The Last Continent

ceramics.” He turned a wretched face to them. “You know those days you get when you just snap at everyone?”
    Out of the corner of his eye Ponder had noticed that the wizards, in a rare show of unanimity, were shuffling sideways, very slowly, towards the door.
    A much bigger thunderbolt blew a hole in the floor near the cave entrance.
    “Oh dear, where can I put my face?” said the god. “It’s all subconscious, I’m afraid.”
    “Could you get treatment for premature incineration?”
    “Dean! This is not the time!”
    “Sorry, Archchancellor.”
    “If only they hadn’t turned up their noses at my inflammable cows,” said the god, sparks fizzing off his beard. “All right, I would agree that on hot days, in certain rare circumstances, they would spontaneously combust and burn down the village, but is that any excuse for ingratitude?”
    Mrs. Whitlow had been giving the god a long, cool stare. “What exactly is it you wish to know?” she said.
    “Huh?” said Ridcully.
    “Well, Ai mean no offense, but Ai for one would like to get out of here without mai hair on fire,” said the housekeeper.
    The god looked up. “This male and female concept seems really rather promising,” he said, sniffing. “But no one seems to want to go into detail…”
    “Oh, that ,” said Mrs. Whitlow. She glanced at the wizards, and then gently pulled the god to his feet. “If you will excuse me for one moment, gentlemen…”
    The wizards watched them in even more shock than had attended the lightning display, and then the Chair of Indefinite Studies pulled his hat over his eyes.
    “I daren’t look,” he said, and added, “What are they doing?”
    “Er…just talking…” said Ponder.
    “Talking?”
    “And she’s…sort of…waving her hands about.”
    “Mwaa!” said the Senior Wrangler.
    “Quick, someone, give him some air,” said Ridcully. “Now she’s laughing , isn’t she?”
    Both the housekeeper and the god looked around at the wizards. Mrs. Whitlow nodded her head as if to reassure him that what she’d just told him was true, and they both laughed.
    “ That looked more like a snigger,” said the Dean severely.
    “I’m not sure I actually approve of this,” said Ridcully, haughtily. “Gods and mortal women, you know. You hear stories.”
    “Gods turning themselves into bulls,” said the Dean.
    “Swans, too,” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
    “Showers of gold,” said the Dean.
    “Yes,” said the Chair. He paused for a second. “You know, I’ve often wondered about that one—”
    “What’s she describing now?”
    “I think I’d rather not know, quite frankly.”
    “Oh, look, someone please do something for the Senior Wrangler, will you?” said Ridcully. “Loosen his clothing or something!”
    They heard the god shout, “It what ?” Mrs. Whitlow glanced around at the wizards and appeared to lower her voice.
    “Did anyone ever meet Mr . Whitlow?” said the Archchancellor.
    “Well…no,” said the Dean. “Not that I remember. I suppose we’ve all assumed that he’s dead.”
    “Anyone know what he died of?” Ridcully went on. “Ah, quieten down…they’re coming back…”
    The god nodded cheerfully at them as he approached.
    “Well, that’s all sorted out,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I can’t wait to see how it works in practice. You know, if I’d sat here for a hundred years I’d never have…well, really, no one could serious believe…I mean…” He started to chuckle at their frozen faces. “That bit where he…and then she…Really, I’m amazed that anyone stops laughing long enough to…Still, I can see how it could work, and it certainly opens the door to some very interesting possibilities indeed…”
    Mrs. Whitlow was looking intently at the ceiling. There was perhaps just a hint in her stance and the way her rather expressive bosom moved that she was trying not to laugh. It was disconcerting. Mrs. Whitlow never usually laughed at anything.
    “Ah? Oh?” said Ridcully, edging towards the door. “Really? Well done, then. So, I expect you don’t need us any more, eh? Only we’ve got a boat to catch…”
    “Yes, certainly, don’t let me hold you up,” said the god, waving a hand vaguely. “You know, the more I think about it, the more I can see that ‘sex’ will solve practically all my problems.”
    “Not everyone can say that,” said Ridcully gravely. “Are you, er…joining us, Mrs., er,