“Just think how Numal feels every day, Great Flame,” he said in a mild voice. “But you heard him practicing his singing earlier; you know he's in no condition to cast a spell to return you to your own body yet. He's complaining about the effects your youthful hormones are having on him, and he says he finds it difficult to aim when he's peeing, because your-"

"All right, General,” Guy snapped, waving his hands to cut off the old soldier before he could say more. “I understand: we've both got problems. Just don't expect me to be happy about it."

Grimm, tending to Crest's head wound, suppressed a smile. He was sure he had seen the hint of a blush on his fellow Questor's borrowed face, and he guessed the reason; Guy must be a little lacking in masculine endowment.

"Would you boys mind keeping it down a little?” Crest said. “I've still got a little bit of a headache."

Grimm could tell from the stiff expression on the thief's face that Crest, too, was making an effort not to laugh.

Guy, his face now suffused with red, snatched up his bundle of sticks, tossing them in front of the wagon.

"I think you'll need to bring another small load or two, Questor,” the foppish swordsman, Harvel, called as he rubbed oil into his leather armour. “That load seems a bit short!"

The storm broke; Quelgrum burst into a mighty, explosive guffaw, his face as red as Guy's, tears running down his ruddy cheeks. Harvel was the next to join in, followed by Crest.

"Hold still, Crest!” Grimm cried, trying to pin the bandage in position. “I'll never get this little pin in if you keep squirming…"

"That's Questor Guy's problem!” Harvel screamed, his face streaming with tears.

With a manful effort, Grimm tried to rein in the tickle within his entrails, but one look at Guy's angry, red, old man's face lost him the brief battle. He exploded into a short series of staccato hiccups that soon cascaded into an unstoppable stream of laughter.