It's all in the saliva and clothes, this newborn's power. All can see that he has wizardly ability, but no has figured out that the saliva is key.

There goes the nanny, swooping in to wipe the drool from his chin with the bib around his neck.

*POOF!*

The soft cloth of his bib is now a fuzzy bunny, hopping away. The onlookers laugh, and one speculates that his coos are an arcane language of power. Another posites that he can transmute object with only a stare.

He'll go to Wizard School, of course, when he's older, but the Guild won't know what to do with him. What good is a magus who has to spit on his clothes to work a spell? He'll struggle with his classes and eventually, the only thing he'll earn from his tutors is one disapponting look after another.

He'll spend most of his life entertaining children with cheap parlor tricks. Oh, they'll be genuine magic tricks, but he'll be paid the same rate as your average slight-of-hand performer. At birthday parties, he'll remove his hat, spit on his hand, and then reach into his headwear to produce lizards and toads for the boys, and butterflies and roses for the girls.

Adults prefer gold and jewels, but will lose interest when they learn that the magically procured items only last for three minutes before reverting to saliva. A cleverer wizard might figure out how to pay his bills with such, but this tiny boy will not grow to be that wizard.

Thus he will struggle to eke out a living until his fifty-fourth birthday, upon which day the Kingdom shall come under seige and he will be conscripted. During his first skirmish, he will prove his worth when he procures arrows from his hat when the archers' quivers are empty. Five days of glory, and a parched mouth shall he gain, before a wayward arrow strikes him down.

"Oracle! Will he not be a great wizard one day?"

I turn to the crowd around the baby and reply, "He shall indeed be... extraordinary. Yes, extraordinary."

Irene... IRENE! where is that girl... she must have stolen another Ender Spell from Frabitt. and I suppose I'll have to go catch her!

the child has magic at her fingertips, I'm telling you. she... does things. today Berthe wasn't here, and yesterday, I saw her singing a spell in Frabbit's room, and I ducked behind the doorframe. when I peeked out around the door, she was sitting on the floor, giggling as she played with one of her birthday presents that was supposed to be wrapped and in the Duke's closet! Now, she must have done... SOMETHING! And the next morning, when she was to be opening her presents, the Duke nearly died of fright when he found Berthe in his closet with a pretty ribbon bow on her head! that Devil Irene is going to end up killing someone someday with that darn fool magic o' hers, if somebody else don' kill 'er first for turnin' their wife into a cabbage or somethin'!