The Last Continent

'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—'

'I just think that there's something very odd about a boat-shaped plant turning up just when we want a boat,' said Ridcully. 'I mean, chocolate coconuts, yes, and even filter-tipped cigarettes, but a boat with a figurehead?'

'It's not a proper boat without a figurehead,' said the Senior Wrangler.

'Yes, but how does it know that?' said Ridcully, wading ashore again. 'Well, I'm not falling for it. I want to know what's going on here.'

'Damn!'

They all heard the voice – thin, reedy and petulant. It came from everywhere around them.

Small soft white lights appeared in the air, spun around one another with increasing speed, and then imploded.

The god blinked, and rocked back and forth as he tried to steady himself.

'Oh, my goodness,' he said. 'What do I look like?'

He held up a hand in front of his face and flexed his fingers experimentally.

'Ah.'

The hand patted his face, his bald head, and lingered for a moment on the long white beard. He seemed puzzled.

'What's this?' he said.

'Er... a beard?' said Ponder.

The god looked down at his long white robe. 'Oh. Patriarchality? Oh, well... let me see, now...'

He seemed to pull himself together, focused his gaze on Ridcully, and his huge white eyebrows met like angry caterpillars.

'Begone from This Place Or I Will Smite Thee!' he commanded.

'Why?'

The god looked taken aback. 'Why? You can't ask why in this situation!'

'Why not?'

The god looked slightly panicky. 'Because... Thou Must Go from This Place Lest I Visit Thee with Boils!'

'Really? Most people would bring a bottle of wine,' said Ridcully.

The god hesitated. 'What?' he said.

'Or cake,' said the Dean. 'Cake is a good present if you're visiting someone.'

'It depends on what kind of cake,' said the Senior Wrangler. 'Sponge cake, I've always thought, is a bit of an insult. Something with a bit of marzipan is to be preferred.'

'Begone from this place lest I visit you with cake?' said the god.

'It's better than boils,' said Ridcully.

'Provided it's not sponge,' said the Senior Wrangler.

The problem faced by the god was that, while he had never encountered wizards before, the wizards had in their student days met, more or less on a weekly basis, things that threatened them horribly as a matter of course. Boils didn't hold much of a menace when rogue demons had wanted to rip your head off and do terrible things down the hole.

'Listen,' said the god, 'I happen to be the god in these parts, do you understand? I am, in fact, omnipotent!'

'I'd prefer that, what is it, you know, the cake with the pink and yellow squares—' muttered the Senior Wrangler, because wizards tend to follow a thought all the way through.

'You're a bit small, then,' said the Dean.

'And the sugary marzipan on the outside, marvellous stuff...'

The god finally realized what else had been bothering him. Scale was always tricky in these matters. Being three feet high was not adding anything to his authority.

'Damn!' he said again. 'Why am I so small?'

'Size isn't everything,' said Ridcully. 'People always smirk when they say that. I can't think why.'

'You're absolutely right!' snapped the god, as if Ridcully had triggered an entirely new train of thought. 'Look at amoebas, except that of course you can't because they're so small. Adaptable, efficient and practically immortal. Wonderful things, amoebas.' His little eyes misted over. 'Best day's work I ever did.'