Terry Pratchett - Unseen Academicals

‘Wotcher, howya doing?’

He adjusted his eyeline down a little bit. ‘How’s it goin’, Throat?’

‘I’m hearing you’re kind of associated with Unseen Academicals,’ said Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, the city’s most enterprising but inexplicably least successful businessman.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve come to sell pies?’

‘Nah, nah, nah,’ said Dibbler. ‘Too many amateurs here today. My pies aren’t just knocked up out of rubbish for a load of drunken old football fans.’

‘So your pies are for—?’ Trev left the question hanging in the air with a noose on the end of it.

‘Anyway, pies are so yesterday,’ said Dibbler dismissively. ‘I am on the ground floor of football memorabilityness.’

‘What’s that, then?’

‘Like genuine autographed team jerseys and that sort of thing. I mean, look here.’ Dibbler produced from the large tray around his neck a smaller version of what one of the new gloing! gloing! footballs would be if it were about a half of the size and had been badly carved out of wood. ‘See those white patches? That’s so they can be signed by the team.’

‘You’re goin’ to get them signed, are you?’

‘Well, no, I think people would like to get that done themselves. The personal touch, you know what I mean?’

‘So they’re actually just painted balls of wood and nothin’ else?’ said Trev.

‘But authentic!’ said Dibbler. ‘Just like the shirts. Want one? Five dollars to you, and that’s cutting me own throat.’ He produced a skimpy red cotton item and waved it enticingly.

‘What’s that?’

‘Your team colours, right?’

‘Two big yellow Us on the front?’ said Trev. ‘That’s wrong! Ours has got two little Us interlocked on the left breast like a badge. Very stylish.’

‘Pretty much the same,’ said Dibbler airily. ‘No one’ll notice. And I had to keep the price down for the kiddies.’

He leaned closer. ‘Anything you can tell me about the game tomorrow, Trev? Looks like the teams are putting together a tough squad. Vetinari’s not going to get it all his own way for once?’

‘We’ll play a good game, you’ll see,’ said Trev.

‘Right! Can’t lose with a Likely playing, right?’

‘I just help around the place. I’m not playin’. I promised my ol’ mum after Dad died.’

Dibbler looked around at the crowded stadium of the Hippo. He appeared to have something else on his mind other than the need for the next dollar. ‘What happens if your lot lose?’ he said.

‘It’s only a game,’ said Trev.

‘Ah, but Vetinari’s got his reputation based on it.’

‘It’s a game. One side wins, one side loses. Just a game.’

‘A lot of people aren’t thinking like that,’ said Dibbler. ‘Things always come out well for Vetinari,’ he went on, staring at the sky. ‘And that’s the magic, see? Everyone thinks he always gets it right. What do you think will happen if he gets things wrong?’

‘It’s just a game, Throat, only a game… Be seein’ you.’ Trev wandered onwards. People were putting up tiers of wooden stands on one side of the arena, and because this was Ankh-Morpork, when two or more people gathered together thousands turned up just to wonder why.

And there was Mr Ponder Stibbons, sitting at a long table with some of the football captains. Oh, yes, the Rules Committee. There had been talk about that. Even with the rules written down, and half of them as old as the game itself, there were a few things that had to be made clear. He arrived in time to hear Ponder say, ‘Look, you can’t have a situation in the new game where people hang around right next to the other team’s goal.’

‘Worked all right before,’ said one of the captains.

‘Yes, but the ball flies. One really good kick would send it down half the length of the Hippo. If someone gets that right the goalkeeper wouldn’t have a chance.’

‘So, what you’re saying,’ said Mr Stollop, who had become a kind of spokesman for the captains, ‘is that there’s got to be two blokes from team A in front of a bloke from team B before he scores?’

‘Yes, that’s about right,’ said Ponder stiffly, ‘but one of them is the goalkeeper.’

‘So, what happens if one of them fellers nips past him downfield before he kicks the ball?’

‘Then he will be what is traditionally known as off his side,’ said Ponder.

‘Off his head, more like,’ said one of the captains. And since this had the same shape as humour, it got a laugh. ‘If that’s true, you could end up with loads of blokes rushing past one another, all trying to get the other poor buggers into an unlawful position without any of the poor devils moving, right?’

‘Nevertheless, we are standing by this rule. We have tried it out. It allows for free movement on the field. In the old game it wasn’t unusual for players to bring their lunch and a copy of Girls, Giggles and Garters and just wait for the ball to come along.’

‘Hello, Trev, how are you getting on?’ It was Andy, and he was standing behind Trev.

There must be a thousand people here today, Trev thought in a curiously slow and blissful sort of way. And a lot of watchmen. I can see a couple of them from here. Andy isn’t going to try anything right here, is he?

Well, yes, he might, because that’s what made him Andy. The little bee that buzzed in his brain might bang against the wrong bit and he would carve your face off. Oh, yes, and there was Tosher Atkinson and his mum, strolling about as if out for a walk.

‘Haven’t seen you about much lately, Trev,’ said Andy. ‘Been busy, I suspect?’

‘I thought you were lyin’ low?’ said Trev hopelessly.

‘Well, you know what they say. Sooner or later all sins are forgiven.’

In your case, quite a bit later, Trev thought.

‘Besides,’ said Andy, ‘I’m turning over a new leaf, ain’t I?’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Got out of the Shove,’ said Andy. ‘Gotta put aside my scallywag ways. Time to fit in.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Trev, waiting for the knife.

‘So I’m a key player for Ankh-Morpork United.’ It wasn’t a knife, but it had a rather similar effect. ‘Apparently his lordship gave them the idea,’ Andy said, still speaking in the same greasy, friendly tone. ‘Of course, no one wants to be the team playing you wizards. So there is, like, a new one just for the occasion.’

‘I thought you never played?’ said Trev weakly.

‘Ah, but that was in the bad old days before football was open to more individual effort and enterprise. See this shirt?’ he said.

Trev looked down. He hadn’t thought much about what the man was wearing, just that he was there.

‘White with blue trim,’ said Andy cheerfully. ‘Very snazzy.’ He turned around. The numeral 1 was on the back in blue with the name Andy Shank above it. ‘My idea. Very sensible. Means we’ll know who we are from the back.’

‘And I told your wizards that your gentlemen ought to do the same,’ said Mrs Atkinson, surely one of the most feared Faces who had ever wielded a sharpened umbrella with malice aforethought. Grown men would back away from Mrs Atkinson, otherwise grown men bled.

Just what we need, thought Trev. Our names on the back as well. Saves them having the trouble to go round the front before they stab.

‘Still, I can’t stand here chattin’ all day with you. Got to talk to the team. Got to think about tactics.’

There will be a referee, thought Trev. The Watch will be there. Lord Vetinari will be there. Unfortunately, Andy Shank will be there, too, and Nutt wants me as his assistant and so I’ve got to be there. If it all goes wrong, the floor of the arena isn’t going to be the place to be and I’ll be in it.