While they were eating their lunch it began to rain. They sheltered under a chestnut tree, but the rain didn’t stop and drips began to seep between the broad leaves.
“Oh, Jeff, please stop it!”
Geoffrey felt under his jerkin for the gold robe, but didn’t put it on. He realized, with a shock of regret, that now that the Necromancer lay asleep again other things had settled back into place, and his own powers were gone. Nothing that he could do would alter the steady march of weeping clouds, or call down perfect summers, or summon snow for Christmas. Not ever again.
And the English air would soon be reeking with petrol fumes.