Moving Pictures (Discworld 10)

'Yes, Archchancellor. But he appealed.'

'Appealed? Against passin'?'

'He said he didn't think the examiners had. noticed that he got the allotropes of octiron wrong in question six. He said he couldn't live with his conscience. He said it would haunt him for the rest of his days if he succeeded unfairly over better and more worthy students. You'll notice he got only 82 and 83 in the next two exams.'

s it,' said the Archchancellor, bluntly. 'Damn great black thing. What we need around here, man, is a lot less stone and wood and a bit more jolliness. A few sportin' prints, yer know. An ornament or two.'

'I shall see to it directly,' lied the Bursar smoothly. He remembered the sheaf of papers under his arm. 'In the meantime, Master, perhaps you would care to-'

'Right,' said the Archchancellor, ramming his pointed hat on his head. 'Good man. Now, got a sick dragon to see to. Little devil hasn't touched his tar oil for days.'

'Your signature on one or two of-' the Bursar burbled hurriedly.

'Can't be havin' with all that stuff,' said the Archchancellor, waving him away. 'Too much damn paper around here as it is. And-' He stared through the Bursar, as if he had just remembered something. 'Saw a funny thing this mornin',' he said. 'Saw a monkey in the quad. Bold as brass.'

'Oh, yes,' said the Bursar, cheerfully. 'That would be the Librarian.'

'Got a pet, has he?'

'No, you misunderstand me, Archchancellor,' said the Bursar cheerfully. 'That was the Librarian.'

The Archchancellor stared at him.

The Bursar's smile began to glaze.

'The Librarian's a monkey?'

It took some time for the Bursar to explain matters clearly, and then the Archchancellor said: 'What yer tellin' me, then, is that this chap got himself turned into a monkey by magic?'

'An accident in the Library, yes. Magical explosion. One minute a human, next minute an orang-utan. And you mustn't call him a monkey, Master. He's an ape.'

'Same damn difference, surely?'

'Apparently not. He gets very, er, aggressive if you call him a monkey.'

'He doesn't stick his bottom at people, does he?'

The Bursar closed his eyes and shuddered. 'No, Master. You're thinking of baboons.'

'Ah.' The Archchancellor considered this. 'Haven't got any of them workin' here, then?'

'No, Master. Just the Librarian, Master.'

'Can't have it. Can't have it, yer know. Can't have damn great hairy things shambling around the place,' said the Archchancellor firmly. 'Get rid of him.'

'Good grief, no! He's the best Librarian we've ever had. And tremendous value for money.'

'Why? What d'we pay him?'

'Peanuts,' said the Bursar promptly. 'Besides, he's the only one who knows how the Library actually works.'

'Turn him back, then. No life for a man, bein' a monkey.'

'Ape, Archchancellor. And he seems to prefer it, I'm afraid.'

'How d'yer know?' said the Archchancellor suspiciously. 'Speaks, does he?'

The Bursar hesitated. There was always this trouble with the Librarian. Everyone had got so accustomed to him it was hard to remember a time when the Library was not run by a yellow-fanged ape with the strength of three men. If the abnormal goes on long enough it becomes the normal. It was just that, when you came to explain it to a third party, it sounded odd. He coughed nervously.