Equal Rites - Terry Pratchett [56]
“Are you important?” she said.
Cutangle looked at his colleagues, and beamed. There were fashions in wizardry, just like anything else; sometimes wizards were thin and gaunt and talked to animals (the animals didn’t listen, but it’s the thought that counts) while at other times they tended toward the dark and saturnine, with little black pointed beards. Currently Aldermanic was In. Cutangle swelled with modesty.
“Quite important,” he said. “One does one’s best in the service of one’s fellow man. Yes. Quite important, I would say.”
“I want to be a wizard,” said Esk.
The lesser wizards behind Cutangle stared at her as if she was a new and interesting kind of beetle. Cutangle’s face went red and his eyes bulged. He looked down at Esk and seemed to be holding his breath. Then he started to laugh. It started somewhere down in his extensive stomach regions and worked its way up, echoing from rib to rib and causing minor wizard-quakes across his chest until it burst forth in a series of strangled snorts. It was quite fascinating to watch, that laugh. It had a personality all of its own.
But he stopped when he saw Esk’s stare. If the laugh was a music-hall clown then Esk’s determined squint was a white-wash bucket on a fast trajectory.
“A wizard?” he said; “You want to be a wizard?”
“Yes,” said Esk, pushing the dazed Simon into Treatle’s reluctant arms. “I’m the eighth son of an eighth son. I mean daughter.”
The wizards around her were looking at one another and whispering. Esk tried to ignore them.
“What did she say?”
“Is she serious?”
“I always think children are so delightful at that age, don’t you?”
“You’re the eighth son of an eighth daughter?” said Cutangle. “Really?”
“The other way around, only not exactly,” said Esk, defiantly.
Cutangle dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief.
“This is quite fascinating,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of something quite like this before. Eh?”
He looked around at his growing audience. The people at the back couldn’t see Esk and were craning to check if some interesting magic was going on. Cutangle was at a loss.
“Well, now,” he said. “You want to be a wizard?”
“I keep telling everyone but no one seems to listen,” said Esk.
“How old are you, little girl?”
“Nearly nine.”
“And you want to be a wizard when you grow up.”
“I want to be a wizard now,” said Esk firmly. “This is the right place, isn’t it?”
Cutangle looked at Treatle and winked.
“I saw that,” said Esk.
“I don’t think there’s ever been a lady wizard before,” said Cutangle. “I rather think it might be against the lore. Wouldn’t you rather be a witch? I understand it’s a fine career for girls.”
A minor wizard behind him started to laugh. Esk gave him a look.
“Being a witch is quite good,” she conceded. “But I think wizards have more fun. What do you think?”
“I think you are a very singular little girl,” said Cutangle.
“What does that mean?”
“It means there’s only one of you,” said Treatle.
“That’s right,” said Esk, “and I still want to be a wizard.”
Words failed Cutangle. “Well, you can’t,” he said. “The very idea!”
He drew himself up to his full width and turned away. Something tugged at his robe.
“Why not?” said a voice.
He turned.
“Because,” he said, slowly and deliberately, “because…the whole idea is completely laughable, that’s why. And it’s absolutely against the lore!”
“But I can do wizard magic!” said Esk, the faintest suggestion of a tremble in her voice.
Cutangle bent down until his face was level with hers.
“No you can’t,” he hissed. “Because you are not a wizard. Women aren’t wizards, do I make myself clear?”
“Watch,” said Esk.
She extended her right hand with the fingers spread and sighted along it until she spotted the statue of Malich the Wise, the founder of the University. Instinctively the wizards between her and it edged out of the way, and then felt rather silly.
“I mean it,” she said.
“Go away, little girl,” said Cutangle.
“Right,” said Esk. She squinted hard at the statue and concentrated…
The