The Last Continent

he’s sitting on the right hand of a god.”
    “Won’t that make it rather difficult for—” the Lecturer in Recent Runes began, but the Dean got there first.
    “That means on the right-hand side of the god, Runes,” he said. “Which, I suspect, makes him an angel. Technically.”
    “Surely not. He’s scared of heights. Anyway, he’s made of flesh and blood, and I’m sure angels have to be made of…light or something. He could be a saint, though, I suppose.”
    “Can he do miracles, then?”
    “I’m not sure. When we left they were talking about redesigning male baboons’ behinds to make them more attractive.”
    The wizards thought about this for a while.
    “That’d be a miracle in my book, certainly,” said Ridcully.
    “Can’t say that’s how I’d choose to spend an afternoon, though,” said the Senior Wrangler, in a thoughtful voice.
    “According to the god it’s all to do with making creatures want to have…to engage in…to get to grips with making a new generation, when they could otherwise be spending their time in more…profitable activity. Apparently, a lot of animals will need a complete rebuild.”
    “From the bottom up. Ahaha.”
    “Thank you for your contribution, Dean.”
    “So exactly how does it work, then?” said the Senior Wrangler. “A female baboon sees a male baboon and says, ‘My word, that’s a very colorful bottom and no mistake, let us engage in…nuptial activity’?”
    “I must say I’ve often wondered about that sort of thing myself,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. “Take frogs. Now, if I was a lady frog looking for a husband, I’d want to know about, well, size of legs, competence at catching flies—”
    “Length of tongue,” said Ridcully. “Dean, will you please take something for that cough?”
    “Quite so,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. “Has he got a good pond, and so on. I can’t say I’d base my choice on his ability to inflate his throat to the same size as his stomach and go rabbit, rabbit .”
    “I believe it’s ribbit, ribbit , Runes.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “I believe so, yes.”
    “Which ones go rabbit, rabbit , then?”
    “Rabbits, I believe.”
    “Oh. Yes. Constantly, as I recall.”
    “I’ve always thought sex was really a rather tasteless way of ensuring the continuity of the species,” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, as they reached the beach. “I’m sure there could be something better. It’s all very…old-fashioned, to my mind. And far too energetic.”
    “Well, I’m generally in agreement, but what would you suggest instead?” said Ridcully.
    “Bridge,” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies firmly.
    “Really? Bridge?”
    “You mean the game with cards?” said the Dean.
    “I don’t see why not. It can be extremely exciting, very sociable, and requires no special equipment.”
    “But you do need four people,” Ridcully pointed out.
    “Ah, yes. I had not considered that. Yes, I can see that there could be problems. All right, then. How about…croquet? You can do that with two. Indeed, I’ve often enjoyed a quiet knock-about all by myself.”
    Ridcully let a little more space come between him and the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
    “I fail to see how it could be utilized for the purpose of procreation,” he said carefully. “Recreation, yes, I’ll grant you that. But not procreation. I mean, how would it work?”
    “ He’s the god,” sniffed the Chair of Indefinite Studies. “He’s supposed to sort out the details, isn’t he?”
    “But you think women would really decide to spend their life with a man just because he can swing a big mallet?” said the Dean.
    “I suppose, when you come to think about it, that’s no more ridic—” Ridcully began, and then stopped. “I think we should leave this subject,” he said.
    “I played croquet with him only last week,” hissed the Dean to Ridcully, as the Chair wandered off. “I shan’t be happy now until I’ve had a good bath!”
    “We’ll lock up his mallets when we get back, depend upon it,” Ridcully whispered.
    “He’s got books and books about croquet in his room, did you know that? Some of them have got colored illustrations !”
    “What of?”
    “Famous croquet strokes,” said the Dean. “I think we ought to take his mallet away.”
    “Close to what I was thinking, Dean. Close,” said Ridcully.

    Once a moderately jolly wizard camped by a dried-up waterhole under the shade of a tree that he was