But today was a special occasion, and they had thrown open the doors to the richer, cleaner and more hygienic sections of Ankh-Morpork society. A long table had been set for Second Tea. Nothing too excessive - a few dozen roast fowls, a couple of cold salmon, one hundred linear feet of salad bar, a pile of loaves, one or two kegs of beer and, of course, the chutney, pickle and relish train, one trolley not being considered big enough. People had filled their plates and were standing around chatting and, above all, Being There. Moist slipped in unnoticed, for now, because people were watching the University’s biggest omniscope.
Archchancellor Ridcully thumped the side of the thing with his hand, causing it to rock.
‘It’s still not
‘I’m sure we have the right—’ Ponder began, fiddling with the rear of the big disc.
‘It’s me, sir, Devious Collabone, sir,’ said a voice from the omniscope. The fiery eye pulled back and was replaced by an enormous fiery nose. ‘I’m here at the terminal tower in Genua, sir. Sorry about the redness, sir. I’ve picked up an allergy to seaweed, sir.’
‘Hello, Mr Collabone!’ yelled Ridcully. ‘How are you? How’s the—’
‘—shellfish research—’ murmured Ponder Stibbons.
‘—shellfish research comin’ along?’
‘Not very well, actually, sir. I’ve developed a nasty—’
‘Good, good! Lucky chap!’ Ridcully yelled, cupping his hands to increase the volume. ‘I wouldn’t mind bein’ in Genua myself at this time of year! Sun, sea, surf and sand, eh?’
‘Actually it’s the wet season, sir, and I’m a bit worried about this fungus that’s growing on the omni—’
‘Wonderful!’ shouted Ridcully. ‘Well, I can’t stand here and chew your fat all day! Has anything arrived? We are agog!’
‘Could you just stand back a little bit further, please, Mr Collabone?’ said Ponder. ‘And you don’t really need to speak so… loudly, Archchancellor.’
‘Chap’s a long way away, man!’ said Ridcully.
‘Not as such, sir,’ said Ponder, with well-honed patience. ‘Very well, Mr Collabone, you may proceed.’
The crowd behind the Archchancellor pressed forward. Mr Collabone backed away. This was all a bit too much for a man who spent his days with no one to talk to but bivalves.
‘Er, I’ve had a message by clacks, sir, but—’ he began.
‘Nothin’ from the Post Office?’ said Ridcully.
‘No, sir. Nothing, sir.’
There were cheers and boos and general laughter from the crowd. From his shadowy corner, Moist saw Lord Vetinari, right by the Archchancellor. He scanned the rest of the crowd and spotted Readier Gilt, standing off to one side and, surprisingly, not smiling. And Gilt saw him.
One look was enough. The man wasn’t certain. Not
Welcome to
But it might.
I’ve got you.
Devious Collabone coughed. ‘Er, but I don’t think this is the message Archchancellor Ridcully sent,’ he said, his voice gone squeaky with nervousness.
‘What makes you think that, man?’
‘Because it says it isn’t,’ Collabone quavered. ‘It says it’s from dead people… ’
‘You mean it’s an old message?’ said Ridcully.
‘Er, no, sir. Er… I’d better read it, shall I? Do you want me to read it?’
‘That’s the
In the big disc of glass, Collabone cleared his throat.
‘ “
The Great Hall was in uproar. Most of the wizards took the opportunity to congregate at the buffet, which was now clear. If there’s one thing a wizard hates, it’s having to wait while the person in front of them is in two minds about coleslaw. It’s a salad bar, they say, it’s got the kind of stuff salad bars have, if it was surprising it wouldn’t be a salad bar, you’re not here to
The Lecturer in Recent Runes ladled more bacon bits into his salad bowl, having artfully constructed buttresses of celery and breastworks of cabbage to increase its depth five times.
‘Any of you Fellows know what this is all about?’ he said, raising his voice above the din. ‘Seems to be upsetting a lot of people.’
