The Hermit was known to be pretty sniffy about disciples who returned in failure. There was a wall of the institute layered with their skins- an ingenious display that encouraged vigor in his students, as well as nicely keeping out the drafts.

What was it that drew you back? My marvellous personality, I suppose? Or my sparkling conversation?

When I write something that would have made me laugh as a 10-year-old, or would have scared me or would have excited me, I know I'm onto something.

Burned and squashed to death in a silver vat of soup. There must be worst ways to go. But not many.

Despite his crimped shirts and flowing mane (or perhaps because of them) I had seen no evidence as yet that Nathaniel even knew what a girl was. If he'd ever met one, chances are they'd both have run screaming in opposite directions.

And then, as if written by the hand of a bad novelist, an incredible thing happened.

He was transfixed at the sight of the lords and ladies of his realm running about like demented chickens.