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"
That
’
s
all
,
is
it
?
"
said
Brother
Doorkeeper
.
"
Yes
.
"
"
Don
’
t
we
have
to
chant
a
mystic
prune
or
something
?
"
The
Supreme
Grand
Master
stared
at
him
.
Brother
Doorkeeper
managed
to
look
as
defiant
in
the
face
of
oppression
as
an
anonymous
shadow
in
a
black
cowl
could
look
.
He
hadn
’
t
joined
a
secret
society
not
to
chant
mystic
runes
.
He
’
d
been
looking
forward
to
it
.
"
You
can
if
you
like
,
"
said
the
Supreme
Grand
Master
.
"
Now
,
I
want
you
-
yes
,
what
is
it
,
Brother
Dunnykin
?
"
The
little
Brother
lowered
his
hand
.
"
Don
’
t
know
any
mystic
prunes
,
Grand
Master
.
Not
to
what
you
might
call
chant
.
.
.
"
"
Hum
!
"
He
opened
the
book
.
He
’
d
been
rather
surprised
to
find
,
after
pages
and
pages
of
pious
ramblings
,
that
the
actual
Summoning
itself
was
one
short
sentence
.
Not
a
chant
,
not
a
brief
piece
of
poetry
,
but
a
mere
assemblage
of
meaningless
syllables
.
De
Malachite
said
they
caused
interference
patterns
in
the
waves
of
reality
,
but
the
daft
old
fool
was
probably
making
it
up
as
he
went
along
.
That
was
the
trouble
with
wizards
,
they
had
to
make
everything
look
difficult
.
All
you
really
needed
was
willpower
.
And
the
Brethren
had
a
lot
of
that
.
Small
-
minded
and
vitriolic
willpower
,
yes
,
lousy
with
malignity
maybe
,
but
still
powerful
enough
in
its
way
.
.
.
