The Last Continent

them.
    “Looks like a lot of other people have the same idea,” said Neilette.
    “There’ll be another way in,” said Rincewind, walking away. “There’ll be an alley…Ah, there it is. Now, these aren’t stone walls, so there won’t be removable bricks, which means…” He prodded at the tin sheets, and one of them wobbled. “Ah, yes. A loose sheet which swings aside so you can get back in after hours.”
    “How did you know that?”
    “This is a university, isn’t it? Come on.”
    A message had been chalked beside the loose sheet.
    “‘ Nulli Sheilae sanguineae ,’” Rincewind read aloud. “But your name’s not Sheila, so we’re probably okay.”
    “If it means what I think it means, it means they don’t allow women,” said Neilette. “You should’ve brought Darleen.”
    “Sorry?”
    “Forget I mentioned it.”
    Somewhat to Rincewind’s surprise there was a short, pleasant lawn on the other side of the fence, illuminated by the light from a large low building. All the buildings were low but had big wide roofs, giving the effect you might get if someone stepped on a lot of square mushrooms. If they had been painted, it had been an historical event, probably coming somewhere between Fire and the Invention of the Wheel.
    There was a tower. It was about twenty feet high.
    “I don’t call this much of a university,” said Rincewind. He allowed himself a touch of smugness. “Twenty feet high? I could pi—I could spit from the top of it. Oh well…”
    He made for the doorway, just as the light grew a lot brighter and was tinted with octarine, the eighth color that was intimately associated with magic. The doors themselves were shut fast.
    He banged on them, making them rattle. “Fraternal greetings, brothers!” he shouted. “I bring you—Good grie—”
    The world simply changed. One moment he was standing in front of a rusting door and the next he was in a circle with half a dozen wizards watching him.
    He caught his balance.
    “Well, full marks for effort,” he managed. “Where I come from, and you can call me Mister Boring if you like, we just open the door.”
    “Stone the crows, but we’re getting good at this,” said a wizard.
    And they were wizards. Rincewind was in no doubt of it. They had proper pointy hats, although the brims were larger than anything he’d seen without flying buttresses. Their robes weren’t much more than waist length, and below them they wore shorts, long gray socks, and big leather sandals. A lot of this was not the typical wizarding outfit as he’d grown up to understand it, but they were still wizards. They had that unmistakable hot-air-balloon-about-to-take-off look.
    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, Arch-chancellor.”
    “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, graying 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