Djura was aware that Irvingly had been founded on a spirit of peace and unity between wizards and normal people, but he was also aware — from experience — that there were plenty of wizards who looked down on those who didn't possess the daft little sticks they called magic wands.

Some part of him found the young man's philosophising interesting, given how meek he'd been so far — it just went to show that even the local postman cherished values and a moral compass. Djura nodded when he said he could look into it. "Yes: do."

Just then, the Butler finally showed up, perhaps alerted by the ruckus in the drawing room. A tall man with a thin white beard, the usually highly composed Butler looked somewhat flustered as he entered the room. Djura looked at him coldly. He'd get his excuses later.

"A thousand apologies, your Lordship", said the Butler, bowing before looking around the trashed room in mild alarm. "Have this mess tidied", Djura replied curtly. "And tip the postman", he added after a moment's decision. The Butler obligingly approached the interloping postal worker and gave him a small handful of silver.