The Last Continent

He could hear the voices in the distance and, while wizards are always questioning the universe, they mainly direct the questions at other wizards and don't bother to listen to the answers.

'—certainly saw no trees when we arrived.'

'Probably we didn 't see them because of the rain, and the Senior Wrangler didn't see them because of Mrs Whitlow. And get a grip onyourself, will you, Dean? I'm sure you 're getting young again! No one's impressed!'

'I think I must just be naturally youthful. Archchancellor.'

'Nothing to be proud of there! And please, someone, stop the Senior Wrangler getting a grip on hims— Oh, looks like someone's had a picnic

The painter seemed engrossed in his work, and paid them no attention at all.

'I'm sure the Bursar went this way—'

A little red mud coloured a complex curve and there, as if it had always been there, was a creature with the body of a giant rabbit, the expression of a camel and a tail that a lizard would be proud of. The wizards appeared around the rock just in time to see it scratch its ears.

'Ye gods, what's that?'

'Some sort of rat?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

'Hey, look, Bursar's found one of the locals The Dean ambled across to the painter, who was watching the wizards with his mouth open. 'Good morning, fellow. What's that thing called?'

The painter followed the pointing finger. 'Kangaroo?' he said. The voice was a whisper, on the very cusp of hearing, but the ground trembled.

'Kangaroo, eh?'

That might not be what it's called, sir,' said Ponder. 'He might just be saying, "I don't know." '

'Can't see why not. He looks the sort of chap you find in this sort of place,' said the Dean. 'Deep tan. Shortage of trousers. The sort of fellow who'd know what the wildlife is called, certainly.'

'He just drew it,' said the Bursar.

'Oh, did he? Very good artists, some of these chaps.'

'He's not Rincewind, is he?' said Ridcully, who seldom bothered to remember faces. 'I know he's a bit on the dark side, but a few months in the sun'd bake anyone.'

The other wizards drew together and looked around for any nearby sign of mobile rectangu-larity.

'No hat,' said Ponder, and that was that.

The Dean peered at the rock wall. 'Quite good drawings for native art,' he said. 'Interesting... lines.'

The Bursar nodded. As far as he could see, the drawings were simply alive. They might be coloured earth on rock, but they were as alive as the kangaroo that'd just hopped away.

The old man was drawing a snake now. One wiggly line.

'I remember seeing some of these palaces the Tezumen built in the jungle,' said the Dean, watching him. 'Not an ounce of mortar in the whole place and the stones fit together so well you couldn't stick a knife between them. Hah, they were about the only things the Tezumen didn 't stick a knife between,' he added. 'Odd people, really. Very big on wholesale human sacrifice and cocoa. Not an obvious combination, to my mind. Kill fifty thousand people and then relax with a nice cup of hot chocolate. Excuse me, I used to be quite good at this.'

To the horror even of Ridcully the Dean took the piece of frayed twig out of the painter's hand and dabbed it gently on the rock.

'See? A dot for the eye,' said the Dean, handing it back.

The painter gave him a sort of smile. That is, he showed his teeth. Like many other beings on astral planes of all kinds, he was puzzled by the wizards. They were people with the family-sized self-confidence that seems to be able to get away with anything. They generated an unconscious field which said that of course they should be there, but no one was to worry or fuss around tidying up the place on their account and just get on with what they were doing. The more impressionable victims were left with the feeling that they had clipboards and were awarding marks.

Behind the Dean a snake wriggled away.

'Anyone feel anything odd?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'My fingers tingled. Did any of you do any magic just then?'

The Dean picked up a burnt wig. The painter's mouth dropped open as the wizard drew a scratching line on the stone.

'I think you might be offending him,' said Ponder.

'Nonsense! A good artist is always prepared to learn,' said the Dean. 'Interesting thing, these fellows never seem to get the idea of perspective—'

The Bursar thought, or received the thought: that's because perspective is a lie. If I know a pond is round then why should I draw it oval? I will draw it round because round is true. Why should my brush lie to you just because my eye lies to me?