The Last Continent

round it few times…”
    The kangaroo waved a paw expansively. “It’s not just that things in the future can affect things in the past,” he said. “Things that didn’t happen but might have happened can…affect things that really happened. Even things that happened and shouldn’t have happened and were removed still have, oh, call ’em shadows in time, things left over which interfere with what’s going on. Between you and me,” it went on, waggling its ears, “it’s all just held together by spit now. No one’s ever got round to tidying it up. I’m always amazed when tomorrow follows today, and that’s the truth.”
    “Me too,” said Rincewind. “Oh, me too.”
    “Still, no worries, eh?”
    “I think I’ll lay off the jam,” said Rincewind. He put the sandwich down. “Why me?”
    The kangaroo scratched its nose. “’s got to be someone,” it said.
    “And what’m I supposed to do?” said Rincewind.
    “Wind it into the world.”
    “There’s a key ?”
    “Might be. Depends.”
    Rincewind turned and looked at the rock pictures again, the pictures that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago and then suddenly had always been there.
    Figures holding long sticks. Figures in long robes. The artist had done a pretty good job of drawing something quite unfamiliar. And in case there was any doubt, you only had to look at what was on their heads.
    “Yeah. We call them The Pointy-Heads ,” said the kangaroo.

    “He’s started catching fish,” said the Senior Wrangler. “That means he’ll come over all smug and start asking what plans we’ve got for making a boat at any minute, you know what he’s like.”
    The Dean looked at some sketches he’d made on a rock.
    “How hard can it be to build a boat?” he said. “People with bones in their noses build boats. And we are the end product of thousands of years of enlightenment. Building a boat is not beyond men like us, Senior Wrangler.”
    “Quite, Dean.”
    “All we have to do is search this island until we find a book with a title like Practical Boat-Building for Beginners .”
    “Exactly. It’ll be plain sailing after that, Dean. Ahaha.”
    He glanced up, and swallowed hard. Mrs. Whitlow was sitting on a log in the shade, fanning herself with a large leaf.
    The sight stirred things in the Senior Wrangler. He was not at all sure what they were, but little details like the way something creaked when she moved twanged bits of the Senior Wrangler as well.
    “You all right, Senior Wrangler? You look as if the heat is getting to you.”
    “Just a little…warm, Dean.”
    The Dean looked past him as he loosened his collar. “Well, they haven’t been long,” he said.
    The other wizards were walking down the beach. One advantage of a long wizarding robe is that it can be held like an apron, and the Chair of Indefinite Studies was bulging at the front even more than usual.
    “Found anything to eat?” said the Senior Wrangler.
    “Er…yes.”
    “Fruit and nuts, I suppose,” grumbled the Dean.
    “Er…yes, and then again, no,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. “Um…it’s rather odd…”
    The Chair of Indefinite Studies let his burden spill out on to the sand. There were coconuts, other nuts of various sizes, and assorted hairy or knobbly vegetable things.
    “All rather primitive,” said the Dean. “And probably poisonous.”
    “Well, the Bursar’s been eating things like there’s no tomorrow,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. The Bursar burped happily.
    “That doesn’t mean there will be,” said the Dean. “What’s up with you fellows? You keep looking at one another.”
    “Er…we’ve tasted a few things too, Dean,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
    “Ah, I see the gatherers have returned!” roared Ridcully happily, walking towards them. He waved three fish on a string. “Anything resembling potatoes in there, chaps?”
    “You’re not going to believe any of this,” mumbled the Lecturer in Recent Runes. “You’re going to accuse us of trickery.”
    “What are you talking about?” said the Dean. “They don’t look very tricky to me .”
    The Chair of Indefinite Studies gave a sigh. “Have a coconut,” he said.
    “Do they go off bang or something?”
    “No, nothing like that at all.”
    The Dean picked up a nut, gave it a suspicious look, and banged it on a stone. It fell into two exact halves.
    There was no milk to spill out. Inside the husk was a brown inner shell, full of soft white