The Last Continent

Hovering immanently, the god cursed. He'd never intended the figurehead. Sometimes, he really wanted to just break down and cry.

'Bare naked lady?' said the Dean.

'Settle down, Dean,' said the Senior Wrangler. 'He's probably just had too many dried frog pills.'

'It's going up and down in the water,' said the Bursar. 'Up and down, up and down.'

The Dean looked at their own creation. Contrary to all expectations, it did not go up and down in the water. It stayed exactly where it was and the water went up and down over it.

This is an island,' he said. 'I suppose someone could have sailed here, couldn't they? What kind of bare naked lady? A dusky one?'

'Really, Dean!'

'Spirit of enquiry, Senior Wrangler. Important bio-geographical information.'

The Bursar waited until his brain came around again. 'Green,' he volunteered.

'That is not a natural colour for a human being, clothed or not,' said the Senior Wrangler.

'She might be seasick,' said the Dean. There was only the vaguest of wistful longings in his head, but he did not want to let go of it.

'Going up and down,' said the Bursar.

'I suppose we could have a look,' said the Dean.

'What about Mrs Whitlow? She hasn't been out of her hut yet.'

'She can come too if she likes,' said the Dean.

'I don't think we can expect Mrs Whitlow to go looking at a bare naked lady, even if this one is green,' said the Senior Wrangler.

'Why not? She must have seen at least one. Not green, of course.'

The Senior Wrangler drew himself up. 'There's no call for that sort of imputation,' he said.

'What? Well, obviously she—'

The Dean stopped. The big leaves on Mrs Whitlow's hut were pushed aside, and she emerged.

It was probably the flower in her hair. That was certainly the crowning glory. But she'd also done things to her dress.

There was, for a start, less of it.

Since the word is derived from an island that did not exist on the Discworld, the wizards had never heard of a bikini. In any case, what Mrs Whitlow had sewn together out of her dress was a lot more substantial than a bikini. It was more a newzealand - two quite large respectable halves separated by a narrow channel. She'd also tied some of the spare cloth around her waist, sarong style.

In short, it was a very proper item of clothing. But it looked as if it wasn't. It was as if Mrs Whitlow was wearing a figleaf six feet square. It was still just a figleaf.

'Ai thought this might be a leetle more suitable for the heat,' she said. 'Of course, Ai wouldn't dream of wearing it in the University, but since we appear to be here for a little while Ai remembered a picture Ai saw of Queen Zazumba of Sumtri. Is there anywhere Ai could have a bath, do you think?'

'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.