Terry Pratchett - The Science of Discworld II - The Globe

'Ah,' he said. 'Archimedes invented this. He was a philosopher. He's also famous because one day, when he got into his bath, it overflowed. It says here this gave him an idea—'

'Buy a bigger bath?' said the Dean.

'Philosophers are always having ideas in the bath,' said Ridcully. 'All right, if we've got nothing else to go on ...'

'Gentlemen, please?' pleaded Ponder. 'Hex, take us to Archimedes. Oh, and give me a towel.'

'Nice place,' said the Dean, as the wizards sat on the sea wall, staring out at the wine-dark sea. 'I can feel the sea air doing me good. Anyone got more wine?'

It had been quite an interesting day. But, Ponder asked, had it been science? There was a pile of books beside him. Hex had been busy.

'Must have been science,' said Ridcully. 'King gave your man a problem. How to tell if the crown was all gold. He was thinking about it. Water sloshed out of bath. He leaped out, we handed him a towel, and then he worked out that ... what was it?'

'The apparent loss of weight of a body totally or partially immersed in a liquid is equal to the weight of the liquid it displaces,' said Ponder.

'Right. And he sees it doesn't just work with bodies, it works with crowns, too. A few tests, and bingo, science,' said Ridcully. 'Science is just working things out. And paying attention. And hoping there's someone around to dry you off.'

'I'm not ... exactly sure that's all there is to it,' said Ponder. 'I've been doing some reading and even people who do science don't seem clear about what it is. Look at Archimedes, for example.

Is a bright idea enough? Is it science if you just solve problems? Is that science, or what you get before you have science?'

'Your book of Great Moments calls him a scienter,' Ridcully pointed.

'Scientist,' Ponder corrected him. 'But I'm not sure about that, either. I mean, that sort of thing happens a lot. People always like to believe that what they're doing has been hallowed by history. Supposing men found out how to fly. They'd probably say "Early experimenters with man-powered flight included Gudrun the Idiot, who leaped off the clock tower in Pseudopolis after soaking his trousers in dew and gluing swan feathers to his shirt" when in fact he wasn't an early aviator—'

'—he was a late idiot?' said Rincewind.

'Exactly. It's like with wizards, Archchancellor. You can't just call yourself a wizard. Other wizards have to agree that you're a wizard.'

'So you can't have just one scientist, but you can have two?'

'It appears so, Archchancellor.'

Ridcully lit his pipe. 'Well, mildly entertaining though it is to watch philosophers having a bath, can we simply ask Hex to find us a scientist who is definitely a scientist and who is regarded by other scientists as a scientist? Then all we have to do is find out if what he's doing is any use to us. We don't want to be all day at this, Stibbons.'

'Yes, sir. Hex, we—'

They were in a cellar. It was quite large, which was just as well because several of the wizards fell over upon landing. When they had picked themselves up and all found the right hat, they saw

...

... something familiar.

'Mr Stibbons?' said Ridcully.

'I don't understand ...' muttered Ponder. But it really was an alchemical laboratory. It smelled like one. Moreover, it looked like one. There were the big heavy retorts, the crucibles, the fire ...

'We know what alchemists are, Mr Stibbons.'

'Yes, er, I'm sorry, sir, something seems to have gone wrong ...' Ponder held out his hand. 'Book, please, Hex.'

A small volume appeared.

'"Great Men Of Science No.2",' Ponder read. 'Er ... if I can just take a quick look inside, Archchancellor ...'

'I don't think that will be necessary,' said the Dean, who had picked up a manuscript that was on the table. 'Listen to this, gentlemen: "... The spirit of this earth is ye fire in wch Pontanus digests his feculent matter, the blood of infants in wch ye 0 & 2) bath themselves, the unclean green Lion wch, saith Ripley, is y* means of joyning ye tinctures of 0 and 3), the broth wch Medea poured on ye two serpents, the Venus by meditation of wch 0 vulgar and the $ of 7 eagles saith Philalethes must be decocted ..." yada yada yada.'

He thumped the manuscript on to the table.

'Genuine alchemical gibberish,' he said, 'and I don't like the sound of it. What's "feculent" mean?

Do we dare find out? I think not.'

'Er ... the man who apparently lived here is described as a giant amongst scientists ...' muttered Ponder, leafing though the booklet.

'Really?' said Ridcully, with a dismissive sniff. 'Hex, please take us to a scientist. We don't mind where he is. Not some dabbler. We want someone who embodies the very essence of science.'

Ponder sighed, and dropped the booklet on to the ground.

The wizards vanished.

For a moment the book lay on the floorboards, front cover upwards showing its title: Great Men of Science No. 2: Sir Isaac Newton. Then it, too, vanished.

There was a thunderstorm grumbling in the distance, and black clouds hung over the sea. The wizards were back on a beach again. Why is it always beaches?' said Rincewind.

'Edges,' said Ridcully. 'Things happen on the edges.'

They had been happening here. At first glance the place looked like a shipyard that had launched its last ship. Large wooden constructions, most of them in disrepair, littered the sand. There were a few shacks, too, also with that hopeless look of things abandoned. There was nothing but desolation.

And an oppressive, silence. A few sea birds cried and flew away, but that only left the world to the sound of waves and the footfalls of the wizards as they approached the shacks.

At which point, another sound became apparent. It was a rhythmical cracking, a khss ... khss ...

khss behind which it was just possible to hear voices raised in song; the singers sounded as if they were far away and at the bottom of a tin bath.

Ridcully stopped outside the largest shack, from which the sound appeared to be issuing.

'Rincewind?' he said, beckoning. 'One for you, I think.'

'Yes, yes, all right,' said Rincewind, and entered with extreme caution.

It was dark inside, but he could see workbenches and a few tools, with a forgotten look about them. The shack must have been thrown up quickly. There wasn't even a floor; it had been built directly on the sand.

The singing was coming from a large horn attached to a device on a bench. Rincewind wasn't very good at technical things, but there was a large wheel projecting over the edge of the bench and it was turning slowly, probably because of the small weight, attached to it by string, which was gently descending towards the sand.

'Is everything okay?' said Ridcully, from outside.

'I've found a kind of voice mill,' said Rincewind.

'That's amazing,' said a voice from the shadows. 'That's exactly what my master called it.'

His name, he said, was Niklias the Cretan, and he was very old. And very pleased to see the wizards.

'I come up here sometimes,' he said. 'I listen to the voice mill and remember the old days. No one else comes here. They say it's the abode of madness. And they are right.'

The wizards were sitting around a fire of driftwood, that burned blue with the salt. They were tending to huddle, although they'd never admit it. They wouldn't have been wizards if they couldn't sense the strangeness in the place. It had the same depressing effect on the senses as an old battlefield. It had ghosts.

'Tell us,' said Ridcully.

'My master was Phocian the Touched,' said Niklias, and he said it the way of a man telling a story he'd told many times before. 'He was a pupil of the great philosopher Antigonus, who one day declared that a trotting horse must at all times have at least one foot on the ground, lest it fall over.