memory isn't what it was . . . I assure you . . . no offence meant.”
“None taken.”
