More Tales from the Guilds Ch. 05

"Connie, we didn't have a gym. Now we do. We didn't have a locker room. Now we do. How much do you want to bet that we can walk through that door and not see our names on locker doors and that the lockers will have complete kits inside them?"

"No more than a penny. Let's go look."

Wolfe hadn't been quite right. Each boy had two labeled lockers, one for his school clothes (including top hat) and one with maroon and yellow jersey, yellow shorts, maroon socks, rubber soled shoes and flipflops. There was even a UU sweatshirt. He looked down one side of the ranks of lockers (the pair labeled 'Puddingstone' were lined through and standing empty) and saw gleaming tiled showers and piles of neatly folded towels that somehow radiated 'we're heated, boys, come on down'.

"By all the gods . . ."

"You know, Wolfe, maybe the next few years won't be so bad, after all."

"You do sport?"

"Well, not as such. But I used to spend most days when I wasn't doing lessons up in the family nut trees. I helped pollinate, prune branches, and shake down the nuts that wouldn't fall by themselves. And when that was done I'd swing from limb to limb. It was great fun. What did you do besides run up walls?"

"I only ran up once! But my parents expected me to be able to climb, run along the ridges, jump from one building to another, balance on a board between them, zip line, wriggle through pipes, wrestle—and I'm a dead shot with a pistol crossbow."

The boys sat down on the benches in front of the lockers and were about to change when there was a deep, thrumming tone that seemed to come up from the floor. They looked at each other and then, on a hunch, stuck their heads out of the locker room door. Sure enough, on the far side of the vast gymnasium was another door. It was labeled, just as they thought it might be, 'Ranges'.

"I've never shot a crossbow before," Connie whispered

"I'll teach you. Anyone who can concentrate on a candle wick can concentrate on their sight picture and trigger squeeze. But first, let's give the gym a try. I'm for the climbing wall."

"And I'm for the rings and the ropes. Let's go."

*****

Word of the re-opening of the gymnasium spread through the university. Younger students, especially those in the first few years, greeted the news with enthusiasm. Most of the faculty, on the other hand, were appalled.

"Oh, dear Om," the Professor of Recondite Phenomena sighed, "that's all it needs. Now that silly Macarona fellow and the Archchancellor will be after all of us to rush over there and start doing things that make you sweat. I've heard they were complaining that the foot-the-ball team needed a full second string and that Rowing should be made mandatory. It really is most irksome."

The Senior Wrangler twisted his mouth into a crumple of disgust. "It is. Once Evans the Striped was gone no one wanted the gymnasium anymore so it ceased to exist. After all, if you don't want something, why keep it? Now someone wanted it and it's back. And don't think you can deny it away! Not only is Ridcully just tickled to have it but Stibbons supports him. Something about his young second cousin just bubbling with delight at having discovered the curséd thing. The only good thing I can see coming out of it is that the Archchancellor has found that it has crossbow ranges. At least we will be able to walk the corridors without having to worry about having our hats perforated."

It was true. When word of the 'Sport' door reached Ridcully, the Archchancellor felt duty bound to make sure it was within University guidelines—at least that was his excuse. He stood in the middle of the cavernous room and watched with interest as both Wolfe and Connie swarmed up the climbing ropes like spiders and fairly danced across the climbing wall. Then he saw the door marked 'Ranges'!

"By all the gods!"

Walking to the door, he opened it and his face lit up like one of his fireballs. It had been known for centuries that the University was bigger inside than it was outside (the Library alone, while having a diameter of only a couple of hundred feet has an infinite radius). Additionally, the existence of 'Holes' was likewise a well-known, though useless, phenomenon. But when Hex, the University Thinking Engine went to work on the question, 'Holes' suddenly became one of the more important perks of tenured professorship. Ridcully, himself, had just extended his to over a mile of well-stocked trout stream and nearly everyone else had their own tropical beachfront to escape the bitter Ankh-Morpork winters.

Apparently, the University had been paying attention because 'Ranges' wasn't just a 15-meter indoor pistol range, it included 100m and 200m fixed positions as well as a 50m running boar course. Racks of crossbows and quivers of bolts, all polished and well-oiled, stood waiting on the back wall and safety flags stood at the near end of the walkways to the targets beyond. Every possible detail that Mustrum could have ever dreamed of was at hand and the Archchancellor began to rub his hands together in excitement. He would need a new 'Hole', preferably to someplace where driven grouse or pheasant flew.

