Unseen Academicals (Discworld 37)

'Sorry, master!' said his temporary apprentice, trying to control the sliding, finger-crushing monster that every stepladder becomes at the first opportunity, and often without any opportunity at all.

'And keep the noise down!' Smeems bellowed. 'Do you want to be a dribbler for the rest of your life?'

'Actually, I quite like being a dribbler, sir - '

'Ha! Want of ambition is the curse of the labouring class! Here, give me that thing!'

The Candle Knave snatched at the ladder just as his luckless assistant closed it.

'Sorry about that, sir... '

'There's always room for one more on the wick-dipping tank, you know,' said Smeems, blowing on his knuckles.

'Fair enough, sir.'

The Candle Knave stared at the grey, round, guileless face. There was an unshakeably amiable look about it that was very disconcerting, especially when you knew what it was you were looking at. And he knew what it was, oh yes, but not what it was called.

'What's your name again? I can't remember everybody's name.'

'Nutt, Mister Smeems. With two t's.'

'Do you think the second one helps matters, Nutt?'

'Not really, sir.'

'Where is Trev? He should be on tonight.'

'Been very ill, sir. Asked me to do it.'

The Candle Knave grunted. 'You have to look smart to work above stairs, Nutts!'

'Nutt, sir. Sorry, sir. Was born not looking smart, sir.'

'Well, at least there's no one to see you now,' Smeems conceded. 'All right, follow me, and try to look less... well, just try not to look.'

'Yes, master, but I think - '

'You are not paid to think, young... man.'

'Will try not to do so, master.'

Two minutes later Smeems was standing in front of the Emperor, watched by a suitably amazed Nutt.

A mountain of silvery-grey tallow almost filled the isolated junction of stone corridors. The flame of this candle, which could just be made out to be a mega-candle aggregated from the stubs of many, many thousands of candles that had gone before, all dribbled and runnelled into one great whole, was a glow near the ceiling, too high to illuminate anything very much.

Smeems's chest swelled. He was in the presence of History.

'Behold, Nutts!'

'Yes, sir. Beholding, sir. It's Nutt, sir.'

'Two thousand years look down on us from the top of this candle, Nutts. Of course, they look further down on you than on me.'

'Absolutely, sir. Well done, sir.'

Smeems glared at the round, amiable face, and saw nothing there but a slicked-down keenness that was very nearly frightening.

He grunted, then unfolded his ladder without much more than a pinched thumb, and climbed it carefully until it would take him no further. From this base camp generations of Candle Knaves had carved and maintained steps up the hubward face of the giant.