“Have you ever listened to it?”
“Not exactly listened, no,” Cutangle conceded. “Not as such.”
“Well then,” said Granny, edging past a waterfall where the kitchen steps used to be (Mrs Whitlow's washing would never be the same again). “I think it's up here and along the passage, isn't it?”
She swept past a trio of astonished wizards, who were surprised by her and completely startled by her hat.
Cutangle panted after her and caught her arm at the doors to the Library.
“Look,” he said desperately, “No offence, Miss - um, Mistress -”
“I think Esmerelda will suffice now. What with us having shared a broomstick and everything.”
“Can I go in front? It is my Library,” he begged.
Granny turned around, her face a mask of surprise. Then she smiled.
“Of course. I'm so sorry.”
“For the look of the thing, you see,” said Cutangle apologetically. He pushed the door open.
The Library was full of wizards, who care about their books in the same way that ants care about their eggs and in time of difficulty carry them around in much the same way. The water was getting in even here, and turning up in rather odd places because of the Library's strange gravitational effects. All the lower shelves had been cleared and relays of wizards and students were piling the volumes on every available table and dry shelf. The air was full of the sound of angry rustling pages, which almost drowned out the distant fury of the storm.
This was obviously upsetting the librarian, who was scurrying from wizard to wizard, tugging ineffectually at their robes and shouting “ook”.
He spotted Cutangle and knuckled rapidly towards him. Granny had never seen an orang-outan before, but wasn't about to admit it, and remained quite calm in the face of a small potbellied man with extremely long arms and a size IZ skin on a size 8 body.
“Ook,” it explained, “ooook.”
“I expect so,” said Cutangle shortly, and grabbed the nearest wizard, who was tottering under the weight of a dozen grimoires. The man stared at him as if he was a ghost, looked sideways at Granny, and dropped the books on the floor. The librarian winced.
“Archchancellor?” gasped the wizard, “you're alive? I mean -we heard you'd been spirited away by -” he looked at Granny again, “- I mean, we thought - Treatle told us -”
“Oook,” said the librarian, shooing some pages back between their covers.
“Where are young Simon and the girl? What have you done with them?” Granny demanded.
“They - we put them over here,” said the wizard, backing away. “Um -”
“Show us,” said Cutangle. “And stop stuttering, man, you'd think you'd never seen a woman before.”
The wizard swallowed hard and nodded vigorously.
“Certainly. And - I mean - please follow me - um -”
“You weren't going to say anything about the lore, were you?” asked Cutangle.
“Um - no, Archchancellor.”
“Good.”
They followed hard on his trodden-down heels as he scurried between the toiling wizards, most of whom stopped working to stare as Granny strode past.
“This is getting embarrassing,” said Cutangle, out of the corner of his mouth. “I shall have to declare you an honorary wizard.”
Granny stared straight ahead and her lips hardly moved.
“You do,” she hissed, “and I will declare you an honorary witch.”