"Isn't it brilliant, sir?"

Ridcully looked down at the eager, round face of his Vice-chancellor's young cousin.

"Indeed, it is, m'boy, indeed it is."

He walked over to the bow racks and saw a section marked 'for the Archchancellor's private use only'. He took down a lever-cocking model and ran his hands lovingly over the polished walnut.

"By Io, it's a Burleigh and Stronginthearm Best. Look here, Master Stibbons, note the fine detail of the engraving and see? It has Best Detachable Sidelocks! That's a verra expensive option."

He threw it to his shoulder and felt the balance and the bespoke fit and he chortled under his breath. Stepping up to the firing line at the running boar course, he cocked the piece and fitted a bolt into place.

"Pull!"

With a mechanical clatter, a wild boar simulacrum raced from right to left across the course. The Archchancellor, acting from long years of practice, responded instinctively. Smoothly, he threw the crossbow to his shoulder and rotating from his hips sent the bolt downrange and into the target.

"Brilliant, sir!"

Wolfe was impressed. All his practice had been done on human silhouette at close range. Assassins considered it bad form to shoot at a running client.

Ridcully snorted in disappointment. "No, lad, I was behind. It would have been a killin' shot but we'd've had to track the brute down. Bad form that. Must be out of practice. 'll have to spend some more time here."

As if to confirm the Archchancellor's words a card swung down from over the course. '8' it said and displayed a mark where the bolt had struck. Ridcully nodded, took a cloth from the rack, wiped the weapon down and put it away with a fond pat.

" 't's good to have the gym back, by Io. And we'll have to look into reformin' the crew. Haven't rowed in the longest, don'tcherknow, and I have to 'dmit I miss it."

With that the Archchancellor strode out of the gym to spread dread among his fellows.

*****

The Reader in Irresolute Decisions gloomily stared at his sixth beer of the morning. The word had been published. Every faculty member below the age of sixty-five was expected to find some sport to engage in on pain of being excluded from Second Breakfast. Worse yet, every faculty member under the age of forty would find a team sport to compete—or be assigned one! The Reader was tall, and had once been broad-shouldered. Now he resembled a very tall pear—with legs. But he'd seen a crew of dwarfs out in Hen-and-Chickens-Field industriously stripping, caulking and repainting a long-hidden set of shells. This could only mean one thing. Rowing was returning to Unseen University.

Some might think that the sport would appeal to Wizards. After all, it is done sitting down. But as with all other things, Rowing is different at UU. This is due essentially to the local environment. The Ankh can only be called a river because it is moving faster than the banks and locals point with pride to the fact that it is the only river on the Disc where the Watch can draw a chalk outline should corpse be found 'in' it. Thus UU racing shells have no bottom. Teams hoist them up on their shoulders and, wearing a pair of stout, corrosion-resistant boots, attempt to cross the Ankh before the boots dissolve and their feet catch fire. For a Wizard of substance, i.e. around 20 stone, this lacks appeal.

"And Ridcully has totally dismissed the concept of competitive drinking!" the Professor of Recondite Phenomena was outraged, "Marathon running leaves you heaving and flat on the ground so how is it superior to seeing how much real ale you can consume? It's unfair, I tell you."

Professor Aloysius Hallowell Capstick, D. Thau (Unseen), DM, MThauA, Professor of Transformative Existentialism approached with a very self-satisfied smile on his face. He lifted the beer pitcher and emptied it into his mug and sat down. Hoisting it in salute, he took a draw, wiped the foam from his mustache and said, "Cheers! I've got it."

"You've got what?" The other Wizards at the table were skeptical.

"Why, the Team Sport Ridcully is after us for. It's called 'Peak Bagging' and consists of attempting to climb as many peaks in a year as you can. Now before you all pass out from terror, please note that I said 'peaks'. I didn't say anything about mountains because hills have peaks, too. So I propose that we open a Hole into somewhere there are rolling hills and just saunter up some. If we are careful about where we go, each hill shouldn't take more than an hour. We get some fresh air, have a gentle stroll to work up an appetite and we're back in UU in time for Interluncheon Morsels. We don't have to spill all the details to the Archchancellor, just maintain a running list of the 'peaks' we've bagged. One a week ought to be enough, don't you think?"

