The Last Continent (Discworld 22)

'Mwaaa,' said the Senior Wrangler. The Dean coughed. 'There's a little pool in the jungle.'

'With waterlilies in it,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'Pink ones.'

'Mwaaa,' said the Senior Wrangler. 'And there's a waterfall,' said the Dean. 'Mwaaa.'

'And a soap bush, as a matter of fact.' They watched her walk away. 'Up and down, up and down,' said the Bursar. 'A fine figure of a woman,' said Ridcully. 'She walks differently without her shoes on, doesn't she? Are you all right, Senior Wrangler?'

'Mwaa?'

'O think the heat's getting to you. You've gone very red.'

I'm a mwaa . . . I'm . . . gosh, it is hot, isn t it . . .? I think perhaps I should have a dip too . . .'

'In the lagoon,' said Ridcully, meaningfully. 'Oh, the salt's very bad for the skin, Archchancellor.'

'Quite so. Nevertheless. Or you can go looking for the pool when Mrs Whitlow comes back.'

'I find it rather insulting, Archchancellor, that you should appear to think that—'

'Well done,' said Ridcully. 'Now, shall we go and look at this boat?' Half an hour later all the wizards were assembled on the opposite shore. It was green. And it bobbed up and down. It was clearly a ship, but built perhaps by someone who'd had a very detailed book of ship-building which nevertheless didn't have any pictures in it. There was a blurriness of the detail. The figurehead, for example, was certainly vaguely female, although to the Dean's disappointment it had the same detail as a half-sucked jellybaby. It put the Senior Wrangler in mind of Mrs Whitlow, although currently rocks, trees, clouds and coconuts also reminded him of Mrs Whitlow. And then there was the sail. It was, without a shadow of a doubt, a leaf. And once you realized that it was a leaf, then a certain marrow or pumpkin quality about the rest of the vessel began to creep over you. Ponder coughed. There are some plants which rely for propagation on floating seeds,' he said, in a small voice. 'The common coconut, for example, has . . .'

'Does it have a figurehead?' said Ridcully. 'Er, one variety of mangrove fruit has a sort of keel which . . .'

'And a sail with what looks very much like rigging?' said Ridcully. 'Er . . . no . . .'

'And what are those flowers on the top?' Ridcully demanded. Where a crow's nest would be was a cluster of trumpet-shaped flowers, like green daffodils. 'Who cares?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'It's a ship, even if it is a giant pumpkin, and it looks as though there's room for all of us.' He brightened up. 'Even if it is a bit of a squash,' he added. 'It has appeared very fortuitously,' said Ridcully. 'I wonder why?'

'I said, “Even if it is a bit of a squash,” ' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'Because, a squash, you see, is another name for—'

'Yes, I know,' said Ridcully, looking thoughtfully at the bobbing vessel. 'I was only attempting to—'

'Thank you for sharing, Chair.'

'Actually it does look pretty roomy,' said the Dean, ignoring the Chair's pained expression. 'I vote we load up with provisions and go.'

'Where to?' said Ridcully. 'Somewhere where fearsome reptiles don't suddenly turn into birds!' the Dean snapped. 'You'd prefer it the other way around?' said Ridcully. He started to wade out into the water until, armpit deep, he was able to bang on the side of the hull with his staff. 'I think you are being a little obtuse, Mustrum,' said the Dean. 'Really? How many types of carnivorous plants are there, Mister Stibbons?'

'Dozens, sir.'

'And they eat prey up to—?'

'No upper limit in the case of the Sapu tree of Sumtri, sir. The Sledgehammer Plant of Bhangbhangduc takes the occasional human victim who doesn't see the mallet hidden in the greenery. There's quite a few that can take anything up to rat size. The Pyramid Strangler Vine really only preys on other more stupid plants, but—'

want I should pour a bucket of water on yez?' Rincewind recognized the chatty tones. His eyes unglued. 'Oh, not you! You're a figment of my imagination!'

'I should kick you in the ribs again, then?' said Scrappy. Rincewind pulled himself upright. It was dawn, and he was lying in some bushes out behind the pub. Memory played its silent movie across the tattered sheets of his eyelids. 'There was a fight . . . Mad shot that . . . that . . . shot him with a crossbow!'

'Only through the foot so's he'd stand still to be hit. Wombats can't hold their drink, that's their trouble.' More recollections flickered across the smoky darkness of Rincewind's brain. 'That's right, there were animals drinking in there!'

'Yes and no,' said the kangaroo. 'I tried to explain . . .'

'I'm all ears,' said Rincewind. His eyes glazed for a moment. 'No, I'm not, I'm all bladder. Back in a minute.' The buzz of flies and a sort of universal smell drew Rincewind into a nearby hut. Some people would have liked to think of it as 'the bathroom', although not after going inside. He came out again, hopping up and down urgently. 'Er . . . there's a great big spider on the toilet seat . . .'

'What're you gonna do, wait till it's finished? Fan it with yer hat!' It was odd, Rincewind thought as he shooed the spider out, that a human being would, er, use the bathroom behind a bush in the middle of a thousand miles of howling wilderness but would fight for a dunny if there was one available. 'And stay out,' he muttered, when he was confident the spider was out of earshot. But the human brain often feels incapable of concentrating on the job in hand, and Rincewind found his gaze wandering. And here, as in private places everywhere, men had found the urge to draw on the walls. Perhaps it was the way the light hit the ancient woodwork, but under the usual minutiae from people who needed people, and drawings done from overheated hope rather than memory, was a deeply scored drawing of men in pointy hats. He sidled out thoughtfully and edged away through the bushes.

'No worries,' said the kangaroo, so close to his ear that Rincewind was quite pleased that he'd already relieved himself. 'I don't believe it!'

'You'll see them everywhere. They're built in. They find their way into people's thoughts. You can't outrun your destiny, mate.' Rincewind didn't even bother to argue. 'You're going to have to sort this out,' said Scrappy. 'You're the cause.'