“But he just waved to me,” said the sergeant, desperately. “So?”
“Well, it’s not normal for—”
“It’s all right, sergeant,” said Windle.
Sergeant Colon sidled closer to the coffin.
“Didn’t I see you throw yourself into the river last night?” he said, out of the corner of his mouth.
“Yes. You were very helpful,” said Windle.
“And then you threw yourself sort of out again,” said the sergeant.
“I’m afraid so.”
“But you were down there for ages.”
“Well, it was very dark, you see. I couldn’t find the steps.”
Sergeant Colon had to concede the logic of this.
“Well, I suppose you must be dead, then,” he said. “No one could stay down there who wasn’t dead.”
“This is it,” Windle agreed.
“Only why are you waving and talking?” said Colon.
The Senior Wrangler poked his head out of the hole.
“It’s not unknown for a dead body to move and make noises after death, Sergeant,” he volunteered. “It’s all down to involuntary muscular spasms.”
“Actually, Senior Wrangler is right,” said Windle Poons. “I read that somewhere.”
“Oh.” Sergeant Colon looked around. “Right,” he said, uncertainly. “Well…fair enough, I suppose…”
“Okay, we’re done,” said the Archchancellor, scrambling out of the hole, “it’s deep enough. Come on, Windle, down you go.”
“I really am very touched, you know,” said Windle, lying back in the coffin. It was quite a good one, from the mortuary in Elm Street. The Archchancellor had let him choose it himself.
Ridcully picked up a mallet.
Windle sat up again.
“Everyone’s going to so much trouble—”
“Yes, right,” said Ridcully, looking around. “Now—who’s got the stake?”
Everyone looked at the Bursar.
The Bursar looked unhappy.
He fumbled in a bag.
“I couldn’t get any,” he said.
The Archchancellor put his hand over his eyes.
“All right,” he said quietly. “You know, I’m not surprised? Not surprised at all. What did you get? Lamb chops? A nice piece of pork?”