The other men sat in stunned, admiring silence. Recent Runes raised his hand and gestured to one of the serving maids.

"Ksendra, do bring this Wizard a full pitcher. He's earned it. And one for the rest of us, as well. Gentlemen, I propose a toast . . ."

*****

My dear Sir Baldor and Lady Sinestra,

It gives me great pleasure to tell you that your son, the Honorable Wolfe, is not only doing very satisfactorily in his studies but has even succeeded in making a valuable contribution to the life of all of us here in Unseen University. The lad has re-invigorated the University Gymnasium and by his enthusiastic example has led his fellow students to take admirable delight in those physical endeavors that Dr. Lawn insists are essential for long life and good health.

Even the faculty, at the Archchancellor's encouragement, have taken to engaging in thirty minutes of mild exercise. The esteemed doctor states, in his best-selling volume Extending Life Through Movement and Proper Diet, that it is the best route for prolonged, healthy living.

Our compliments in sending us such a vigorous, talented student. He will make both you and the University proud.

With Greatest Respect,

P. Stibbons, DThau, Head of Inadvisably Applied Magic, Praelector

Vice-Chancellor

*****

The Archchancellor sat down in front of his Omniscope. Even with the thauma-rhythms Hex had developed, controlling one was more art than science and only a few Wizards ever bothered to try. Most of them just used theirs as mirrors, trimming their beards while gazing into the deep, black heart of the Cosmos. But Ridcully had taken one home with him when he returned to the family estates and become quite skilled in its use. It made, he said, stalking a lot more comfortable.

He saw the group of Peak Baggers assemble in Capstick's apartment, open a Hole and wonder out into a landscape of rolling hills and meadows. After some discussion, the group decided on a nearby knoll and after doffing their academic robes and setting their hats at jaunty-ish angles, they firmly grasped their staffs and marched up the hill. He smiled to see that the group quickly segregate itself by physique. But after a modest while, even the most rotund of the party had (puffing and gasping) reached the top. Congratulations were exchanged. Each man took out a paper and pencil and ceremoniously marked off their first Peak, then returned to their robes and from there through the Hole to the University. They were, as Capstick had promised, just in time for Interluncheon Morsels.

Ridcully consulted his hourglass. Almost exactly 30 minutes, he thought to himself, just as Dr. Lawn prescribed. By Io, the faculty is finally takin' t'healthy exercise. True they think they're pullin' a fast on one me but if they keep this up, within th'year they'll have likely lost a couple tons among 'em. Young Stibbons and Woodbead deserve a plaque in the dinin' hall for uncoverin' the gymnasium. However, 'twould likely be best if it wasn't unveiled until after they graduate. Certain members of the University Council might carry a grudge.

*****

Lladislav Pelc, (DM, B.Thau, MLS) Deputy Librarian and Prehumous Professor of Morbid Bibliomancy, was certainly not among the potential grudge bearers. When required to find a sport to engage in, he'd chosen croquet and had become increasingly adept—and crafty, sly and vindictive. (These are all traits highly prized among the aficionados of the game). So when Wolfe and Connie appeared before him with quizzical expressions on their faces, he not only welcomed them but knew exactly what to do.

"Ah, young gentlemen, you've come to the Library with a question. Do you know what it is or shall we find out magically?"

"Well," the boys began together, "it's like this. We're both from the countryside and we really like it better there? We don't want to have to stay in Ankh-Morpork? Is there possibly . . .?"

Pelc raised his hands and beamed at them. "You need career guidance! And as it happens, I have just the thing."

Ushering them off the side of the main rotunda he opened a door into a room where several odd-looking chairs sat waiting.

"These are my latest version of the Bookfindist^TM, the Mk IV. It's a High Technomancy Device (HTMD) for matching up a patron with the book that best suits their needs. If both of you will just have seats, we'll soon have you on your way back to the desks with just the proper volume to answer that very interesting question. In fact, I suspect that I know what it will turn out to be but just to make sure, we'll engage the Bookfindist Mk IV."

"It won't hurt, will it?" Connie was wary. Some of the tales Cousin Ponder told at family reunions were enough to make any sensible student into a firm believer of "If it sounds too good to be true, it is."

