‘Listen,’ I said, suddenly feeling hot all over, ‘we don’t know for sure the Dragondeath is going to happen. The link between magic and Dragons is not proven, but there’s not a sorcerer in the building who doesn’t believe it’s there. There’s a whiff of Big Magic in the air, and I don’t think we should be cashing in on the Dragondeath – it’s just not what we do.’

‘Who are you to decide what it is we do?’ demanded Lady Mawgon imperiously. ‘Try as you might, you cannot be Mr Zambini, and never will be – you are simply a foundling who got lucky.’

Several of the other sorcerers winced. None of them would have gone that far. Lady Mawgon was making it personal, which it wasn’t.

‘If he’s going to die anyway it’s free cash,’ remarked Full Price, trying to calm the situation down, ‘and if the Big Magic goes the wrong way we’ll have lost out completely.’

‘The way through is clear,’ announced Lady Mawgon, even though it wasn’t. ‘We want the cheque and the time and date.’

But I wasn’t yet done.

‘We all know how premonitions work,’ I said, swallowing down my anger at the ‘foundling got lucky’ jibe, ‘and they’ll sometimes come true only by the burden of our expectation. If we sell the time and date, then the Dragon may die whether he was meant to or not. If Big Magic goes the wrong way, as Price suggests, then we may have exchanged magic for cash. I’m not sold on that, and I think many will agree. Everyone is here at Zambini Towers because of what they are or what they have been. And I think that counts for something.’

There was a pause. Sorcerers liked cash as much as the next person, but they liked honour and their calling better.

‘This is all conjecture,’ remarked Monty Vanguard.

‘What in sorcery isn’t?’ added Full Price.

‘There’s no conjecture in a cosy retirement guaranteed,’ said the half-tortoise from the eleventh floor, speaking for the first time.

We all stood there in silence for a moment, so I thought I should act. I took Trimble’s unsigned cheque from the cash tin and laid it on the desk.