‘It was kind of . . . well, vague. Sort of shapeless – but with pointy bits.’

‘That’s the Mysterious X all over,’ I said. ‘Did it show you its stamp collection?’

‘It tried to,’ said Tiger, ‘but I was too quick for it. What exactly is the Mysterious X anyway?’

I shrugged. There was a very good reason X carried the accolade ‘Mysterious’.

We were talking over a pre-bedtime cup of hot chocolate in the kitchens. Wizard Moobin, Lady Mawgon and Full Price had finished the rewiring job early and got the bus back into town. They were quite elated at the way the gig had gone, and even Lady Mawgon had permitted herself a small smile by way of celebration. Wizidrical power had been strong today – almost everyone had noticed. I’d fielded a few calls although nothing too serious, and one from a journalist at the Hereford Daily Eyestrain with a pertinent question over Dragondeath. The premonition was getting about. I told her I knew nothing, and had hung up.

The rest of the afternoon had been spent explaining to Tiger how Kazam is run, and introducing him to the least insane residents. He had been particularly taken with Brother Gillingrex of Woodseaves, who had made speaking to birds something of a speciality. He could speak Quack so well that he knew all the eighty-two different words ducks use to describe water. He could also speak Coot, Goose, Wader and Chirrup – which is a sort of generic Pigeon/Sparrow language. He was working on Osprey, had a few useful sentences in Buzzard and the Owl word for ‘mouse’, which is tricky to pronounce if you don’t have a beak. He was mostly employed by birdwatchers, especially useful when it was time for putting identification rings on their legs. Birds worry endlessly about their appearance – all that preening is not only about flying, as they might have you believe – and a softly spoken ‘that looks really fetching and totally matches your plumage’ works wonders.

‘Does anyone else at Kazam have an accolade?’ asked Tiger, who seemed to be developing an interest in Mystical Arts Management.

‘Two Ladies, one Mysterious, three Wizards, one Remarkable, two Venerables and a Pointless,’ I murmured, counting them off on my fingers, ‘but once upon a time, they all had an accolade – and higher than the ones I’ve just mentioned.’

‘Who’s the “Pointless”?’

‘It would be impolite of me to reveal, but you’ll probably figure it out for yourself.’

‘So those accoladed “Wizard” are the most powerful, yes?’

‘Not quite,’ I replied. ‘An accolade isn’t simply based on performance, but on reliability. Wizard Moobin isn’t the most powerful in the building, but he’s the most consistent. And to complicate matters further, a status is different to an accolade. Two wizards might both be status Spellmanager but if one has turned a goat into a moped and the other hasn’t, then they get to call themselves “Wizard”.’