The Last Continent

but the pattern of pink and yellow squares was clearly visible, surrounded by a layer of something sticky and sweet.
    “But I only thought about that cake ten minutes ago!” said the Senior Wrangler.
    “Seems perfectly logical to me ,” said Ridcully, “I mean, here we are, wizards, we move about, we want to leave the island…What will we take with us? Anyone?”
    “Food, obviously,” said Ponder. “But—”
    “Right! If I was a vegetable, I’d want to make myself useful in a hurry, yes? No good hanging around for a thousand years just growing bigger seeds! No fear! All those other plants might come up with a better idea in the meantime! No, you see an opportunity and you go for it! There might not be another boat along for years!”
    “Millennia,” said the Dean.
    “Even longer,” Ridcully agreed. “Survival of the fastest, eh? So I suggest we load up and go, gentlemen.”
    “What, just like that?” said Ponder.
    “Certainly. Why not?”
    “But…but…but think of the things we could learn here!” said Ponder. “The possibilities are breathtaking! At last there’s a god who’s actually got the right idea! At last we can get some answers to all the important questions! We could…we can…Look, we can’t just go . I mean, not go ! I mean…we’re wizards, aren’t we?” He was aware that he had their full attention, something that wizards did not often give. Usually they defined “listening” as a period in which you worked out what you were going to say next. It was disconcerting.
    Then the spell broke. The Senior Wrangler shook his head. “Curious way of looking at things,” he said, turning away. “So…I vote we take plenty of those cheese nuts, Archchancellor.”
    “Good provisioning is the essence of successful exploration,” said the Dean. “Quite a roomy vessel, too, so we needn’t stint.”
    Ridcully pulled himself aboard via a trailing tendril, and sniffed.
    “Smells rather like pumpkin,” he said. “Always liked pumpkin. A very versatile vegetable.”
    Ponder put a hand over his eyes. “Oh, really?” he said, wearily. “A group of Unseen University wizards are seriously considering putting to sea on an edible boat?”
    “Fried, boiled, a good base for a soup stock and, of course, excellent in pies,” said the Archchancellor happily. “Also the seeds are a tasty snack.”
    “Good with butter,” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. “I suppose there isn’t a butter plant anywhere, is there?”
    “There will be soon,” said the Dean. “Give us a hand up, will you, Archchancellor?”
    Ponder exploded. “I don’t believe this!” he said. “You’re turning your back on an astonishing god-given opportunity—”
    “Absolutely, Mister Stibbons,” said Ridcully, from above. “No offense meant, of course, but if the choice is a trip on the briny deep or staying on a small island with someone trying to create a more inflammable cow then you can call me Salty Sam.”
    “Is this the poop deck?” said the Dean.
    “I hope not,” said Ridcully briskly. “You see, Stibbons—”
    “Are you sure?” said the Dean.
    “I’m sure, Dean. You see , Stibbons, when you’ve had a little more experience in these matters you’ll learn that there’s nothing more dangerous than a god with too much time on his hands—”
    “Except an enraged mother bear,” said the Senior Wrangler.
    “No, they’re far more dangerous.”
    “Not when they’re really close.”
    “If it was the poop deck, how would we know?” said the Dean.
    Ponder shook his head. There were times when the desire to climb the thaumaturgical ladder was seriously blunted, and one of them was when you saw what was on top.
    “I…I just don’t know what to say,” he said. “I am frankly astonished.”
    “Well done, lad. So run along and get some bananas, will you? Green ones will keep better. And don’t look so upset. When it comes to gods, I have to say, you can give me one of the make-’em-out-of-clay-and-smite-’em brigade any day of the week. That’s the kind of god you can deal with.”
    “The practically human sort,” said the Dean.
    “Exactly.”
    “Call me overly picky,” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, “but I’d prefer not to be around a god who might suddenly decide I’d run faster with three extra legs.”
    “Exactly. Is there something wrong, Stibbons? Oh, he’s gone. Oh well, no doubt he’ll be back. And…Dean?”
    “Yes, Archchancellor?”
    “I can’t