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“The child must hold it,” said Drum Billet. The smith nodded, and fumbled in the blanket until he located a tiny pink hand. He guided it gently to the wood. It gripped it tightly.
“But -”said the midwife.
“It's all right, Granny, I know what I'm about. She's a witch, sir, don't mind her. Right,” said the smith. “Now what?”
The wizard was silent.
“What do we don-”the smith began, and stopped. He leaned down to look at the old wizard's face. Billet was smiling, but it was anyone's guess what the joke was.
The smith pushed the baby back into the arms of the frantic midwife. Then, as respectfully as possible, he unpried the thin, pale fingers from the staff.
It had a strange, greasy feel, like static electricity. The wood itself was almost black, but the carvings were slightly lighter, and hurt the eyes if you tried to make out precisely what they were supposed to be.
“Are you pleased with yourself?” said the midwife.
“Eh? Oh. Yes. As a matter of fact, yes. Why?”
She twitched aside a fold of the blanket. The smith looked down, and swallowed.
“No,” he whispered. “He said -”
“And what would he know about it?” sneered Granny.
“But he said it would be a son!”
“Doesn't look like a son to me, laddie.”
The smith flopped down on his stool, his head in his hands.
“What have I done?” he moaned.
“You've given the world its first female wizard,” said the midwife. “Whosa itsywitsy, den?”
“What?”
“I was talking to the baby.”
The white cat purred and arched its back as if it was rubbing up against the legs of an old friend. Which was odd, because there was no one there.
“I was foolish,” said a voice in tones no mortal could hear. “I assumed the magic would know what it was doing.”
PERHAPS IT DOES.
“If only I could do something . . . .”
THERE IS NO GOING BACK. THERE IS NO GOING BACK, said the deep, heavy voice like the closing of crypt doors.
The wisp of nothingness that was Drum Billet thought for a while.
“But she's going to have a lot of problems.”
THAT'S WHAT LIFE IS ALL ABOUT. SO I'M TOLD. I WOULDN'T KNOW, OF COURSE.
“What about reincarnation?”
ld like it to be clearly understood that this book is not wacky. Only dumb redheads in fifties' sitcoms are wacky.
No, it's not zany, either.
