The Last Continent (Discworld 22)

'It'd be an honour,' said Ponder. The blue mist was right in front of him. By the look of the sparks, something very important was happening in there. 'Do you give them any instructions before you let them out?' he said, his breathing shallow. 'A few simple ones,' said the god. He waved a wrinkled hand, and the glowing ball began to contract. 'Mostly they work things out themselves.'

'Of course, of course,' said Ponder. 'And I suppose if they go wrong we could always put them right with a few commandments.'

'Not really necessary,' said the god, as the blue ball vanished and revealed the pinnacle of creation. 'I find very simple instructions are quite sufficient. You know . . . “Head for dark places,” that sort of thing. There! Isn't it perfect? What a piece of work! The sun will burn out, the seas will dry up, but this chap will be there, you mark my— Hello? Ponder?' The Dean wet a finger and held it up. 'We have the wind on our starboard beam,' he said. 'That's good, is it?' said the Senior Wrangler. 'Could be, could be. Let's hope it can take us to this continent he mentioned. I'm getting nervous of islands.' Ridcully finished hacking through the stem of the boat and threw it overboard. At the top of the green mast the trumpet-like blooms appeared to tremble in the wind. The leaf sail creaked slowly into a different position. 'I'd say this was a miracle of nature', said the Dean, 'if we hadn't just met the person who did it. Rather spoils it, that.' While wizards were not generally adventurous, they did understand that a vital part of any great undertaking is the securing of adequate provisions, which is why the boat was noticeably heavier in the water. The Dean selected a natural cigar, lit it, and made a face. 'Not the best,' he said. 'Rather green.'

'We'll just have to rough it,' said Ridcully. 'What are you doing, Senior Wrangler?'

'Just preparing a little tray for Mrs Whitlow. A few choice things.' The wizards glanced towards the crude awning they'd erected towards the prow. It wasn't that she'd actually asked for it. It was simply that she'd made some remark about how hot the sun was, as anyone might, and suddenly wizards were getting in each other's way as they vied with one another to cut poles and weave palm leaves. Perhaps never has so much intellectual effort gone into building a sunshade, which might have accounted for the wobble. 'I thought it was my turn to do that,' said the Dean, coldly. 'No, Dean, you took her the fruit drink, if you remember,' said the Senior Wrangler, cutting a cheese nut into dainty segments. 'That was just one small drink!' the Dean snapped. 'You're doing a whole tray. Look, you've even done a flower arrangement in a coconut shell!'

'Mrs Whitlow likes that sort of thing,' said the Senior Wrangler calmly. 'But she did say it was still a bit warm, so possibly you can fan her with a palm leaf while I peel these grapes for her.'

'Once again it is left to me to point out the elementary unfairness,' said the Dean. 'Merely waving a leaf is a very menial activity compared to removing grape skins, and I happen to outrank you. Senior Wrangler.'

'Indeed, Dean? And exactly how do you work that out?'

'It's not my opinion, man, it's written into the Faculty structure!'

'Of where, precisely?'

'Have you gone totally Bursar? Unseen University, of course!'

'And where is that, exactly?' said the Senior Wrangler, carefully arranging some lilies in a pleasing design. 'Ye gods, man, it's . . . it's . . .' The Dean flapped a hand in the direction of the horizon, and his voice trailed off as certain facts of time and space bore in on him. 'I'll leave you to work it out, shall I?' said the Senior Wrangler, getting off his knees and raising the tray reverentially. 'I'll help!' shouted the Dean, lumbering to his feet. 'It's very light, I assure you—'

'No, no, I can't let you do it all by yourself!' Each holding the tray with one hand, and trying to push the other man away with the spare hand, they lurched forward, leaving a trail of spilt coconut milk and petals. Ridcully rolled his eyes. It must be the heat, he thought. He turned to the Chair of Indefinite Studies, who was trying to tie a short log to a long stick with a piece of creeper. 'I was just thinking', he said, 'that everyone's gone a little bit mad except me and you . . . Er, what are you doing there?'

'I was just wondering whether Mrs Whitlow might like a game of croquet,' said the Chair. He waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially. The Archchancellor sighed and wandered off along the deck. The Librarian had gone back to being a deckchair as a suitable mode for shipboard life, and the Bursar had gone to sleep on him. The big leaf moved slightly. Ridcully got the feeling that the green trumpets on the mast were sniffing. The wizards were already a little way from shore, but he saw the column of dust come down the track. It stopped at the beach and became a dot, which plunged into the sea. The sail creaked again, and flapped as the wind grew.

'Ahoy there!' shouted Ridcully. The distant figure waved for a moment and then continued swimming. Ridcully filled his pipe and watched with interest as Ponder Stibbons caught up with the boat. 'Very well swum, if I may say so,' he said. 'Permission to come aboard, sir?' said Ponder, treading water. 'Could you throw down a creeper?'

'Why, certainly.' The Archchancellor puffed his pipe as the wizard climbed aboard. 'Possibly a record time over that distance, Mister Stibbons.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Ponder, dripping water on the deck. 'And may I congratulate you on being properly dressed. You are wearing your pointy hat, which is the sine qua non of a wizard in public.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'It is a good hat.'

'Thank you, sir.' They say a wizard without his hat is undressed, Mister Stibbons.'

'So I have heard, sir.'

'But in your case, I must point out, you are with your hat but you are still, in a very real sense, undressed.'

'I thought the robe would slow me down, sir.'

'And, while it is good to see you, Stibbons, albeit rather more of you than I would usually care to contemplate, I am moved to ask why you are, in fact, here.'

'I suddenly felt it would be unfair to deprive the University of my services, sir.'

'Really? A sudden rush of nostalgia for the old alma mater, eh?'

'You could say that, sir.' Ridcully's eyes twinkled behind the smoke and, not for the first time, Ponder suspected that the man was sometimes rather cleverer than he appeared. It would not be hard. The Archchancellor shrugged, removed his pipe, and poked around inside it to remove a particularly obstructive clinker.

'The Senior Wrangler's bathing costume is around somewhere,' he said. 'I should put it on, if I were you. I suspect that offending Mrs Whitlow at the moment will get you hanged. All right? And if there is anything you want to talk about, my door is always open.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'Right now, of course, I don't have a door.'