‘I could give you the kiss of life if you like,’ said Nobbs.
Unbidden by William, various muscles spasmed and jerked him vertical so fast that his feet momentarily left the ground.
‘Much better now!’ he shouted.
‘Only we learned it down the Watch House and I haven’t had a chance to try it yet …’
‘Fit as a fiddle!’ William wailed.
‘… I’ve been practising on my hand and everything …’
‘Never felt better!’
‘Old Arthur Crank’s always doing that,’ said the watchman. ‘He’s just after tobacco money. Still, everyone clapped when he carried you down. It’s amazing how he can still climb drainpipes like that.’
‘Is it really …?’ William felt oddly empty.
‘It was great when you were sick. I mean, from four storeys up it looked quite pretty. Someone ought to have taken a picture—’
‘Got to be going!’ William screamed.
I must be going mad, he thought, as he hurried towards Gleam Street. Why the hell did I do it? It wasn’t as if it was my business.
Except, come to think of it, it is now.
Mr Tulip burped. ‘What’re we going to do now?’ he said.
Mr Pin had acquired a map of the city and was examining it closely.
‘We are not your old-style bother boys, Mr Tulip. We are thinking men. We learn. We learn fast.’
‘What’re we going to do now?’ Mr Tulip repeated. Sooner or later he’d be able to catch up.
‘We’re going to buy ourselves a little insurance, that’s what we’re going to do. I don’t like no lawyer having all that muck on us. Ah … here we are. It’s the other side of the University.’
‘We’re going to buy some magic?’ said Mr Tulip.
‘Not exactly magic.’
‘I fort you said this city was a — ing pushover?’
‘It has its good points, Mr Tulip.’
Mr Tulip grinned. ‘—ing right,’ he said. ‘I want to go back to the Museum of Antiquities!’
‘Now, now, Mr Tulip. Business first, pleasure later,’ said Mr Pin.
‘I want to — ing see all of ’em!’
‘Later on. Later on. Can you wait twenty minutes without exploding?’
The map led them to the Thaumatological Park, just hubwards of Unseen University. It was still so new that the modern flat-roofed buildings, winners of several awards from the Guild of Architects, hadn’t even begun to let in water and shed window panes in a breeze.
An attempt had been made to pretty up the immediate area with grass and trees, but since the site had been built partly on the old ground known as the ‘unreal estate’ this had not worked as planned. The area had been a dump for Unseen University for thousands of years. There was a lot more below that turf than old mutton bones, and magic leaks. On any map of thaumic pollution the unreal estate would be the centre of some extremely concentric circles.
Already the grass was multicoloured and some of the trees had walked away.
Nevertheless, several businesses were thriving there, products of what the Archchancellor, or at least his speech writer, had called ‘a marriage between magic and modern business; after all, the modern world doesn’t need very many magic rings and magic swords, but it does need some way to keep its appointments in order. Lot of garbage, really, but I suppose it makes everyone happy. Is it time for that lunch yet?’
One of the results of this joyful union was now on the counter in front of Mr Pin.
‘It’s the Mk II,’ said the wizard, who was glad there was a counter between him and Mr Tulip. ‘Er … cutting edge.’
‘That’s good,’ said Mr Tulip. ‘We — ing love cutting edges.’
‘How does it work?’ said Mr Pin.
‘It’s got contextual help,’ said the wizard. ‘All you have to do is, er, open the lid.’
To the wizard’s horror a very thin knife appeared magically in his customer’s hand and was used to release the catch.
The lid sprang back. A small green imp sprang up.
‘Bingely-bingely-bee—’
It froze. Even a creation of biothaumic particles will hesitate when a knife is pressed to its throat.
‘What the hell’s this?’ said Mr Pin. ‘I said I want something that listens!’
‘It does listen, it does listen!’ said the wizard hurriedly. ‘But it can say things too!’
‘Like what? Bingely-bingely?’
The imp gave a nervous cough. ‘Good for you!’ it said. ‘You have wisely purchased the Dis-organizer Mk II, the latest in biothaumaturgic design, with a host of useful features and no resemblance whatsoever to the Mk I which you may have inadvertently destroyed by stamping on it heavily!’ it said, adding,
‘This device is provided without warranty of any kind as to reliability, accuracy, existence or otherwise or fitness for any particular purpose and Bioalchemic Products specifically does not warrant, guarantee, imply or make any representations as to its merchantability for any particular purpose and furthermore shall have no liability for or responsibility to you or any other person, entity or deity with respect of any loss or damage whatsoever caused by this device or object or by any attempts to destroy it by hammering it against a wall or dropping it into a deep well or any other means whatsoever and moreover asserts that you indicate your acceptance of this agreement or any other agreement that may be substituted at any time by coming within five miles of the product or observing it through large telescopes or by any other means because you are such an easily cowed moron who will happily accept arrogant and unilateral conditions on a piece of highly priced garbage that you would not dream of accepting on a bag of dog biscuits and is used solely at your own risk.’
The imp took a deep breath. ‘May I introduce to you the rest of my wide range of interesting and amusing sounds, Insert Name Here?’
Mr Pin glanced at Mr Tulip. ‘All right.’
‘For example, I can go “tra-la!”’
‘No.’
‘An amusing bugle call?’
‘No.’
‘“Ding!”?’
‘No.’
‘Or I can be instructed to make droll and diverting comments when performing various actions.’
‘Why?’
‘Er … some people like us to say things like “I’ll be back when you open the box again”, or something like that …’
‘Why do you do noises?’ said Mr Pin.
‘People like noises.’
‘We don’t,’ said Mr Pin.
‘We — ing hate noises,’ said Mr Tulip.
‘Good for you! I can do lots of silence,’ the imp volunteered. But suicidal programming forced it to continue: ‘And would you like a different colour scheme?’
‘What?’
‘What colour would you like me to be?’ As it spoke, one of the imp’s long ears slowly turned purple and its nose became a vaguely disquieting shade of blue.
‘We don’t want any colours,’ said Mr Pin. ‘We don’t want noises. We don’t want cheerfulness. We just want you to do what you’re told.’
‘Perhaps you would like to take a moment to fill in your registration card?’ said the imp desperately, holding it up.
A knife thrown at snake speed snapped the card out of its hand and nailed it to the desk.
‘Or perhaps you would like to leave it until later …’
‘Your man here—’ Mr Pin began. ‘Where did he go?’
Mr Tulip reached behind the counter and hauled up the wizard.
‘Your man here says you’re one of those imps that can repeat everything you hear,’ said Pin.
‘Yes, Insert Name Here, sir,’ said the imp.