The Last Continent - Terry Pratchett [102]
Out at sea a huge wave was building up. It towered higher and higher. And the Bursar was on top of it.
“Bursar!” Ridcully screamed.
The distant figure stood up on the seed and waved.
“He’s standing up,” said Ridcully. “Is he supposed to stand up on those things? He’s not supposed to stand up, is he? I’m sure he shouldn’t be standing up. YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO STAND UP, BURSAAAR! How…That’s not supposed to happen, is it?”
The wave curled, but the Bursar seemed to be skimming down the side of it, skidding along the huge green wet wall like a man on one ski.
Ridcully turned to the other wizards. “He can’t do that, can he? He’s walking up and down on it. Can he do that? The wave’s curling over and he’s just sliding gently along the…Oh, no…”
The foaming crest curled over the speeding wizard.
“That’s it, then,” said Ridcully.
“Er…no…” said Ponder.
The Bursar reappeared further along the beach, expelled from the collapsing tube of water like an arrow from a bow. The wave crashed over behind him, striking the shore as if it had just offended it.
The seed changed direction, cruised gently over the backwash and crunched to a halt on the sand.
The Bursar stepped off. “Hooray,” he said. “My feet are wet. What a nice forest. Time for tea.”
He picked up the seed and rammed it point first in the sand. Then he wandered away up the beach.
“How did he do that?” said Ridcully. “I mean, the man’s crazier than a ferret! Damn good Bursar, of course.”
“Possibly the lack of mental balance means there’s nothing to impede physical stability?” said Ponder wearily.
“You think so?”
“Not really, sir. I just said it for something to say.” Ponder tried to massage some life back into his legs, and started to count under his breath.
“Is there anything to eat here?” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
“Four,” said Ponder.
“I beg your pardon?”
“What? Oh, it was just some counting I was doing, sir. No, sir. There’s probably fish and lobsters in the sea, but the land looks pretty bare to me.”
It did. Reddish sand stretched away through the grayish drizzle to bluish mountains. The only greenishness was the Dean’s face and, suddenly, the shoots winding out of the Bursar’s surfing seed. Leaves unfolded in the rain, tiny flowers opened with little plopping noises.
“Well, at least we’ll have another boat,” said the Senior Wrangler.
“I doubt it, sir,” said Ponder. “The god wasn’t very good at breeding things.” And, indeed, the swelling fruit was not looking very boat-shaped.
“You know, I still think it would help if we thought of all this as a valuable opportunity,” said Ridcully.
“That’s true,” said the Dean, sitting up. “It’s not many times in your life you get the chance to die of hunger on some bleak continent thousands of years before you’re born. We should make the most of it.”
“I meant that pitting ourselves against the elements will bring out the best in us and forge us into a go-getting and hard-hitting team,” said Ridcully. This view got no takers.
“I’m sure there must be something to eat,” mumbled the Chair of Indefinite Studies, looking around aimlessly. “There usually is.”
“After all, nothing is beyond men like us,” said Ridcully.
“That’s true,” said Ponder. “Oh gods, yes. That’s true.”
“And at least a wizard can always make a decent fire.”
Ponder’s eyes opened wide. He rose in one movement aimed at Ridcully, but was still airborne when the Archchancellor tossed a small fireball at a heap of driftwood. By the time the glowing ball was halfway to the wood Ponder had hit Ridcully in the back, so that both of them were sprawled on the wet sand when the world went whooph.
When they looked up the heap of driftwood was a blackened crater.
“Well, thank you,” said the Dean, behind them. “I feel lovely and dry now, and I never did like my eyebrows all that much.”
“High thaumic field, sir,” Ponder panted. “I did say.”
Ridcully stared at his hands. “I was going to light my pipe with one…” he muttered. He held the hand away from him. “It was only a Number Ten,” he said.
The Dean stood up,