Equal Rites

The floor under Esk’s feet was undoubtedly wooden. She kicked it hard to make sure.

There was blood on the floor, and Simon lay very quietly in the centre of it. Esk stared down at him, and then up at the still air, and then at the staff. It looked smug.

She was aware of distant voices and hurrying feet.

A hand like a fine leather glove slipped gently into hers and a voice behind said “Ook,” very softly. She turned, and found herself staring down into the gentle, inner-tube face of the librarian. He put his finger to his lips in an unmistakable gesture and tugged gently at her hand.

“I’ve killed him!” she whispered.

The librarian shook his head, and tugged insistently.

“Ook,” he explained, “Ook.”

He dragged her reluctantly down a side alleyway in the maze of ancient shelving a few seconds before a party of senior wizards, drawn by the noise, rounded the corner.

“The books have been fighting again…”

“Oh no! It’ll take ages to capture all the spells again, you know they go and find places to hide…”

“Who’s that on the floor?”

There was a pause.

“He’s knocked out. A shelf caught him, by the looks of it.”

“Who is he?”

“That new lad. You know, the one they say has got a whole head full of brains?”

“If that shelf had been a bit closer we’d be able to see if they were right.”

“You two, get him along to the infirmary. The rest of you better get these books rounded up. Where’s the damn librarian? He ought to know better than to let a Critical Mass build up.”

Esk glanced sideways at the orangutan, who waggled his eyebrows at her. He pulled a dusty volume of gardening spells out of the shelves beside him, extracted a soft brown banana from the recess behind it, and ate it with the quiet relish of one who knows that whatever the problems are, they belong firmly to human beings.

She looked the other way, at the staff in her hand, and her lips went thin. She knew her grip hadn’t slipped. The staff had lunged at Simon, with murder in its heartwood.

* * *

The boy lay on a hard bed in a narrow room, a cold towel folded across his forehead. Treatle and Cutangle watched him carefully.

“How long has it been?” said Cutangle.

Treatle shrugged. “Three days.”

“And he hasn’t come around once?”

“No.”

Cutangle sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. Simon had never looked particularly healthy, but now his face had a horrible sunken look.

“A brilliant mind, that one,” he said. “His explanation of the fundamental principles of magic and matter—quite astounding.”

Treatle nodded.

“The way he just absorbs knowledge,” said Cutangle: “I’ve been a working wizard all my life, and somehow I never really understood magic until he explained it. So clear. So, well, obvious.”

“Everyone says that,” said Treatle gloomily. “They say it’s like having a hoodwink pulled off and seeing the daylight for the first time.”

“That’s exactly it,” said Cutangle, “He’s sourcerer material, sure enough. You were right to bring him here.”

There was a thoughtful pause.

“Only—” said Treatle.

“Only what?” asked Cutangle.

“Only what was it you understood?” said Treatle. “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 Treatle, 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 Treatle’s face. “To put it another way, any piece of matter, like an orange or the world or, or—”

“—a crocodile?” suggested Treatle.

“Yes, a crocodile, or—whatever, is basically shaped like a carrot.”

“I don’t remember that bit,” said Treatle.

“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,” Treatle insisted.

“You’re sure he didn’t mean someone else’s head?”

Treatle 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.”

Treatle 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.”