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Charmain's bag tipped over. To Charmain's great dismay, the pork pie and the apple tart rolled out of it.

[

"Yes," Charmain said. "That was breakfast."

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"Yes," said Charmain. "Waif made it and he—I mean she—is very firm about it."

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"I don't know," Charmain began. Then she thought of the way Waif seemed to be able to go anywhere in the house and how the front door had burst open for her earlier on. "Yes," she said. "I'm sure she is. Very magical."

Slowly and grudgingly, Peter broke a lump off the apple tart. Waif's frayed tail wagged and Waif's eyes followed his every movement. She seemed to know exactly what Peter was doing, no matter how many bubbles got in the way. "I see what you mean," Peter said, and he passed the lump to Waif. Waif gently took it in her jaws, jumped from the table to the chair and then to the floor, and went pattering away to eat it somewhere behind the laundry bags. "How about a hot drink?" Peter said.

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"Great-Uncle William must have made them," Charmain said. "It wasn't me."

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"You find one," Charmain said.

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This is left. Can't you tell?"

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Taps! Water!"

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With regard to my becoming your apprentice, will it be convenient for me to arrive with you in a week's time, instead of in the autumn as arranged? My mother has to journey into Ingary and prefers to have me settled before she leaves.

Unless I hear from you to the contrary, I shall present myself at your house on the thirteenth of this month.

Hoping this is convenient,

Yours faithfully,

Peter Regis

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This was all she had time to say before the vast white something put out a gigantic pink tongue and licked her face. It also gave out a huge trumpeting sound. Charmain reeled backward. It was like being licked by a wet bath towel and whined at by an elephant. She leaned against the wall and stared up into the creature's enormous, pleading eyes.