A wizard looked at me from the base of the magic glass telephone. The call was from Zahlfast, the head of the transformations faculty at the wizards’ school in the great City. Even the tiny image of his face looked both irritated and worried.

“Have you heard from Evrard?” he asked without preamble.

“Evrard?” I said in surprise. “I haven’t talked to him in, what would it be, a year now. He was leaving on a trip.”

“Well,” said Zahlfast, “he hasn’t been in touch with the wizards’ school since he left, so I’d hoped you might know where he was.”

Now that I thought about it, it was somewhat strange that I hadn’t heard from Evrard in so long. Nearly eight years ago, he had briefly served as wizard to the duchess of Yurt, and although he had soon returned to the City we had always stayed in at least intermittent contact. “I would have thought he’d be back months ago,” I said.

“So would I,” said Zahlfast. “A wizard can normally take care of himself, but on a long trip to distant lands anything can happen.”

I had always been closer to Zahlfast than to any of my other former teachers at the wizards’ school, in spite of all that embarrassment with the frogs in his transformations practical exam. If he was worried, it was with good reason.

“Evrard told us at the school before he left that he’d try to keep in touch with Yurt. He’s been serving as wizard for, what is it, your king’s cousin?”

“My queen’s uncle,” I corrected. “Sir Hugo.” I paused then, trying to remember if the City nobleman in whose elegant household Evrard had been employed for the last few years was indeed her uncle, or perhaps a cousin once removed.

But Zahlfast did not give me time to try to work out the connection. “Well, your queen’s uncle’s wife-” He gave up and started over.