The Bursar hoped He’d use the door properly. His nerves were twanging as it was.
The conversational level was dropping. Quite a few other wizards, the Bursar noticed, were glancing at the door.
Windle was at the center of a very tactfully widening circle. No one was actually avoiding him, it was just that an apparent random Brownian motion was gently moving everyone away.
Wizards can see Death. And when a wizard dies, Death arrives in person to usher him into the Beyond. The Bursar wondered why this was considered a plus—
“Don’t know what you’re all looking at,” said Windle, cheerfully.
The Bursar opened his watch.
The hatch under the 12 snapped up.
“Can you knock it off with all this shaking around?” squeaked the demon. “I keeps on losing count.”
“Sorry,” the Bursar hissed. It was nine twenty-nine.
The Archchancellor stepped forward.
“’Bye, then, Windle,” he said, shaking the old man’s parchment-like hand. “The old place won’t seem the same without you.”
“Don’t know how we’ll manage,” said the Bursar, thankfully.
“Good luck in the next life,” said the Dean. “Drop in if you’re ever passing and happen to, you know, remember who you’ve been.”
“Don’t be a stranger, you hear?” said the Archchancellor.
Windle Poons nodded amiably. He hadn’t heard what they were saying. He nodded on general principles.
The wizards, as one man, faced the door.
The hatch under the 12 snapped up again.
“Bing bing bong bing,” said the demon. “Bingely-bingely bong bing bing.”
“What?” said the Bursar, jolted.
“Half past nine,” said the demon.
The wizards turned to Windle Poons. They looked faintly accusing.
“What’re you all looking at?” he said.
The seconds hand on the watch squeaked onward.
“How are you feeling?” said the Dean loudly.
“Never felt better,” said Windle. “Is th
ere anymore of that, mm, rum left?”
The assembled wizards watched him pour a generous measure into his beaker.
“You want to go easy on that stuff,” said the Dean nervously.
“Good health!” said Windle Poons.
The Archchancellor drummed his fingers on the table.