Ridcully let the thoughtful pause hang in the air for a while before volunteering: 'Fortunately, I don't think anyone these days would expect that we play football underwater.'
'The pies would float,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
'Not necessarily,' said Ponder.
'What about clothing, Mister Stibbons? I assume there will be some?'
'Temperatures were somewhat warmer in olden days. I can assure you that no one will insist on nudity.'
Ponder might have noticed the rattle as the girl with the tea trolley almost dropped a cup, but was gracious enough not to notice that he had noticed. He went on. 'Currently the teams wear old shirts and short trousers.'
'How short?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, urgency in his voice.
'About mid-knee, I believe,' said Ponder. 'Is this likely to be a problem?'
'Yes, it is. The knees should be covered. It is a well-known fact that a glimpse of the male knee can drive women into a frenzy of libidinousness.' There was another rattle from the tea trolley, but Ponder ignored it because his own head had rattled a bit, too.
'Are you sure about that, sir?'
'It is established fact, young Stibbons.'
Ponder had found a grey hair on his comb that morning and was not in the mood to take this standing up.
'And precisely in what books does - ' he began, but Ridcully interrupted with unusual diplomacy. Generally he liked little tiffs among the faculty.
'A few more inches to prevent mobbing by the ladies should present us with no problems, surely, Mister Stibbons? Oops... '
This last was to Glenda, who had dropped two spoons on the carpet. She gave him a cursory curtsy.
'Er, yes... and we should sport the university colours,' he went on, with a hint of nervousness. Ridcully prided himself on treating the staff well, and indeed did so whenever he remembered them, but the expression of intelligent amusement on the face of the dumpy girl had unnerved him; it was as if a chicken had winked.
'Um, yes, yes indeed,' he said. 'The good old red jersey we used to wear in my rowing days, with the big U's on the front, bold as brass... '
He glanced at the maid, who was frowning. But he was Archchancellor, wasn't he? It said so on his door, didn't it?
'That's what we'll do,' he declared. 'We'll look into pies, although I've seen a few pies that don't bear looking into, haha, and we'll adapt the good old red sweater. What's next, Mister Stibbons?'
'With regard to the chanting, sir. I've asked the Master of the Music to work on some options,' said Ponder smoothly. 'We need to select a team as soon as possible.'
'I don't see what the rush is,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, who had almost nodded off in the arms of a chocolate biscuit surfeit.
'The bequest, remember?' said the head of the Department of Post-Mortem Communications. 'We - '
'Pas devant la domestique!' snapped the Lecturer in Recent Runes. ;And it was a Dimmer boy?'
'Yes,' he said. 'They heard he died, but you know how those Dimwell buggers lie.'
'Where are your boys now?'
For a moment the old man's eyes blazed. 'They're stoppin' indoors or I'll thrash 'em. You get some nasty gangs out when something like that's been happening.'
'One less now, then,' said Glenda.
Stollop's face was painted in pigments of misery and dread. 'They're not bad boys, you know. Not at heart. People pick on them.'
Yes, down at the Watch House, she said to herself, where people say, 'That's them! The big ones! I'd know them anywhere!'
She left him shaking his head and ran down the road. The troll would never expect to get a fare up here and there was no sense in hanging around and getting covered in paint. She might just about be able to catch up with it on its way down town. After a minute or two she realized that someone was following her. Chasing her in the gloom. If only she'd remembered to bring the knife. She stepped into a patch of deeper shadow and, as the knife-wielding maniac drew level, stepped out and shouted, 'Stop following me!'