The Last Continent

Dresser. It’s Always The Same, Isn’t It?”
    “You Should Remember Where You Put Them Down!”
    “Hang On, Perhaps They’re In My Other Jacket!”
    The young bledlow who was this week’s Keeper of the Other Jacket stepped forward. Each man saluted the other two. The youngest cleared his throat and managed to say:
    “No, I Looked In…There This…Morning!”
    McAbre gave him a slight nod to acknowledge a difficult job done well, and patted his pockets again.
    “Hold On, Stone The Crows, They Were In This Pocket After All! What A Muggins I Am!”
    “Don’t Worry, I Do The Same Myself!”
    “Is My Face Red! Forget My Own Head Next!”
    Somewhere in the darkness a window creaked up.
    “Er, excuse me, gentlemen—”
    “Here’s The Keys, Then!” said McAbre, raising his voice.
    “Much Obliged!”
    “I wonder if you could—” the querulous voice went on, apologizing for even thinking of complaining.
    “All Safe And Secure!” shouted the gatekeeper, handing the keys back.
    “—perhaps keep it down a little —”
    “Gods Bless All Present!” screamed McAbre, veins standing out on his thick crimson neck.
    “Careful Where You Put Them This Time. Ha! Ha! Ha!”
    “Ho! Ho! Ho!” yelled McAbre, beside himself with fury. He saluted stiffly, went About Turn with an unnecessarily large amount of foot stamping and, the ancient exchange completed, marched back to the bledlows’ lodge muttering under his breath. The window of the University’s little sanatorium shut again.
    “That man really makes me want to swear,” said the Bursar. He fumbled in his pocket and produced his little green box of dried frog pills, spilling a few as he fumbled with the lid. “I’ve sent him no end of memos. He says it’s traditional but, I don’t know, he’s so…boisterous about it…” He blew his nose. “How’s he doing?”
    “Not good,” said the Dean.
    The Librarian was very, very ill.
    Snow plastered itself against the closed window.
    There was a heap of blankets in front of the roaring fire. Occasionally it shuddered a bit. The wizards watched it with concern.
    The Lecturer in Recent Runes was feverishly turning over the pages of a book.
    “I mean, how do we know if it’s old age or not?” he said. “What’s old age for an orangutan? And he’s a wizard. And he spends all his time in the Library. All that magic radiation the whole time. Somehow the flu is attacking his morphic field, but it could be caused by anything .”
    The Librarian sneezed.
    And changed shape.
    The wizards looked sadly at what appeared very much like a comfortable armchair which someone had, for some reason, upholstered in red fur.
    “What can we do for him?” said Ponder Stibbons, the Faculty’s youngest member.
    “He might feel happier with some cushions,” said Ridcully.
    “Slightly bad taste, Archchancellor, I feel.”
    “What? Everyone likes some comfy cushions when they’re feeling a little under the weather, don’t they?” said the man to whom sickness was a mystery.
    “He was a table this morning. Mahogany, I believe. He seems to be able to retain his color, at least.”
    The Lecturer in Recent Runes closed the book with a sigh. “He’s certainly lost control of his morphic function,” he said. “It’s not surprising, I suppose. Once it’s been changed, it’ll change again much more easily, I’m afraid. A well known fact.”
    He looked at the Archchancellor’s frozen grin and sighed. Mustrum Ridcully was notorious for not trying to understand things if there was anyone around to do it for him.
    “It’s quite hard to change the shape of a living thing but once it’s been done it’s a lot easier to do it next time,” he translated.
    “Say again?”
    “He was a human before he was an ape, Arch-chancellor. Remember?”
    “Oh. Yes,” said Ridcully. “Funny, really, the way you get used to things. Apes and humans are related, accordin’ to young Ponder here.”
    The other wizards looked blank. Ponder screwed up his face.
    “He’s been showing me some of the invisible writings,” said Ridcully. “Fascinatin’ stuff.”
    The other wizards scowled at Ponder Stibbons, as you would at a man who’d been caught smoking in a fireworks factory. So now they knew who to blame. As usual…
    “Is that entirely wise , sir?” said the Dean.
    “Well, I do happen to be the Archchancellor in these parts, Dean,” said Ridcully calmly.
    “A blindly obvious fact, Archchancellor,” said the Dean. You