The candles went out, all at once, even the ones high up in the chandelier; Glenda could see pale ghosts of smoke rising in the gloom. Beside her, Nutt started counting under his breath. One, two... At the count of three, the candles at the far end of the Hall burst into life again, revealing Trevor Likely, wearing his most infectious grin.
'Evenin' all,' he said, 'an' to you too, your lordship. My, but ain't you lookin' quite the swell tonight.' As breaths were indrawn all around the Hall Trev pulled out his tin can, dropped it on to his foot and flicked it up on to his shoulder, where it travelled around the back of his neck and down his other arm.
'At the start people used to kick rocks. That was sort of stupid. Then they tried skulls, but you had to get 'em off people and that led to fightin'.'
Beside Glenda, Nutt was still counting...
'An' now we've got what we call a ball,' Trev continued, as his tin can rolled and climbed around him, 'but it ain't all that, 'cos it's a lump of firewood. You can't kick it 'less you've got big heavy boots on. It's slow. It's heavy. It don't live, gentlemen, and football should live... '
The doors at the other end of the Hall opened and Bengo Macarona trotted in, bouncing the new football. Its gloing, gloing echoed around the Hall. Some of the football captains had got to their feet, craning for a better view.
'And with the old football, you couldn't do this,' said Trev, and dived for the floor as Macarona spun in one balletic movement and sent the ball screaming up the aisle like an angry hornet.
Some scenes are only ever a memory rather than an experience, because they happen too fast for immediate comprehension, and Glenda watched the subsequent events on the internal screen of horrified recollection. There were the two Archmages and the Tyrant of the city, watching with frozen interest as the spinning globe hummed towards them, dragging terrible consequences in its wake, and then there was the Librarian rising out of nowhere, stopping it dead in mid air with a hand like a shovel.
'That's us, gentlemen. And we'll take on the first team that joins us on the Hippo on Saturday at one o'clock. We'll be training all around the city. You can join in if you like. And don't worry if you don't have the balls! We'll give you some!' The candle flames went out, which was just as well because it is hard to riot in the dark. When the flames rose again in their eerie way, shouting, arguments, laughter and even discussion were taking place on every table. Quietly, too, the servants went to and fro with their flagons. There always seemed to be another one, Glenda noticed.
'What have they been drinking?' she whispered to the nearest waiter.
'Winkle's Old Peculiar, Mages' Special. It's top stuff.'
'What about his lordship?'
He grinned. 'Ha. Funny thing, some of 'em have asked me that, too. Just the same as the guests. Poured out of the same flagon, just like for everyone else, so it's - ' He stopped.
Lord Vetinari was on his feet again. 'Gentlemen, who among you will accept the challenge? It need not be Dimwell, it need not be Dolly Sisters, it need not be the Nappers, it just has to be a team, gentlemen; the Unseen Academicals will take on the best of you, in the best traditions of sportsmanship. I have set the date of the game for Saturday. As far as the Academicals are concerned, you can watch them train and Mister Stibbons will give you all the advice you may need. This will be a fair match, gentlemen, you have my word on it.' He paused. 'Did I mention that when it is presented, the very nearly gold urn will be full of beer? The concept is quite popular, I gather, and I predict that for a reasonable period the golden cup will quite miraculously stay full of beer, no matter how many drink thereof. I shall personally see to it.'
This got a big cheer, too. Glenda felt embarrassed for the men, but angry at them too. They were being led by the nose. Or, more accurately, by the beer.
Vetinari didn't need whips and thumbscrews; he just needed Winkle's Old Peculiar, Mages' Special, and he was leading them like little lambs-and matching them pint for pint. How could he manage that? Hey, look at me, he's saying, I'm just like you, and he's not like them at all. They can't have someone killed-she paused the thought to allow consideration of some of the street fights when the pubs shut, and amended it to-and get away with it.
'My friend the Archchancellor has just informed me that, of course, the Unseen Academicals will not on any account resort to magic! Nobody wants to see a team of frogs, I am sure!'
There was general laughter at this lame joke, but the plain fact was that right now they would have laughed at a paper bag.
'This will be a proper football match, gentlemen, no trickery, only skills,' said the Patrician, his voice sharp again. 'And on that note I am decreeing a new code, based on the hallowed and traditional rules of football so recently rediscovered, but including many familiar ones of more recent usage. The office of referee is there to ensure obedience to the rules. There must be rules, my friends. There must be. There is no game without rules. No rules, no game.'
And there it was. No one else seemed to notice, through the fumes, the razor blade glittering for a moment in the candyfloss. Rules? thought Glenda. What are these new rules? I never knew there were rules. But Lord Vetinari's assistant, whoever he was, was quietly putting a few sheets of paper in front of each man.
She remembered old Stollop's bafflement when confronted with a mere envelope. Some of them could read, surely? But how many of them could read now?
His lordship had not finished. 'Finally, gentlemen, I would like you to peruse and sign the copies of the rules Mister Drumknott has given you. And now I understand the Archchancellor and his colleagues are looking forward to seeing you in the Uncommon Room for cigars and, I believe, an exceptionally rare brandy!'
Well, that would about wrap it up, wouldn't it? The footballers were used to just beer. To be fair, they were used to lots of just beer. Nevertheless, if she was any judge, and she was pretty good, they would now be very nearly falling-down drunk. Although some seasoned captains could stand up for some time while being, technically, falling-down drunk. And there is nothing more embarrassing than seeing a falling-down drunk except for when it is a falling-down drunk who is still standing up. And that was amazing: the captains were the type of men who drank in quarts, and could belch the national anthem and bend steel bars with their teeth, or even somebody else's teeth. Okay, they had never had much in the way of schooling, but why did they have to be so dumb?
'Tell me,' murmured Ridcully to Vetinari as they watched the guests file out unsteadily, 'are you behind the discovery of the urn?'
'We have known one another for quite some time, Mustrum, have we not,' said Vetinari, 'and as you know, I would not lie to you.' He paused for a moment and added, 'Well, of course I would lie to you in acceptable circumstances, but on this occasion I can truthfully say that the discovery of the urn came as a surprise to me as well, albeit a pleasant one. Indeed, I assumed that you gentlemen had had something to do with it.'
'We didn't even know it was there,' said Ridcully. 'Personally, I suspect that religion is involved.'
Vetinari smiled. 'Well, of course, classically, gods play with the fates of men, so I suppose there is no reason why it shouldn't be football. We play and are played and the best we can hope for is to do it with style.'
It might have been possible to cut the air in the Uncommon Room with a knife, had anyone been able to find a knife. Or hold a knife the right way if found. From the point of view of the wizards, it was business as usual, but while a number of captains were being wheeled away in a wheelbarrow, thoughtfully stationed there earlier in the evening, there were enough visitors still standing to make for a damp, hot hubbub. In an unregarded corner, the Patrician and the two Archchancellors had found a space where they could relax unheeded in the big chairs and settle a few matters.
'You know, Henry,' said Vetinari to the former Dean, 'I think it would be a very good idea if you were to referee the match.'
'Oh, come on! I think that would be most unfair,' said Ridcully.