Small Wizards, Large Problems

Wednesday. School holidays. The castle has been overrun by students so small that I nearly trod on one, and I would like it on record that I apologised.

There is a notice on the gate about who may enter, and I have copied it here out of professional interest. Nine and older are welcome. Seven- and eight-year-olds may come in with their families, as paying members of the class. Any class with a child of nine or younger must bring a parent or guardian inside too. Smaller ones still may come in only to watch, and they count towards the eight.

I told the gatekeeper I was nine. He asked for proof. I showed him my staff. He said that was a stick.

What troubles me is not their size but their eyesight. A small student notices everything: the thing on the shelf, the mark on the wall, the gap where something obviously belongs. The grown-ups talk. The small ones find. I have begun to suspect the Headmaster recruits by height.