'Why's it called Ming?' said the Archchancellor, on cue.
The Bursar tapped the pot. It went ming.
'And they spit lead balls at people, do they?' said Ridcully.
'No, Master. He just used it to put the . . . the machinery in. Whatever it is. Whatever it's doing.'
. . .whumm . . .
'Hold on. It wobbled,' said the Dean .
. . .whumm . . . whumm . . .
The wizards stared at one another in sudden panic . . .
'What's happening? What's happening?' said Windle Poons. 'Why won't anyone, mm, tell me what's happening?'
. . . whumm . . . whumm . . .
'Run!' suggested the Dean.
'Which way?' quavered the Bursar.
. . . whummWHUMM . . .
'I'm an old man and I demand someone tell me what's-'
Silence.
'Duck!' shouted the Archchancellor.
Plib.
A splinter of stone was knocked off the pillar behind him.
He raised his head. 'Bigods, that was a damn lucky es-'
Plib.
The second pellet knocked the tip off his hat.
The wizards lay trembling on the flagstones for several minutes. After a while the Dean's muffled voice, 'Was that all, do you think?'
The Archchancellor raised his head. His face, always red, was now incandescent.
'Bursaar!'
'Master?'
'That's what I call shootin'!'
Victor turned over.
'Wzstf,' he said.
'It's six aye-emm, rise and shine, Mr Dibbler says,' said Detritus, grasping the bedclothes in one hand and dragging them on to the floor.
'Six o'clock? That's night-time!' groaned Victor.