“Yes, Archchancellor?”
“The comment I made recently about the Y-word…”
“Yes? Yes?”
“You can definitely include Yee-haw, too.”
The Dean hung his head.
“Oh. Yes, Archchancellor.”
“And why hasn’t everythin’ gone boom?”
“I put a slight delay on it, Archchancellor. I thought perhaps we ought to get out before things happened.”
“Good thinking, that man.”
“Soon have you out, Windle,” said Reg Shoe. “We don’t leave our people in there. Isn’t this—”
And then the floor erupted ahead of them.
And then, behind them.
The thing that arose from the shattered tiles was either formless or many forms at once. It writhed angrily, snapping its tubing at them.
The trolley skewed to a halt.
“Got anymore magic, Dean?”
“Er…no, Archchancellor.”
“And the spells you just said will go off…?”
“And second now, Archchancellor.”
“So…whatever’s going to happen…is going to happen to us?”
“Yes, Archchancellor.”
Ridcully patted Windle on the head.
“Sorry about this,” he said.
Windle turned awkwardly to look down the passageway.
There was something behind the Queen. It looked like a perfectly ordinary bedroom door, advancing in a series of small steps, as though someone was carefully pushing it along in front of them.
“What is it?” said Red.
Windle raised himself as far as he could.
“Schleppel!”
“Oh, come on,” said Reg.
“It’s Schleppel!” shouted Windle. “Schleppel! It’s us! Can you help us out?”
The door paused. Then it was flung aside.