She paused, as if listening to a reply. Anya could almost hear something too, but strain as she might, it was no more than a faint whistling, like some small bird in the far distance warbling in a tree.
“I don’t know. In the cupboard by the front door, if you put them back properly the last time, I would suppose. Hurry along now.”
“Invisible servant?” asked Anya. She had been reasonably confident from the boots, but now it was definite. Surely only a wizard could have an invisible servant.
“First-year apprentice,” said the Good Wizard. “All wizarding apprentices start as invisible and almost inaudible servants. It’s the only way. Barely heard but not seen. Leads them into temptation, and that’s always a test. He’ll be a while, so we might as well go on. We’ll meet him on his way back. Provided young Master Newt is satisfied I’m not some imposter who’ll drink your blood or something equally horrible.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I see for sure,” said Shrub stubbornly.
Ardent nuzzled Anya’s hand. She looked down and he twitched his nose. She bent lower, and the dog whispered in her ear.
“She doesn’t smell of magic, but her boots do, a lot. And her cloak, and that ring, her fingernail, and some other stuff. Shouldn’t a wizard smell of magic?”
Before Anya could answer, the Wizard looked very piercingly at Ardent. She clearly had exceptional hearing, probably from having to listen to nearly inaudible invisible servants.
“What are they teaching royal dogs these days? Surely you know how wizards work?”
“I might have skipped that lesson,” said Ardent. He looked at Anya guiltily. “I only missed a few. Honest.”
“And what are they teaching princesses?” asked the Wizard, directing her attention to Anya.
“Nothing,” said Anya. “I mean, everything I’ve learned I’ve had to learn myself. Mostly from books. And I’ve never really read very much about wizards.”
“Then it is past time you learned,” observed the Wizard. “Follow me.”
“I ain’t going nowhere,” repeated Shrub. He plonked himself down and set his feet into the bridge, to make it hard for anyone to shift him. “Certainly not into that tower. I might never come out!”
“No one is going into the tower,” said the Wizard. “It’s not safe at all. Anyone can see it’s only magic holding the top half up above the bend. Could fall down anytime!”
“You don’t live in the tower?” asked Anya. “I thought wizards always lived in—”
“We use the lower part for storage. No one’s lived in it for years, not since my predecessor’s predecessor. Ah!”
She paused and half turned, nodding towards an unseen presence. Anya again thought she could almost hear something, but this time it was like muffled panting.
“He ran all the way, like a good lad. Hopefully this will satisfy your suspicious lizard.”
“I’m not a lizard,” grumbled Shrub. “I’m a newt.”
“Yes, I know,” said the Wizard, smiling. She really looked preposterously young, Anya thought. She had very white teeth, and amazing dark hair and lustrous dark skin. All very pretty, not like the wizards in stories. Perhaps Shrub was right to be suspicious … it was so overcast and foggy she could even be a vampire. Though her teeth didn’t look that pointy, and Anya couldn’t see the gill slits in her neck where a vampire sucked in extra air to create the vacuum they used to draw out their victims’ blood …
“I don’t like putting this on,” said the Wizard. “But I suppose for the sake of tradition and a suspicious visitor, it must be done.”
She reached into apparently empty air and drew out a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. Putting them on, she extended her arm again, this time drawing forth a huge and very bushy mass of unruly white hair, which she threw up in the air. Craning her neck back, she looked up as it fell, the hairy bundle settling on her face. When she looked back down, the mass of hair had settled as a vast, snowy beard complete with mustachios that trailed almost to her waist.
It was a very impressive beard, for its volume and its incredible whiteness, but most of all because it looked completely real. Though odd, since attractive young women didn’t normally have flowing white beards that were half as tall as they were.
“Almost there,” she said, holding out her open hand, her fingers closing on a suddenly materialized hat. It was very tall, pointed, and made of a deep purple velvet liberally covered with stars, moons, and a comet, all embroidered in silver and gold wire with small ruby chips for the comet’s trail.
The Wizard turned the hat upside down, reached inside, and took out a boiled sweet, striped in rainbow colors. She popped this in her mouth, put her hand in the hat again, and drew out a long staff of ebony, shod with silver at each end, and banded seven times in gold, indicating her rank as a full wizard of the seventh circle.
“There,” said the Wizard, putting on her hat and stooping forward a little to lean on the staff. Her voice was male now, and very deep and sonorous. “Do you trust that I am the Good Wizard? Or must I blast you with fell lightnings?”
“No, no, I accept!” gabbled Shrub. “I’m sorry I doubted you, Lord Wizard!”
“Good,” said the Wizard, her voice booming. She handed the staff back into the air. It vanished, followed by the hat and the glasses.
The beard, however, would not come off. The Wizard tugged at it several times, swore in her deep male voice, spat out the boiled sweet, swore some more in her normal voice, and stamped the bridge with her red boots, splashing muddy water everywhere.
“I hate this beard!” she said. “Trust him to play a trick on me. Just when I think I’ve found the last trap in it, I discover another one.”