Moving Pictures

stopped. Let’s go over the wall,” he said. “We deserve a drink.”
    Victor waggled a finger. “Just one drink, then. Got to keep sober,” he said. “It’s Finals tomorrow. Got to keep a clear head!”
    “Huh!” said Ponder.
    Of course, it is very important to be sober when you take an exam. Many worthwhile careers in the street-cleansing, fruit-picking and subway-guitar-playing industries have been founded on a lack of understanding of this simple fact.
    But Victor had a special reason for keeping alert.
    He might make a mistake, and pass.
    His dead uncle had left him a small fortune not to be a wizard. He hadn’t realized it when he’d drawn up the will, but that’s what the old man had done. He thought he was helping his nephew through college, but Victor Tugelbend was a very bright young lad in an oblique sort of way and had reasoned thusly:
    What are the advantages and disadvantages of being a wizard? Well, you got a certain amount of prestige, but you were often in dangerous situations and certainly always at risk of being killed by a fellow mage. He saw no future in being a well-respected corpse.
    On the other hand…
    What are the advantages and disadvantages of being a student wizard? You got quite a lot of free time, a certain amount of license in matters like drinking a lot of ale and singing bawdy songs, no one tried to kill you much except in the ordinary, everyday Ankh-Morpork way of things and, thanks to the legacy, you also got a modest but comfortable style of living. Of course, you didn’t get much in the way of prestige but at least you were alive to know this.
    So Victor had devoted a considerable amount of energy in studying firstly the terms of the will, the byzantine examination regulations of Unseen University, and every examination paper of the last fifty years.
    The pass mark in Finals was 88.
    Failing would be easy. Any idiot can fail .
    Victor’s uncle had been no fool. One of the conditions of the legacy was that, should Victor ever achieve a mark of less than 80, the money supply would dry up like thin spit on a hot stove.
    He’d won, in a way. Few students had ever studied as hard as Victor. It was said that his knowledge of magic rivaled that of some of the top wizards. He spent hours in a comfy chair in the Library, reading grimoires. He researched answer formats and exam techniques. He listened to lectures until he could quote them by heart. He was generally considered by the staff to be the brightest and certainly the busiest student for decades and, at every Finals, he carefully and competently got a mark of 84.
    It was uncanny.

    The Archchancellor reached the last page.
    Eventually he said: “Ah. I see. Feel sorry for the lad, do you?”
    “I don’t think you quite see what I mean,” said the Bursar.
    “Fairly obvious to me,” said the Archchancellor. “Lad keeps coming within an ace of passin’.” He pulled out one of the papers. “Anyway, it says here he passed three years ago. Got 91.”
    “Yes, Archchancellor. But he appealed.”
    “ Appealed ? Against passin’ ?”
    “He said he didn’t think the examiners had noticed that he got the allotropes of octiron wrong in question six. He said he couldn’t live with his conscience. He said it would haunt him for the rest of his days if he succeeded unfairly over better and more worthy students. You’ll notice he got only 82 and 83 in the next two exams.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “We think he was playing safe, Master.”
    The Archchancellor drummed his fingers on the desk.
    “Can’t have this,” he said. “Can’t have someone goin’ around almost bein’ a wizard and laughin’ at us up his, his—what’s it that people laugh up?”
    “My feelings exactly,” purred the Bursar.
    “We should send him up,” said the Archchancellor firmly.
    “ Down , Master,” said the Bursar. “Sending him up would mean making spiteful and satirical comments about him.”
    “Yes. Good thinkin’. Let’s do that,” said the Archchancellor.
    “No, Master,” said the Bursar patiently. “ He’s sending us up, so we send him down.”
    “Right. Balance things up,” said the Archchancellor. The Bursar rolled his eyes. “Or down,” the Archchancellor added. “So you want me to give him his marchin’ orders, eh? Just send him along in the morning and—”
    “No, Archchancellor. We can’t do it just like that.”
    “We can’t? I thought we were in charge here!”
    “Yes, but you have to be