“Well, I, er, I should just drink anything you like, in your case,” said Ridcully.
He hauled the mail sack down from the roof.
“What do we do with this?” he said.
There were ambling footsteps behind him, and he turned to see a short, red-faced youth in ill-fitting and baggy chain-mail, which made him look like a lizard that had lost a lot of weight very quickly.
“Where's the coach driver?” said Shawn Ogg.
“He's ill,” said Ridcully. “He had a sudden attack of bandits. What do we do with the mail?”
“I take the palace stuff, and we generally leave the sack hanging up on a nail outside the tavern so that people can help themselves,” said Shawn.
“Isn't that dangerous?” said Ponder.
“Don't think so. It's a strong nail,” said Shawn, rummaging in the sack.
“I meant, don't people steal letters?”
“Oh, they wouldn't do that, they wouldn't do that. One of the witches'd go and stare at 'em if they did that.” Shawn stuffed a few packages under his arm and hung the sack on the aforesaid nail.
“Yes, that's another thing they used to have round here,” said Ridcully. “Witches! Let me tell you about the witches round here-”
“Our mum's a witch,” said Shawn conversationally, rummaging in the sack.
“As fine a body of women as you could hope to meet,” said Ridcully, with barely a hint of mental gear-clashing. “And not a bunch of interfering power-mad old crones at all, whatever anyone might say.”
“Are you here for the wedding?”
“That's right. I'm the Archchancellor of Unseen University, this is Mr. Stibbons, a wizard, this - where are you? Oh, there you are - this is Mr. Casanunda-”
“Count,” said Casanunda. “I'm a Count.”
“Really? You never said.”
“Well, you don't, do you? It's not the first thing you say.”
Ridcully's eyes narrowed.
“But I thought dwarfs didn't have titles,” he said.
“I performed a small service for Queen Agantia of Skund,” said Casanunda.
“Did you? My word. How small?”
“Not that small.”
“My word. And that's the Bursar, and this is the Librarian.” Ridcully took a step backward, waved his hands in the air, and silently mouthed the words: Don't Say Monkey.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Shawn, politely.
Ridcully felt moved to investigate.
“The Librarian,” he repeated.
“Yes. You said.” Shawn nodded at the orang-utan. “How d'you do?”
“Ook.”