The Last Continent

feet, were sticking out very nearly horizontally on either side of his body. But the most horrifying aspect of the shuffling apparition was the red woolly hat.
    It was jolly. It had a bobble on it. It had been knitted by Mrs. Whitlow, who was technically an extremely good needlewoman, but if she had a fault it lay in failing to take into account the precise dimensions of the intended recipient. Several wizards had on occasion been presented with one of her creations, which often assumed they had three ankles or a neck two meters across. Most of the things were surreptitiously given away to charitable institutions. You can say this about Ankh-Morpork—no matter how misshapen a garment, there will always be someone somewhere it would fit.
    Mrs. Whitlow’s mistake here was the assumption that the Librarian, for whom she had considerable respect, would like a red bobble hat with side flaps that tied under his chin. Given that this would technically require that they be tied under his groin, he’d opted to let them flap loose.
    He turned a sad face towards the wizards as he stopped outside the Library door. He reached for the handle. He said, in a very weak voice, “’k,” and then sneezed.
    The pile of clothing settled. When the wizards pulled it away, they found underneath a very large, thick book bound in hairy red leather.
    “Says Ook on the cover,” said the Senior Wrangler after a while, in a rather strained voice.
    “Does it say who it’s by?” said the Dean.
    “Bad taste, that man.”
    “I meant that maybe it’d be his real name.”
    “Can we look inside?” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. “There may be an index.”
    “Any volunteers to look inside the Librarian?” said Ridcully. “Don’t all shout.”
    “The morphic instability responds to the environment,” said Ponder. “Isn’t that interesting? He’s near the Library, so it turns him into a book. Sort of…protective camouflage, you could say. It’s as if he evolves to fit in with—”
    “Thank you, Mister Stibbons. And is there a point to this?”
    “Well, I assume we can look inside,” said Ponder. “A book is meant to be opened. There’s even a black leather bookmark, see?”
    “Oh, that’s a bookmark , is it?” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, who had been watching it nervously.
    Ponder touched the book. It was warm. And it opened easily enough.
    Every page was covered with “ook.”
    “Good dialogue, but the plot is a little dull.”
    “Dean! I’d be obliged if you’d take this seriously, please!” said Ridcully. He tapped his foot once or twice. “Anyone got any more ideas?”
    The wizards stared at one another and shrugged.
    “I suppose…” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
    “Yes, Runes…Arnold, isn’t it?”
    “No, Archchancellor…”
    “Well, out with it anyway.”
    “I suppose…I know this sounds ridiculous, but…”
    “Go on, man. We’re almost all agog.”
    “I suppose there’s always…Rincewind.”
    Ridcully stared at him for a moment. “Skinny fella? Scruffy beard? Bloody useless wizard? Got that box on legs thingy?”
    “That’s right, Archchancellor. Well done. Er…he was the Deputy Librarian for a while, as I expect you remember.”
    “Not really, but do go on,” he said.
    “In fact he was here when the Librarian…became the Librarian. And I remember once, when we were watching the Librarian stamping four books all at the same time, he said, “Amazing, really, when you think he was born in Ankh-Morpork.” I’m sure if anyone knows the name of the Librarian it’s Rincewind.”
    “Well, go and fetch him, then! I suppose you do know where he is, do you?”
    “Technically, yes, Archchancellor,” said Ponder quickly. “But we’re not sure quite where the place where he is is , if you follow me.”
    Ridcully gave him another stare.
    “You see, we think he’s on EcksEcksEcksEcks, Archchancellor,” said Ponder.
    “EcksEcks—”
    “—EcksEcks, Archchancellor.”
    “I thought no one knew where that place was,” said Ridcully.
    “ Exactly , Archchancellor,” said Ponder. Sometimes you had to turn facts in several directions until you found the right way to fit them into Ridcully’s head. *
    “What’s he doing there?”
    “We don’t really know, Archchancellor. If you remember, we believe he ended up there after that Agatean business…”
    “What did he want to go there for?”
    “I don’t think he exactly wanted to,” said Ponder. “Er…we