Terry Pratchett - Unseen Academicals

Nutt nodded. ‘But first I have a small favour to ask you, my lord,’ he said to Vetinari.

‘By all means, ask.’

‘I know the city has a number of golem horses. I wonder if I could borrow one of them?’

‘Be my guest,’ said the Patrician.

Nutt turned to Glenda. ‘Miss Sugarbean. Juliet told me that you secretly want to ride through Quirm on a warm summer’s evening, feeling the wind in your hair. We could leave now. I have saved money.’

All kinds of reasons why she shouldn’t foamed in Glenda’s head. Everywhere were responsibilities, commitments and the never-ending clamour of wanting. There were a thousand and one reasons why she should say no.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘In that case, then, we will not take up any more of your valuable time, my lord, my lady, and will head off to the stables.’

‘But—’ Lady Margolotta began.

‘I think all that needs to be said has been,’ said Nutt. ‘I will, we will, of course, visit you shortly when I have settled my affairs here and I look forward very much to doing so.’ He nodded to them and, with Glenda walking on air beside him, went back the way they had come.

‘Wasn’t that nice?’ said Vetinari. ‘Did you see that they held hands all the time?’

At the doorway, Nutt turned round. ‘Oh, just one more thing. Thank you for not posting archers up in the gallery. That would have been so… embarrassing.’

‘I shall drink to your success, Margolotta,’ said Vetinari as their footsteps died away. ‘You know, I seriously intended to proposition Miss Sugarbean to be my cook.’ He sighed again. ‘Still, what is a pie to a happy ending?’

You think it’s all over?

The following morning Ponder Stibbons was at work in the High Energy Magic Building when Ridcully limped in. There was a glowing silver band around his knee. ‘Grapeshot’s Therapeutic Squeezer,’ he announced. ‘A simple little spell. I’ll be right as rain in no time. Mrs Whitlow wanted me to put a stocking on it, but I told her that I’m not interested in that sort of thing.’

‘I’m glad to see that you’re in such good spirits, Archchancellor,’ said Ponder, working his way down a long calculation.

‘Have you had a chance to see the papers yet this morning, Mister Stibbons?’

‘No, sir. What with the football business, I’m a little behind with my work.’

‘It may interest you to know that late last night a seventy-foot-high chicken broke out of what they are pleased to call the Higher Energy Magic Building at Brazeneck and is apparently rampaging through Pseudopolis while being pursued by most of the faculty, who, I assume, would be quite capable of terrorizing the city all by themselves. Henry has just had a frantic clacks and has had to rush off.’

‘Oh, that is very disturbing, sir.’

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ said Ridcully. ‘Apparently it’s laying eggs very fast.’

‘Ah, that sounds like a quasi-expansion blit phenomenon adapting itself to a living organism,’ said Ponder. He turned the page, his pencil moving neatly across the column of figures.

‘The former Dean has egg all over his face,’ said Ridcully.

‘Well, I’m sure that Professor Turnipseed will be able to bring things back under control,’ said Ponder. The tone of his voice was entirely unchanged.

There was a busy little silence and Ridcully said, ‘How long do you think we should give him to get it under control?’

‘What size are the eggs?’

‘Eight or nine feet high, apparently,’ said Ridcully.

‘With calcium shells?’

‘Yes, quite thick, so I’m told.’

Ponder looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. ‘Hmm, that’s not too bad, then. If you’d said steel it would have been rather worrying. It sounds very much like a blit devolution, possibly caused by… lack of experience.’

‘I thought you taught Mister Turnipseed everything you know,’ said Ridcully, looking happier than Ponder had seen him in a very long time.

‘Well, sir, perhaps there was something he didn’t quite grasp. Are people at risk?’

‘The wizards have told everyone to stay indoors.’

‘Well, sir, I think if I got some of my equipment together we could leave about teatime.’

‘I’ll come, too, of course,’ said Ridcully. He looked at Ponder. ‘And—’

‘What?’ said Ponder. He looked at Ridcully’s grin. ‘Yes, it might be a good idea if one of the gentlemen from the Times came along to take pictures. They might be very good for instructional purposes.’

‘An extremely good plan, Mister Stibbons, and I think we should take the senior faculty as well. They will lend some much-needed… ’ He snapped his fingers. ‘What’s the word?’

‘Confusion,’ said Ponder.

‘No, not that,’ said Ridcully.

‘Appetite?’ said Ponder. ‘Weight?’

‘Something like that… Ah, gravitas. Oh, yes, lots of gravitas. We aren’t the kind of fellows who run around chasing strange birds. I’ll see you after lunch. And now I have other matters to deal with.’

‘Yes, Archchancellor,’ said Ponder. ‘Oh, and, um… What about the proposed football match?’

‘Regrettably, it appears that it will have to wait until they have rebuilt the university.’

‘That’s a shame, Archchancellor,’ said Ponder.

He carried on with the calculation until the very last figures danced into place, made sure the Archchancellor had left, gave a very small smile, which you might not have noticed had you not expected it, and then pulled another ledger towards him.

It was another good day.

It is now!

Technically, the city of Ankh-Morpork is a Tyranny, which is not always the same thing as a monarchy, and in fact even the post of Tyrant has been somewhat redefined by the incumbent, Lord Vetinari, as the only form of democracy that works. Everyone is entitled to vote, unless disqualified by reason of age or not being Lord Vetinari.

And yet it does work. This has annoyed a number of people who feel, somehow, that it should not, and who want a monarch instead, thus replacing a man who has achieved his position by cunning, a deep understanding of the realities of the human psyche, breathtaking diplomacy, a certain prowess with the stiletto dagger, and, all agree, a mind like a finely balanced circular saw, with a man who has got there by being born. (A third proposition, that the city be governed by a choice of respectable members of the community who would promise not to give themselves airs or betray the public trust at every turn, was instantly the subject of music-hall jokes all over the city.)

However, the crown has hung on anyway, as crowns do–on the Post Office and the Royal Bank and the Mint and, not least, in the sprawling, brawling, squalling consciousness of the city itself. Lots of things live in that darkness. There are all kinds of darkness, and all kinds of things can be found in them, imprisoned, banished, lost or hidden. Sometimes they escape. Sometimes they simply fall out. Sometimes they just can’t take it any more.

That is to say Glenda officially sleeps in the old iron bedstead; in reality most of her sleeping is done in a huge and ancient armchair in the Night Kitchen, where she has very nearly mastered the art of doing without proper sleep altogether. So many crumbs, spoons, bits of pie dough, books and spilt drinks have gone down the sides of the cushions of that chair that it might well now harbour a small, thriving civilization.

Strictly speaking, Dr Hix, spelled with an X, was the son of Mr and Mrs Hicks, but a man who wears a black robe with nasty symbols on it and has a skull ring would be mad, or let us say even madder, to pass up the chance to have an X in his name.