Soul Music - Terry Pratchett [45]
“That’s strong language for Modo, but I’d say he’s right enough.”
“No…it’s a kind of rubbery stuff…” said the Dean, dismally.
“Erm…excuse me, Archchancellor…”
It was the Bursar, standing in the doorway. A large red-faced man was behind him, craning over his shoulder.
“What is it, Bursar?”
“Erm, this gentleman has got a—”
“It’s about your monkey,” said the man.
Ridcully brightened up.
“Oh, yes?”
“Apparently, erm, he sto—removed some wheels from this gentleman’s carriage,” said the Bursar, who was on the depressive side of his mental cycle.
“You sure it was the Librarian?” said the Archchancellor.
“Fat, red hair, says ‘ook’ a lot?”
“That’s him. Oh, dear. I wonder why he did that?” said Ridcully. “Still, you know what they say…a five-hundred-pound gorilla can sleep where he likes.”
“But a three-hundred-pound monkey can give me my bloody wheels back,” said the man, unmoved. “If I don’t get my wheels back, there’s going to be trouble.”
“Trouble?” said Ridcully.
“Yeah. And don’t think you can scare me. Wizards don’t scare me. Everyone knows there’s a rule that you mustn’t use magic against civilians.” The man thrust his face close to Ridcully and raised a fist.
Ridcully snapped his fingers. There was an inrush of air, and a croak.
“I’ve always thought of it more as a guideline,” he said, mildly. “Bursar, go and put this frog in the flower bed and when he becomes his old self give him ten dollars. Ten dollars would be all right, wouldn’t it?”
“Croak,” said the frog hastily.
“Good. And now will someone tell me what’s going on?”
There was a series of crashes from downstairs.
“Why do I think,” said Ridcully, to the world in general, “that this isn’t going to be the answer?”
The servants had been laying the tables for lunch. This generally took some time. Since wizards took their meals seriously, and left a lot of mess, the tables were in a permanent state of being laid, cleaned, or occupied. Place settings alone took a lot of time. Each wizard required nine knives, thirteen forks, twelve spoons, and one rammer, quite apart from all the wineglasses.
Wizards often turned up in ample time for the next meal. In fact they were often there in good time to have second helpings of the previous one.
A wizard was sitting there now.
“That’s Recent Runes, ain’t it?” said Ridcully.
He had a knife in each hand. He also had the salt, pepper, and mustard pots in front of him. And the cake stand. And a couple of tureen covers. All of which he was hitting vigorously with the knives.
“What’s he doing that for?” said Ridcully. “And, Dean, will you stop tapping your feet?”
“Well, it’s catchy,” said the Dean.
“It’s catching,” said Ridcully.
The Lecturer in Recent Runes was frowning in concentration. Forks jangled across the woodwork. A spoon caught a glancing blow, pinwheeled through the air, and hit the Bursar on the ear.
“What the hells does he think he’s doing?”
“That really hurt!”
The wizards clustered around the Lecturer in Recent Runes. He paid them no attention whatsoever. Sweat poured down his beard.
“He just broke the cruet,” said Ridcully.
“It’s going to smart for hours.”
“Ah, yes, he’s as hot as mustard,” said the Dean.
“I’d take that with a pinch of salt,” said the Senior Wrangler.
Ridcully straightened up. He raised a hand.
“Now, someone’s about to say something like ‘I hope the Watch don’t ketchup with him,’ aren’t you?” he said. “Or ‘That’s a bit of a sauce’ or I bet you’re all trying to think of somethin’ silly to say about pepper. I’d just like to know what’s the difference between this faculty and a bunch of pea-brained idiots.”
“Hahaha,” said the Bursar nervously, still rubbing his ear.
“It wasn’t a rhetorical question.” Ridcully snatched the knives out of the Lecturer’s hands. The man went on beating the air for a moment and then appeared to wake up.
“Oh, hello, Archchancellor. Is there a problem?”
“What were you doing?”
The Lecturer looked down at the table.
“He was syncopating,” said the Dean.
“I never was!”
Ridcully frowned. He was a thick-skinned, single-minded