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Authors: K. E. Mills
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first step towards the solace of alcohol a hearty cry nailed his feet to the floor.
'1 say,
look
who's finally crawled out of hiding!
DunnywoodV
Damn. Haythwaite was never going to tire of that stupid play on words. Whose bright idea was it anyway to nickname any outside toilet a
dunny?
And why wasn't toilet humour beneath Errol, along with servants, Third Grade wizards and anybody who couldn't trace his family tree back to the packet the seed came in?
If only he could ignore the man ... but that, sadly, was out of the question. Third Grade wizards did
not
snub First Graders in public, with witnesses. Not if they ever wanted to work as a wizard again.
He turned, grittily polite. 'Good evening, Errol. What a surprise to find you here. And it's
Dunwoody!
Errol Haythwaite, tall, thin and elegantly saturnine, waved a negligent hand. 'Of course it is,' he drawled nasally. 'I say, come and join us why don't you, old bean?'
'Thanks, Errol, but -'
'No, really,' said Haythwaite. Even trom a distance it was clear the smile on his lips wasn't touching his eyes. 'I insist.'
Of course he did. Reluctantly Gerald joined the gruesome trio at the fireplace.'Yes?'
Typically perverse, Haythwaite ignored him. As though he was a butler, or Mr Pinchgut. '-
how
many times I have to say no. I mean, it's all very well the Potentate of Aframbigi offering me the position of Wizard at Large, but the old boy s put a few noses out of joint down at the Department and there's a whisper of sanctions.'
'Then of course you can't accept,' said Cobcroft Minor, reaching to the cake cart for a jammy doughnut. 'Once you've fallen foul of the Department it's all over. One might as well shut up shop and find a job in the provinces as a tailor, or something equally menial!'
As Haythwaite and Co chortled merrily, carefully not looking at him, Gerald swallowed a string of expletives. 'Well, it's been wonderful catching up with you, Errol, but -'
'Not so fast,' said Haythwaite, whose cut-glass accent had acquired a new and sharper edge. 'I've a little something to say to you.'
Sarkiness was unwise but he couldn't help it. The remnants of his self-respect demanded he not play the doormat. 'Sometime this century, I hope.'
Despite the leaping flames in the fireplace and the general air of warm crony camaraderie, the ambient temperature dropped ten degrees. Haythwaite's pale green eyes narrowed. 'I wouldn't go trying to be clever, Gerald. Not if I were you. Not after your recent debacle.'
'It was an accident, Errol.'
Kirkby-Hackett snorted. There was a gobbet of chocolate sauce on his receding chin. 'So was granting you a wizard's licence, Dunnywood.'
This time he bit his tongue. Seriously antagonising these three would be ... unhelpful. Between them, their prestigious families had fingers in every last one of Ottosland's wizardly pies ... and at least a half-dozen more abroad. If he didn't endure the insults he really would be headed home for a life of provincial tailoring.
Haythwaite leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. 'Next week, Gerald, I'm to be inducted into the Masterful Company of Wizards.'
'I know, Errol. Didn't you receive my note of congratulations?'
The note was waved away like so much grubby scrap paper. 'The Masterful Company, Gerald, is the most exclusive wizarding organisation in the country, if not the world.' Haythwaite's expression was mild, his voice mellow, but even so Gerald flinched; Errol's impeccably well-bred urbanity never quite managed to hide the pirate within. 'Membership is restricted to First Class wizards, naturally, and is achieved by invitation after nomination by an existing member, a rigorous selection process and personal scrutiny by the committee. Presidents and prime ministers have been known not to make the cut. An invitation to join the Masterful Company of Wizards, Gerald, is an honour to which few may aspire.' The look on his face added,
And you're not one of them.
Somehow, he managed to keep his
'1 say,
look
who's finally crawled out of hiding!
DunnywoodV
Damn. Haythwaite was never going to tire of that stupid play on words. Whose bright idea was it anyway to nickname any outside toilet a
dunny?
And why wasn't toilet humour beneath Errol, along with servants, Third Grade wizards and anybody who couldn't trace his family tree back to the packet the seed came in?
If only he could ignore the man ... but that, sadly, was out of the question. Third Grade wizards did
not
snub First Graders in public, with witnesses. Not if they ever wanted to work as a wizard again.
He turned, grittily polite. 'Good evening, Errol. What a surprise to find you here. And it's
Dunwoody!
Errol Haythwaite, tall, thin and elegantly saturnine, waved a negligent hand. 'Of course it is,' he drawled nasally. 'I say, come and join us why don't you, old bean?'
'Thanks, Errol, but -'
'No, really,' said Haythwaite. Even trom a distance it was clear the smile on his lips wasn't touching his eyes. 'I insist.'
Of course he did. Reluctantly Gerald joined the gruesome trio at the fireplace.'Yes?'
Typically perverse, Haythwaite ignored him. As though he was a butler, or Mr Pinchgut. '-
how
many times I have to say no. I mean, it's all very well the Potentate of Aframbigi offering me the position of Wizard at Large, but the old boy s put a few noses out of joint down at the Department and there's a whisper of sanctions.'
'Then of course you can't accept,' said Cobcroft Minor, reaching to the cake cart for a jammy doughnut. 'Once you've fallen foul of the Department it's all over. One might as well shut up shop and find a job in the provinces as a tailor, or something equally menial!'
As Haythwaite and Co chortled merrily, carefully not looking at him, Gerald swallowed a string of expletives. 'Well, it's been wonderful catching up with you, Errol, but -'
'Not so fast,' said Haythwaite, whose cut-glass accent had acquired a new and sharper edge. 'I've a little something to say to you.'
Sarkiness was unwise but he couldn't help it. The remnants of his self-respect demanded he not play the doormat. 'Sometime this century, I hope.'
Despite the leaping flames in the fireplace and the general air of warm crony camaraderie, the ambient temperature dropped ten degrees. Haythwaite's pale green eyes narrowed. 'I wouldn't go trying to be clever, Gerald. Not if I were you. Not after your recent debacle.'
'It was an accident, Errol.'
Kirkby-Hackett snorted. There was a gobbet of chocolate sauce on his receding chin. 'So was granting you a wizard's licence, Dunnywood.'
This time he bit his tongue. Seriously antagonising these three would be ... unhelpful. Between them, their prestigious families had fingers in every last one of Ottosland's wizardly pies ... and at least a half-dozen more abroad. If he didn't endure the insults he really would be headed home for a life of provincial tailoring.
Haythwaite leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. 'Next week, Gerald, I'm to be inducted into the Masterful Company of Wizards.'
'I know, Errol. Didn't you receive my note of congratulations?'
The note was waved away like so much grubby scrap paper. 'The Masterful Company, Gerald, is the most exclusive wizarding organisation in the country, if not the world.' Haythwaite's expression was mild, his voice mellow, but even so Gerald flinched; Errol's impeccably well-bred urbanity never quite managed to hide the pirate within. 'Membership is restricted to First Class wizards, naturally, and is achieved by invitation after nomination by an existing member, a rigorous selection process and personal scrutiny by the committee. Presidents and prime ministers have been known not to make the cut. An invitation to join the Masterful Company of Wizards, Gerald, is an honour to which few may aspire.' The look on his face added,
And you're not one of them.
Somehow, he managed to keep his
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