“You can’t just buy them. Gil had to enchant his himself. And now his wits are well and truly addled . . .”

“Get another magician to do it then.”

“Where? There aren’t any within a hundred miles.”

Drake’s brow creased. “What do you mean? Kemen the Knowledgeable lives in Cinpar.” The city was only half a day’s ride away.

She shook her head. “He won’t help.”

“Why not?”

“Because he hates Gil. And before you ask, I have no idea why. Probably just that ‘young magician thinks old magician is past it’ thing.”

Drake pushed aside his empty plate and wiped his lips on the back of his hand. “Send word to the Magicians’ Guild then, Hildie. They take care of their own.”

“I would but it’ll take too long.”

“Does that matter?”

“Not as far as Gil’s wits go, but. . . . Does he look older to you?”

He considered. “I suppose so. Why?”

“That’s his age catching up with him. He told me once: a magician can’t make himself any younger, only remain the age he already is.”

Drake winced. “Three hundred, you said?”

“Exactly. By the time the Guild comes to his rescue, he’ll be dead, or if not he’ll wish he was.” She shook her head. “We’ll just have to find Gil’s old bracelet, wherever it’s got to. If only we could retrace his last steps.”

“The only steps I heard him taking were to the privy,” Drake said with a chuckle. “In and out all evening, he was. Must have had the runs.”

“He will insist on eating all those prunes—” She stopped, mouth open. “That’s where it is!” She rushed towards the dining room exit.

“With the prunes?” a bewildered Drake shouted after her.

“No.” She took the stairs two at a time. “In the shit.”