'Yes, but it was all based on your work. You built Hex. And now they're putting out that he's some big clever clogs. He's even on a cigarette card.'
'That's nice, sir. It's good when researchers get recognition.'
Ridcully felt like a mosquito that was trying to sting a steel breastplate. 'Hah, wizardry has certainly changed since my day,' he said.
'Yes, sir,' said Ponder noncommittally.
'And by the way, Mister Stibbons,' said Ridcully as he opened the door, 'my day isn't over yet.' There was a yell in the distance. And then a crash. Ridcully smiled. The day had suddenly brightened up.
When he and Ponder reached the Great Hall, most of the team were gathered around one of their members lying on the floor, with Nutt kneeling over him.
'What's happened here?' Ridcully demanded.
'Badly bruised, sir. I shall put a compress on it.'
'Ah.' His gaze fell upon a large, brass-bound chest. It looked at first sight like any other chest, until you saw the tiny little toes poking out.
'Rincewind's luggage,' he growled. 'And where that is, Rincewind can't be far in front. Rincewind!'
'Actually, it wasn't my fault,' said Rincewind.
'He's right, sir,' said Nutt. 'I have to apologize for the fact that this was a group misapprehension. I understand it is a remarkably magical chest on hundreds of little legs and I am afraid that the gentlemen here believed that it would play football like stink, as they put it. In which surmise, I have to say, they were proved wrong.'
'I tried to tell them,' said the former Dean from the edge of the crowd. 'Morning, Mustrum. Good team you have here.'
'All its feet do is get in each other's way,' said Bengo Macarona. 'And if it does get on top of the ball, it spins out of control and, alas, it crashed into Mister Sopworthy here.'
'Oh, well, we learn by our mistakes,' said Ridcully. 'And now, do you happen to have something nice to show me?'
'I think I have the very thing, Archchancellor,' said a cheerful but reedy voice behind him.
Ridcully turned and looked into the face of a man with the shape and urgency of a piccolo. He seemed to be vibrating on the spot.
'Professor Ritornello, Master of the Music,' Ponder whispered into Ridcully's ear.
'Ah, Professor,' said Ridcully smoothly, 'and I see you have the choir with you.'
'Yes indeed, Archchancellor, and I must tell you, I am thrilled and filled with inner light by what I have witnessed this morning! Without ado, I have penned a chant, such as you asked for!'
'Did I?' said Ridcully, out of the corner of his mouth.
'You will remember that chanting was mentioned and so I thought it best to alert the professor,' whispered Ponder.
'Another pp, eh? Oh, well.'
'Happily, it is based on the traditional plainchant or stolation form and is a valedicta, or hail to the winner. May I?' said Professor Ritornello. 'It is a cappella, of course.'
'Go ahead, by all means,' said Ridcully.
The Master of the Music pulled a short baton out of his sleeve. 'I've put the name of Bengo Macarona in there for a marker at the moment, because he has apparently scored two fine "goals", as I believe they are called,' he said, dealing carefully with the word as one might deal with a large spider in the bathtub. Then he caught the eyes of his little flock, nodded, and: Hail the unique qualities of Magister Bengo Macarona! Of Macarona the unique qualities Hail! Hail the! Hail the! The singular talent possessed by no other! Hail! Hail the! Hail the bountiful gods! Who to the, two the - SINGULA SINGULAR SINGULA!
After a minute and a half of this Ridcully coughed loudly, and the Master waved the choir into a stuttering silence.
'Is there something untoward, Archchancellor?'
'Er, not as such, Master, but, er, do you not feel that it is a bit too, well, long?' Ridcully was aware that the former Dean was not trying very hard to suppress a snigger.
'Not at all. In fact, sir, I intend that when it is finished it will be scored for forty voices and, though I dare to say so, will be my masterwork!'