He walked over to Miss Flitworth and gently pressed her hands together. The image of the lifetimer disappeared. The blue-and-violet fog on the edge of sight faded as solid reality flowed back.
Down in the town, the clock finished striking midnight.
The old woman was shivering. Death snapped his fingers in front of her eyes.
MISS FLITWORTH? RENATA?
“I—I didn’t know what to do and you said it wasn’t difficult and—”
Death walked into the barn. When he came out, he was wearing his black robe.
She was still standing there.
“I didn’t know what to do,” she repeated, possibly not to him. “What happened? Is it all over?”
Death looked around. The gray shapes were pouring into the yard.
POSSIBLY NOT, he said.
More trolleys appeared behind the row of soldiers. They looked like the small silvery workers with the occasional pale golden gleam of a warrior.
“We should retreat back to the stairs,” said Doreen.
“I think that’s where they want us to go,” said Windle.
“Then that’s fine by me. Anyway, I vouldn’t think those wheels could manage steps, could they?”
“And you can’t exactly fight to the death,” said Ludmilla. Lupine was keeping close to her, yellow eyes fixed on the slowly advancing wheels.
“Chance would be a fine thing,” said Windle. They reached the moving stairs. He looked up. Trolleys clustered around the top of the upward stair, but the way to the floor below looked clear.
“Perhaps we could find another way up?” said Ludmilla hopefully.
They shuffled onto the moving stair. Behind them, the trolleys moved in to block their return.
The wizards were on the floor below. They were standing so still among the potted plants and fountains that Windle passed them at first, assuming that they were some sort of statue or piece of esoteric furniture.
The Archchancellor had a false red nose and was holding some balloons. Beside him, the Bursar was juggling colored balls, but like a machine, his eyes staring blankly at nothing.
The Senior Wrangler was standing a little way off, wearing a pair of sandwich boards. The writing on them hadn’t fully ripened yet, but Windle would have bet his afterlife that it would eventually say something like SALE!!!!
The other wizards were clustered together like dolls whose clockwork hadn’t been wound up. Each one had a large oblong badge on his robe. The familiar organic-looking writing was growing into a word that looked like:
although why it was doing so was a complete mystery. The wizards certainly didn’t look very secure.
Windle snapped his fingers in front of the Dean’s pale eyes. There was no response.
“He’s not dead,” said Reg.
“Just resting,” said Windle. “Switched off.”
Reg gave the Dean a push. The wizard tottered forward, and then staggered to a precarious, swaying halt.
“Well, we’ll never get them out,” said Arthur. “Not like that. Can’t you wake them up?”
“Light a feather under their nose,” Doreen volunteered.
“I don’t think that will work,” said Windle. He based the statement on the fact that Reg Shoe was very nearly under their noses, and anyone whose nasal equipment failed to register Mr. Shoe would certainly not react to a mere burning feather. Or a heavy weight dropped from a great height, if it came to that.