The Last Continent

heavier now. There was a deep, continuous booming underlying the noise of the rain.
    “Ah, Mrs. Whitlow,” said the Senior Wrangler. “And what a nice tree. Even got leaves on, look.”
    “We’ve come to save you,” said the Dean, in the face of the evidence.
    “I think it might be a good idea if Mrs. Whitlow hung on to a seed,” said Ponder. “I really think that really might be a really good idea. I think the waves might be…slightly big…”
    “Girting,” said the Senior Wrangler, morosely.
    He looked towards the beach, and it wasn’t ahead of them any more.
    It was down there . It was at the bottom of a green hill. And the green was made of water. And, for some reason, it was getting taller.

    “Look,” said Rincewind. “Why can’t you tell me her name? Presumably lots of people know it. I mean, it must be put on the posters and so on. It’s only a name, isn’t it? I don’t see the problem.”
    The cooks looked at one another. Then one coughed and said, “She’s…her name’s…Dame Nellie…Butt.”
    “But what?”
    “Her name is Butt.”
    Rincewind’s lips moved silently. “Oh,” he said.
    The cooks nodded.
    “Has Charley drunk all the beer, do you think?” Rincewind said, sitting down.
    “Maybe we can find some bananas, Ron,” said another cook.
    Rincewind’s eyes unfocused and his lips moved again. “Did you tell Charley that?” he said at last.
    “Yep. Just before he broke down.”
    There was the sound of running feet outside. One of the cooks looked out of the window.
    “It’s just the Watch. Probably after some poor bastard…”
    Rincewind moved back slightly so that he was not obvious from the window.
    Ron shuffled his feet. “I reckon if we went and saw Idle Ahmed and got him to open up his shop we might get some—”
    “Strawberries?” said Rincewind. The cooks shuddered. There was another sob from Charley.
    “All his life he’s been waiting for this,” said a cook. “I call it bloody unfair. Remember when that little soprano left to marry that drover? He was miserable all week.”
    “Yeah. Lisa Delight,” said Ron. “A bit wobbly in mid-range but definitely showin’ promise.”
    “He was really pinning his hopes on her. He said a name like that’d even work with rhubarb.”
    Charley howled.
    “I think…” said Rincewind, slowly and thoughtfully.
    “Yes?”
    “I think I can see a way.”
    “You can ?” Even Charley raised his head.
    “Well, you know how it is, the outsider sees most of the game…Let’s go with the peaches, the cream, a bit of ice cream if you can make it, maybe a dash of brandy…Let’s see, now…”
    “Coconut flakes?” said Charley, looking up.
    “Yes, why not?”
    “Er…some tomato sauce, maybe?”
    “I think not.”
    “You’d better get a move on, they’re halfway through the last act,” said Ron.
    “She’ll be right,” said Rincewind. “Okay…halve the peaches, put them in a bowl with the other things, and then add the brandy and voilà .”
    “That some kind of foreign stuff?” said Charley. “I don’t think we’ve got any of that wollah.”
    “Just add twice as much brandy, then,” said Rincewind. “And there it is .”
    “Yeah, but what’s it called ?” said Ron.
    “I’m coming to that,” said Rincewind. “Bowl, please, Charley. Thank you.” He held it aloft. “Gentlemen…I give you…the Peach Nellie .”
    A saucepan bubbled on a stove. Apart from that insistent little noise, and the distant strains of the opera, the room fell silent.
    “What do you think?” said Rincewind brightly.
    “It’s…different…” said Charley. “I’ll grant you that.”
    “But it’s not exactly commemorative , is it?” said Ron. “The world is full of Nellies.”
    “On the other hand, would you prefer it if everyone remembered the alternative?” said Rincewind. “Do you want to be associated in any way with the Peach Bu—”
    There was a howl as Charley burst into tears again.
    “Put like that, it doesn’t sound too bad,” said Ron. “Peach Nellie…yeah.”
    “You could use bananas,” said Rincewind.
    Ron’s lips moved silently. “Nah,” he said. “Let’s go with the peaches.”
    Rincewind brushed himself off. “Glad to be of service,” he said. “Tell me. How many ways are there out of here?”
    “Busy night for everyone, what with the Galah and everything,” said Ron. “Not my taste, of course, but it does bring in the visitors.”
    “Yeah, and the hanging in the