'Did you?'
'It was very small writing,' said Glod. He brightened up. 'But there was a lot of it,' he added. 'Bound to be a good contract, with that much writing on it.'
'The Librarian ran away,' said Buddy. 'Oooked a lot, and ran away.'
'Hah! Well, he'll be sorry later on,' said Glod. 'Later on, people'll talk to him and he'll say: I left, you know, before they became famous.'
'He'll say ook.'
'Anyway, that piano's going to need some work.'
'Yeah,' said Cliff. 'Like, I saw once where dis guy made stuff out of matches. He could repair it.' A couple of dollars became two lamb kormas and pitchblende vindaloo at the Curry Gardens, along with a bottle of wine so chemical that even trolls could drink it. 'And after this,' said Glod, as they sat down to wait for the food, 'we'll find somewhere else to stay.'
'What wrong with your place?' said Cliff. 'It's too draughty. It's got a piano-shaped hole in the door.'
'Yes, but you put it there.'
'So what?'
'Won't the landlord object?'
'Of course he'll object. That's what landlords are for. Anyway, we're on the up and up, lads. I can feel it in my water.'
'I thought you were just happy to get paid,' said Buddy. 'Right. Right. But I'm even happier to get paid a lot.' The guitar hummed. Buddy picked it up, and plucked a string. Glod dropped his knife. 'That sounded like a piano!' he said. 'I think it can sound like anything,' said Buddy. 'And now it knows about pianos.'
'Magic,' said Cliff. 'Of course magic,' said Glod. 'That's what I keep saying. A strange old thing found in a dusty old shop one stormy night-'
'It wasn't stormy,' said Cliff. '-it's bound to . . . yes, all right, but it was raining a bit . . . it's bound to be a bit special. I bet if we was to go back now the shop wouldn't be there. And that'd prove it. Everyone knows things bought from shops which aren't there next day are dead mysterious and items of Fate. Fate's smiling on us, could be.'
'Doing something on us,' said Cliff. 'I hope it's smiling.'
'And Mr Dibbler said he'd find us somewhere really special to play tomorrow.'
'Good,' said Buddy. 'We must play.'
'Right,' said Cliff. 'We play all right. It's our job.'
'People should hear our music.'
'Sure.' Cliff looked puzzled. 'Right. Of course. Dat's what we want. And some pay, too.'
'Mr Dibbler'll help us,' said Glod, who was too preoccupied to notice the edge in Buddy's voice. 'He must be very successful. He's got an office in Sator Square. Only very posh businesses can afford that.' A new day dawned. It had hardly finished doing so before Ridcully hurried through the dewy grass of the University gardens and hammered on the door of the High Energy Magic Building. Generally he never went near the place. It wasn't that he didn't understand what it was the young wizards in there were actually doing, but because he strongly suspected that they didn't, either. They seemed to positively enjoy becoming less and less certain about everything and would come in to dinner saying things like 'Wow, we've just overturned Marrowleaf's Theory of Thaumic Imponderability! Amazing!' as if it was something to be proud of, instead of gross discourtesy. And they were always talking about splitting the thaum, the smallest unit of magic. The Archchancellor couldn't see the point. So you had bits all over the place. What good would that do? The universe was bad enough without people poking it. The door opened. 'Oh, it's you, Archchancellor.' Ridcully pushed the door open further. "Morning, Stibbons. Glad to see you're up and about early.' Ponder Stibbons, the faculty's youngest member, blinked at the sky. 'Is it morning already?' he said. Ridcully pushed his way past him and into the HEM. It was unfamiliar ground for a traditional wizard. There wasn't a skull or dribbly candle to be seen; this particular room looked like an alchemist's laboratory had suffered the inevitable explosion and landed in a blacksmith's shop. Nor did he approve of Stibbons's robe. It was the right length but a washed-out greeny-grey, with pockets and toggles and a hood with a bit of rabbit fur around the edge. There weren't any sequins or jewels or mystic symbols anywhere. Just a blodgy stain where Stibbons's pen leaked. 'You ain't been out lately?' said Ridcully. 'No, sir. Er. Should I have been? I've been busy working on my Make-It-Bigger device. You know, I showed you-'[19] 'Right, right,' said Ridcully, looking around. 'Anyone else been working in here?'
'Well . . . there's me, and Tez the Terrible and Skazz and Big Mad Drongo, I think . . .' Ridcully blinked. 'What are they?' he said. And then, from the depths of memory, a horrible answer suggested itself. Only a very specific species had names like that. 'Students?'
'Er. Yes?' said Ponder, backing away. 'That's all right, isn't it? I mean, this is a university . . .' Ridcully scratched his ear. The man was right, of course. You had to have some of the buggers around, there was no getting away from it. Personally, he avoided them .whenever possible, as did the rest of the faculty, occasionally running the other way or hiding behind doors whenever they saw them. The Lecturer in Recent Runes had been known to lock himself in his wardrobe rather than take a tutorial. 'You better fetch 'em,' he said. 'The fact is, I seem to have lost my faculty.'
'For what, Archchancellor?' said Ponder, politely.
'What?'
'Sorry?' They looked at one another in incomprehension, two minds driving opposite ways up a narrow street and waiting for the other man to reverse first. 'The faculty,' said Ridcully, giving up. 'The Dean and whatnot. Gone totally round the corner. Been up all night, playing guitars and whatnot. The Dean's made himself a coat out of leather.'
'Well, leather is a very practical and functional material-'
'Not the way he's using it,' said Ridcully darkly . . . [. . . the Dean stood back. He'd borrowed a dressmaker's dummy from Mrs Whitlow, the housekeeper. He'd made some changes to the design that had buzzed around his brain. For one thing, a wizard in his very soul is loath to wear any garment that doesn't reach down at least to the ankles, so there was quite a lot of leather. Lots of room for all the studs. He'd started with: DEAN. That had hardly begun to fill the space. After a while he'd added: BORN TO, and left a space because he wasn't quite sure what he'd been born to. BORN TO EAT BIG DINNERS wouldn't be appropriate. After some more bemused thought he'd gone on to: LIVE FATS DIE YO GNU. It wasn't quite right, he could see; he'd turned the material over while he was making the holes for the studs and had sort of lost track of which direction he was going. Of course, it didn't matter which direction you went, just so long as you went. That's what music with rocks in it was all about . . .] . . . 'And Recent Runes is in his room playing drums, and the rest of them have all got guitars, and what the Bursar's done to the bottom of his robe is really strange,' said Ridcully. 'And the Librarian's wandering around the place pinchin' stuff and no-one listens to a word I say.' He stared at the students. It was a worrying sight, and not just because of the natural look of students. Here were some people who, while this damn music was making everyone tap their feet, had stayed indoors all night - working. 'What are you lot doing in here?' he said. 'You . . . what's your name?' The student wizard pinned by Ridcully's pointing finger squirmed anxiously. 'Er. Um. Big Mad Drongo,' he said, twisting the brim of his hat in his hands. 'Big. Mad. Drongo,' said Ridcully. 'That's your name, is it? That's what you've got sewn on your vest?'
'Um. No, Archchancellor.'