Equal Rites - Terry Pratchett [52]
“Mrs. Palm,” said Granny cautiously. “Very respectable lady.”
“People come to visit them all night long. I watched. I’m surprised they get any sleep.”
“Um,” said Granny.
“It must be a trial for the poor woman with all those daughters to feed, too. I think people could be more considerate.”
“Well now,” said Granny, “I’m not sure that—”
She was rescued by the arrival at the gates of the University of a large, brightly painted wagon. Its driver reined in the oxen a few feet from Granny and said: “Excuse me, my good woman, but would you be so kind as to move, please?”
Granny stepped aside, affronted by this display of down-right politeness and particularly upset at being thought of as anyone’s good woman, and the driver saw Esk.
It was Treatle. He grinned like a worried snake.
“I say. It’s the young lady who thinks women should be wizards, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Esk, ignoring a sharp kick on the ankle from Granny.
“What fun. Come to join us, have you?”
“Yes,” said Esk, and then because something about Treatle’s manner seemed to demand it, she added, “sir. Only we can’t get in.”
“We?” said Treatle, and then glanced at Granny, “Oh, yes, of course. This would be your aunt?”
“My granny. Only not really my granny, just sort of everyone’s granny.”
Granny gave a stiff nod.
“Well, we cannot have this,” said Treatle, in a voice as hearty as a plum pudding. “My word, no. Our first lady wizard left on the doorstep? That would be a disgrace. May I accompany you?”
Granny grasped Esk firmly by the shoulder.
“If it’s all the same to you—” she began. But Esk twisted out of her grip and ran toward the cart.
“You can really take me in?” she said, her eyes shining.
“Of course. I am sure the heads of the Orders will be most gratified to meet you. Most astonished and astounded,” he said, and gave a little laugh.
“Eskarina Smith—” said Granny, and then stopped. She looked at Treatle.
“I don’t know what is in your mind, Mr. Wizard, but I don’t like it,” she said. “Esk, you know where we live. Be a fool if you must, but you might at least be your own fool.”
She turned on her heel and strode off across the square.
“What a remarkable woman,” said Treatle, vaguely. “I see you still have your broomstick. Capital.”
He let go of the reins for a moment and made a complicated sign in the air with both hands.
The big doors swung back, revealing a wide courtyard surrounded by lawns. Behind them was a great rambling building, or buildings: it was hard to tell, because it didn’t look so much as if it had been designed as that a lot of buttresses, arches, towers, bridges, domes, cupolas and so forth had huddled together for warmth.
“Is that it?” said Esk. “It looks sort of—melted.”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Treatle. “Alma mater, gaudy armors eagle tour and so on. Of course, it’s a lot bigger inside than out, like an iceberg or so I’m given to understand, I’ve never seen the things. Unseen University, only of course a lot of it is unseen. Just go in the back and fetch Simon, will you?”
Esk pushed aside the heavy curtains and peered into the back of the wagon. Simon was lying on a pile of rugs, reading a very large book and making notes on scraps of paper.
He looked up, and gave her a worried smile.
“Is that you?” he said.
“Yes,” said Esk, with conviction.
“We thought you’d left us. Everyone thought you were riding with everyone else and then wwwwhen we stopped—”
“I sort of caught up. I think Mr. Treatle wants you to come and look at the University.”
“We’re here?” he said, and gave her an odd look: “You’re here?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Mr. Treatle invited me in, he said everyone would be astounded to meet me.” Uncertainty flashed a fin in the depths of her eyes. “Was he right?”
Simon looked down at his book, and dabbed at his running eyes with a red handkerchief.
“He has t-these little f-fancies,” he muttered, “bbbut he’s not a bad person.”
Bewildered, Esk looked down at the yellowed pages open in front of the boy. They were full of complicated red