The Last Continent

Archchancellor.”
    “Really? Better start catching up, then, Mister Stibbons. Still…nice little place you’ve got here…archchancellor.”
    Ridcully pronounced the word very carefully in order to accentuate the lower case “a.”
    Archchancellor Rincewind gave him a fraternal nod. “Thank you.”
    “For a colony, of course. I daresay you do your best.”
    “Why, thank you, Mustrum. I’d be happy to show you our tower later on.”
    “It does look rather small.”
    “So people say.”
    “Rincewind, Rincewind…name rings a faint bell…” said Ridcully.
    “We came looking for Rincewind, Archchancellor,” said Ponder, patiently.
    “Is he? Done well for himself, then. Fresh air made a man of him, I see.”
    “No, sir. Ours is the skinny one with the bad beard and the floppy hat, sir. You remember? The one sitting over there.”
    Rincewind raised a hand diffidently. “Er. Me,” he said.
    Ridcully sniffed. “Fair enough. What’s that thing you’re playing with, man?”
    Rincewind held up the bullroarer. “It came with you out of the cave,” he said. “What were you doing with it?”
    “Oh, some toy the Librarian found,” said Ponder.
    “All sorted out, then,” said Ridcully. “I say, this beer’s good, isn’t it? Very drinkable. Yes, I’m sure there’s a lot we can learn from one another, archchancellor. You from us rather more than us from you, of course. Perhaps we could set up a student exchange, that sort of thing?”
    “Good idea.”
    “You can have six of mine in exchange for a decent lawnmower. Ours has broken.”
    “The Arch—the arch chancellor is trying to say that getting back might be rather hard, sir,” said Ponder. “Apparently things ought to have changed now we’re here. But they haven’t.”
    “Your Rincewind seemed to think that bringing you blokes here would make it rain,” said Bill. “But it hasn’t.”
    … whumm …
    “Oh, do stop playing with that thing, Rincewind,” said Ridcully. “Well…Bill, it’s obvious, isn’t it? As more experienced wizards than you, we naturally know plenty of ways of making it rain. No problem there.”
    … whumm …
    “Look, lad, take that thing outside, will you?”

    The Librarian was sitting at the top of the tin tower, with a leaf over his head.
    “Something odd, see?” said Rincewind, dangling the bullroarer from its string. “I’ve only got to wiggle my hand a bit and it swings right round.”
    “…ook…”
    The Librarian sneezed.
    “…awk…”
    “Er…now you’re some sort of large bird…” said Rincewind. “You are in a bad way, aren’t you? Still, once I tell them your name…”
    The Librarian changed shape and moved fast. There was a very short period of time in which a lot happened.
    “Ah,” said Rincewind calmly when it seemed to be over. “Well, let us start with what we know. I can’t see. The reason I can’t see is that my robe is hanging over my eyes. From this I can deduce that I am upside down. You are gripping my ankles. Correction, one ankle, so obviously you are holding me upside down. We are at the top of the tower. This means…”
    He fell silent.
    “All right, let’s start again,” he said. “Let’s start by me not telling anyone your name.”
    The Librarian let go.
    Rincewind dropped a few inches on to the planks of the tower.
    “You know, that was a really mean trick you just did,” he said.
    “Ook.”
    “We’ll say no more about it, shall we?”
    Rincewind looked up at the big, empty sky. It ought to be raining. He’d done everything he was supposed to do, hadn’t he? And all that had happened was that the Faculty of UU was down there being condescending about everything. It wasn’t even as if they could do a rainmaking spell. For one of those to work you needed some rain around to start with. In fact, it was prudent to make sure that some heavy-looking clouds were being blown in your direction.
    And if it wasn’t raining then probably those terrible currents they talked about were still around, too.
    It wasn’t a bad country. They were big on hats. They were big on big hats. He could save up and buy a farm on the Never-Never and watch sheep. After all, they fed themselves and they made more sheep. All you had to do was pick the wool off occasionally. The Luggage’d probably settle down to being a sheepdog.
    Except…that there wasn’t any more water. No more sheep, no more farms. Mad, and Crocodile Crocodile, the lovely ladies Darleen and Letitia,