"The wizard held up his staff. It was man-high and nearly as thick as his wrist, and covered with carvings that seemed to change as the smith looked at them, exactly as if they didn't want him to see what they were.
" 'The child must hold it,' said Drum Billet. The smith nodded, and fumbled in the blanket until he located a tiny pink hand. He guided it gently to the wood. It gripped it tightly.
" 'But—' said the midwife.
" 'It's all right, Granny, I know what I'm about. She's a witch, sir, don't mind her. Right,' said the smith. 'Now what?'
"The wizard was silent.
" 'What do we do n—' the smith began, and stopped. He leaned down to look at the old wizard's face. Billet was smiling, but it was anyone's guess what the joke was.
"The smith pushed...