The Last Continent

The apparent leader of the group nodded at Rincewind.

'Good evening, Mister Boring. I must say you got here a lot quicker than we expected.'

Rincewind felt intuitively that saying 'I was just outside the door' was not a good idea.

'Er, I had an assisted passage,' he said.

'He doesn't look very demonic,' said a wizard. 'Remember that last one we called up? Six eyes and three—'

The really good ones can disguise themselves, Dean.'

'Then this one must be a bloody genius, Archchancellor.'

Thank you very much,' said Rincewind.

The Archchancellor nodded at him. He was, of course, elderly, with a face that looked as though it had been screwed up and then smoothed out, and a short, greying beard. There was something oddly familiar that Rincewind couldn't quite place.

'We've called you up, Boring,' said the man, 'because we want to know what's happened to the water.'

It's all gone, has it?' said Rincewind. 'Thought so.'

'It can't go' said the Dean. 'It's water. There's always water, if you go down deep enough.'

'But if we go any deeper we're going to give an elephant a bloody nasty shock,' said the Archchancellor. 'So we—'

There was a clang as the doors hit the floor. The wizards backed away.

'What the hell's that?' said one of them.

'Oh, that's my Luggage,' said Rincewind. 'It's made out of—'

'Not the box on legs! Isn't that a woman?'

'Don't ask him, he's not very quick at that sort of thing,' said Neilette, stepping in behind the Luggage. 'Sorry, but Trunkie got impatient.'

'We can't have women in the University!' shouted the Dean. 'They'll want to drink sherry!'

'No worries,' said the Archchancellor, waving a hand irritably. 'What's happened to the water. Boring?'

'It's all been used up, I suppose,' said Rincewind.

'So how can we get some more?'

'Why does everyone ask me? Don't you have some rainmaking spells or something?'

'There's that word again,' said the Dean. 'Water sprinkling out of the sky, eh? I'll believe that when I see it!'

'We tried making one of these – what were they called? Big white bags of water? The things some of the sailors say they see in the sky?'

'Clouds.'

'Right. They don't stay up, Boring. We threw one off the tower last week and it hit the Dean.'

'I've never believed those old stories,' said the Dean. 'And I reckon you mongrels waited till I was walking past.'

'You don't have to make them, they just happen,' said Rincewind. 'Look, I don't know how to make it rain. I thought any halfway decent wizard knew how to do a rainmaking spell,' he added, as someone who wouldn't know where to start.

'Really?' said the Archchancellor, with dangerous brightness.

'No offence meant,' said Rincewind hurriedly. 'I'm sure this is a very good university, considering. Obviously it's not a real one, but it's amazingly good in the circumstances.'

'What's wrong with it?' said the Archchancellor.

'Well... your tower's a little bit on the small side, isn't it? I mean, even compared to the buildings around here? Not that there's—'

'I think we ought to show Mister Boring our tower,' said the Archchancellor. 'I don't think he's taking us seriously.'

'I've seen it,' said Rincewind.

'From the top?'

'No, obviously not from the top—'

'We haven't got time for this, Archchancellor,' said a small wizard. 'Let's send this wozza back to Hell and find something better.'

'Excuse me?' said Rincewind. 'By "Hell" do you mean some hot red place?'

'Yes!'

'Really? How do Ecksians know when they've got there? The beer's warmer?'

'No more arguing. This one turned up very fast when we did the summoning, so this is the one we need,' said the Archchancellor. 'Come along, Boring. This won't take a minute.'

Ponder shook his head and wandered over to the fire. Mrs Whitlow was sitting demurely on a rock. In front of her, getting as close to the fire as possible, was the Librarian. He was still extremely small. Maybe his temporal gland had to take longer to work itself out, Ponder thought.

'What are the gentlemen doing?' said Mrs Whitlow. She had to raise her voice above the argument, but Mrs Whitlow would still have said. 'Is there some difficulty?' if she saw the wizards out on the lawn throwing fireballs at the monsters from the Dungeon Dimensions. She liked to be told these things.

They've found a man drawing the most alive-looking pictures I've ever seen,' said Ponder. 'So now they're trying to teach him Art. By committee.'

'The gentlemen always take an interest,' said Mrs Whitlow.

They always interfere,' said Ponder. 'I don't know what it is about wizards, they can't just watch. So far they're arguing about how to draw a duck and frankly I don't think a duck has four legs, which is what it's got so far. Honestly, Mrs Whitlow, they're like kittens in a feather-plucking shed... What's that?'

The Librarian had tipped up the leather bag lying by the fire and was testing the contents for taste, in the way of young mammals everywhere.