“Celery,” said the Bursar.
“It’s his nerves,” said the Dean, quickly.
“Celery,” said the Archchancellor, his self-control rigid enough to bend horsehoes around. “Right.”
The Bursar handed him a soggy green bundle. Ridcully took it.
“Now, Windle,” he said, “I’d like you to imagine that what I have in my hand—”
“It’s quite all right,” said Windle.
“I’m not actually sure I can hammer—”
“I don’t mind, I assure you,” said Windle.
“You don’t?”
“The principle is sound,” said Windle. “If you just hand me the celery but think hammering a stake, that’s probably sufficient.”
“That’s very decent of you,” said Ridcully. “That shows a very proper spirit.”
“Esprit de corpse,” said the Senior Wrangler.
Ridcully glared at him, and thrust the celery dramatically toward Windle.
“Take that!” he said.
“Thank you,” said Windle.
“And now let’s put the lid on and go and have some lunch,” said Ridcully. “Don’t worry, Windle. It’s bound to work. Today is the last day of the rest of your life.”
Windle lay in the darkness, listening to the hammering. There was a thump and a muffled imprecation against the Dean for not holding the end properly. And then the patter of soil on the lid, getting fainter and more distant.
After a while a distant rumbling suggested that the commerce of the city was being resumed. He could even hear muffled voices.
He banged on the coffin lid.
“Can you keep it down?” he demanded. “There’s people down here trying to be dead!”
He heard the voices stop. There was the sound of feet hurrying away.
Windle lay there for some time. He didn’t know how long. He tried stopping all functions, but that just made things uncomfortable. Why was dying so difficult? Other people seemed to manage it, even without practice.
Also, his leg itched.
He tried to reach down to scratch it, and his hand touched something small and irregularly shaped. He managed to get his fingers around it.
It felt like a bundle of matches.
In a coffin? Did anyone think he’d smoke a quiet cigar to pass the time?
After a certain amount of effort he managed to push one boot off with the other boot and ease it up until he could just grasp it. This gave him a rough surface to strike the match on—
Sulphurous light filled his tiny oblong world.
There was a tiny scrap of cardboard pinned to the inside of the lid.
He read it.