"Not as such," Pelc was doing his best to be encouraging, "though there is that odd moment of thlabber when you swear you've been slapped with a fish. However, it isn't genuinely painful."

"How big a fish?"

"Well that depends on the patron," Pelc said, "With the Archchancellor it was a trout, naturally, though for me I swear it's a cod. It seems to be whatever fish you like best."

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Wolfe nonetheless sat down in the Bookfindist Mk IV. Firmly concentrating on the delights of sardines he waited while Pelc put paddles on either side of his head, strapped his arms to the sides of the chair and fastened a belt across his knees. He looked around and was surprised to see that hanging overhead was—stuff. He recognized the stars-and-skulls collection but was confused by the jar of pickles, the pair of tongs and the live mouse in a cage.

"And before you ask," Pelc was trying to be reassuring, "we strap you in because the chairs spin rather fast and we don't want you thrown across the room."

"Spin?"

"Spin!"

And with that, Pelc stepped back and threw a switch. The 'odd moment of thlabber' turned out to be a sensation that the boys had been elongated, stretched, altered, or reduced to a single point in the space-time continuinuinuum. After that, things just returned to normal amid feelings of relief and disorientation. The pickles, tongs and mouse had been replaced by a basket of clockwork pastry lobsters and a boxed set of novelty glass eyes.

Consideration shook his head. "Perch?"

Wolfe grimaced. "Naw, more like a small roach, I think, the ones with the red fins. At least it wasn't a tuna!"

While the boys were being released, strange thumps and gurgles emanated from a set of tubes suspended from the ceiling. They opened onto a table next to Professor Pelc where he waited expectantly.

"Any moment now, just be patient—ah, here it comes!"

The tube jerked and rattled and finally disgorged a large, heavy tome.

"Ah, just as I expected," Pelc announced with a grin, "Pencilnewt's Conspectus of Thaumaturgical Types. I've seen this one before. It's quite amazing. Old Pencilnewt must have spent decades researching it and collating all the possible ways wizards and such can specialize. Look, it even as a bookmark. I strongly suspect that what you most want will be found on the pages it shows. Here, lads, take it over to the study tables and find out what all you need to know. But do be careful. It is, after all, a magical book. It's only real spell is a sort of automatic index to help you find related subjects. This doesn't mean it's not above trying to bite your fingers. Keep an eye on it."

Warily, Wolfe and Connie carried the massive volume over to the table and gingerly opened it to the marked page.

There, in letters that glowed faintly, they read Hedge Wizard: A much valued profession pursued by wizards of the arboreal persuasion. The only drawback to its pursuit is that they are generally not invited to parties. This is because when they are, they will spend half the evening talking to the host's potted plant. They will spend the other half listening to it.

"Hedge Wizard?"

"Hedge Wizard! I like this." Consideration beamed, "After all, who could be more 'arboreally persuaded' than I am. At home I practically live up in the branches. I can see it now, walking through the groves, asking each tree how it was feeling and what it needed. It'll be brilliant!"

"Hedge Wizard," Wolfe rolled the words around his mouth again, "Hedge wizard. And you know it includes grape vines. I wonder if they know what their own sugar content is and when the best moment for harvest might be. We could live in the country and still publish research papers! Research Hedge Wizards—according to Pencilnewt, there haven't been many and the last one died fifty years ago. Your cousin and the Archchancellor will be thrilled."

*****

Thrilled might have been an overstatement but Ridcully and the elder Stibbons were certainly intrigued.

"Stibbons, neither of the lads is really happy here and keepin' 'em on campus clear through to their doctorates would be unkind. On t'other hand, we can't verra well release 'em prematurely. We need t'have some enthusiastic athletes here t'make sure the more sedentary faculty don't de-exist the gym." The Archchancellor stroked his beard thoughtfully.

Vice-chancellor Stibbons, who counted himself among the enthusiastically sedentary, made a wry face. "Well, we could do the same thing for them that we did for Professor Collabone. He still sends us monthly reports on his shellfish research from Genua over the Omniscope. If we give my cousin and young Woodbead a shard, they can set it up in Quirm. With the Librarian's help, they should be able to do both field work on their family estates and academic study remotely. It would be like sending an extension of UU to Quirm. I'm sure Lady Daphne would approve. It would be quite the feather in Quirm's cap to have a—an Agricultural Experiment Station."