“No,” said Nightingale. “You’re right, of course. We’ll have to make a full disclosure and explain the risks.”
I asked how it was done in Nightingale’s day, and unsurprisingly found that it was assumed that a chap’s parents already knew what it was they were sending their children to wizards’ school to learn. He admitted that those rare types that took up an apprenticeship in their teens did so with the consent of their parents—or at least their father, which in those days was deemed to be the same thing.
“Do you want me to do it?” I asked.
“Good Lord, no,” said Nightingale. “Much as I appreciate the offer.”
So, having slipped out of one ethically complex task, it was time to address the baby elephant in the swimming pool.
I had done my due diligence—there were no missing children of the correct age and description reported anywhere in the UK that could have turned up on Allen and Lillian Heywood’s back garden on the night in question. Not even if we assume they were snatched as babies and kept somewhere else until that night.
I entertained the possibility that Chess might have been smuggled in from Eastern Europe. But, if so, how could I prove it? I was going to have to find a way to bureaucratically normalise his relationship with the Heywoods, which wasn’t going to be easy. Getting the permissions for Abigail’s one-girl youth club had taken most of a week and a couple of ethically questionable acts of magic to facilitate, but proved that sort of thing was doable with application of sufficient juice.
Which left the fact that Allen and Lillian were raising a young river god with no earthly idea of what they were about. They needed some support both physically and spiritually, and fortunately I had a notion how to get it.
So I took my favourite goddess to see Chess who, I was pleased to note, was properly awed to be in her presence. For about two seconds…before he grabbed her hand and started to drag her through the house, out through the garden and towards his river. Beverley allowed herself to be dragged, although she did pause to strip off down to the Cressi Termico swimsuit she was wearing under her clothes. It always pays to anticipate.
Allen and Lillian followed us out into the garden in a worried huddle and then stared mutely at me—waiting for an explanation.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “This is perfectly normal.”
“Is she from social services?” asked Lillian.
There was a double splash behind me as Bev and Chess went into the river.
“Think of her as part of a support group,” I said.
“Does she know how to swim?” asked Allen, starting to look worried. “Only they haven’t come up yet.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Brilliant swimmer.”
“How long are they going to stay down?” asked Lillian with rising panic.
“Until they get bored,” I said.
There was a long pause.
“So, how about a cup of tea,” I said. “And maybe some of those nice teacakes?”