“Niamh is checking on the goats,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“Research,” Baz says.
Simon lowers his eyebrows. “Ebb’s goats? Is something wrong with them?”
I glance at Niamh.
“They seem to be wandering away,” she says.
“We’re going to round them up,” I add, “and make sure they’re all right.
One of the nannies is pregnant.”
“Well, we could help with that!” Simon offers.
“You don’t have—” Niamh starts to say.
But Simon has already decided. “I could fly up and tell you if I see them.
That would help, wouldn’t it?”
Niamh frowns. “It would,” she admits.
Baz is looking at his shoes. He sighs.
“Great!” Simon says.
So I guess this is happening. Simon and Baz and me, walking across the Great Lawn together. With Niamh, of all people, to bear witness.
Simon ends up taking the lead. I can tell he makes Niamh uncomfortable.
Because she failed him, I suppose. She looks like she wants to pin him down and try that amputation again straightaway.
“The goats are wandering off?” he asks. “Who’s herding them?”
“No one,” Niamh answers.
Simon is surprised. “They haven’t hired a new goatherd?”
“Probably not a high priority…” Baz says.
“You can’t just hire a new goatherd,” Niamh grumbles.
“Can’t you?” Simon asks.
Niamh shakes her head. In dismay, I gather. Especial dismay. “Do none of you know about the Goats of Watford?”
“Snow knows all about them,” Baz says. “They’re practically his siblings.”
Niamh scowls at him. She can’t begin to understand the dynamic here, but she doesn’t like it.
“Niamh says the goats are sacred,” I say. （It’s unclear why I’m bailing either Niamh or Baz out of this conversation. They both deserve the worst of each other.） “She says they’re tied to the spells protecting the school.”
“I don’t say it,” she says. “It’s oral tradition.”
“I’ve never heard that,” Baz says coolly.
Niamh’s completely indignant. “They’re in the Watford coat of arms!”
“I thought those were pegasus,” Simon says. “Pegas-i.”
“A-ha!” I say. “See!”
“They’re goats, ” Niamh insists. “Magic goats!”
“Magic goats,” Baz repeats, distastefully.
“Wait…” Simon has gone all earnest and intense. “So you’re saying Ebb had a really important job here…”
“Obviously,” Niamh says. “The goats are vital to the safety of Watford.”
“Then we have to find them,” he declares. “And make them stay.”
Niamh really couldn’t be more dismayed with all three of us. “We can’t make them stay…”
Simon’s already taking off his shirt. I thought his wings were spelled invisible, but they were just folded up on his back. He shakes them out and unfurls them.
Baz is reaching out to him. “Let me cast a spell on you, so the Normals won’t see.”
“I’ll be fine,” Simon says. “I’ll keep a low profile.”
“Snow—” Baz looks genuinely concerned. “—please.”
“Let him,” I say. “Seriously.”
Simon rolls his eyes. “Fine, but don’t make me invisible.”
Baz flicks his wrist, and his wand appears in his hand. “There’s nothing
to see here!”
Simon shudders and shifts mostly out of sight. “I hate that one.”
“You hate them all,” Baz says. “It’ll wear off. I didn’t put much oomph into it.”
Simon flaps his wings and kicks up into the air. Niamh and I squint up at the sky, trying to keep track of him.
“It’s easier if you don’t look directly at him,” Baz advises.
He’s right. I let my eyes drift and watch Simon flying in my peripheral vision.
“I see them!” he shouts down to us. “The goats!”
“Where are they?” Niamh shouts back.
“Kind of … everywhere?”
52
BAZ
We spend the rest of the afternoon out in the hills behind Watford. I eventually stop trying to help; the goats don’t respond to any of my spells. I thought there might be something wrong with my wand, but the Irish girl— Snow’s veterinarian—says it’s the goats, not me. “They only respond to magic if they feel like it,” she says. “My spells roll right off them, too.”