The Science of Discworld II

We don’t want to be all day at this, Stibbons.’
    â€˜Yes, sir. Hex, we—’
    They were in a cellar. It was quite large, which was just as well because several of the wizards fell over upon landing. When they had picked themselves up and all found the right hat, they saw …
    â€¦ something familiar.
    â€˜Mr Stibbons?’ said Ridcully.
    â€˜I don’t understand …’ muttered Ponder. But it really was an alchemical laboratory. It smelled like one. Moreover, it looked like one. There were the big heavy retorts, the crucibles, the fire …
    â€˜We know what alchemists are, Mr Stibbons.’
    â€˜Yes, er, I’m sorry, sir, something seems to have gone wrong …’ Ponder held out his hand. ‘Book, please, Hex.’
    A small volume appeared.
    â€˜â€œGreat Men Of Science No.2”,’ Ponder read. ‘Er … if I can just take a quick look inside, Archchancellor …’
    â€˜I don’t think that will be necessary,’ said the Dean, who had picked up a manuscript that was on the table. ‘Listen to this, gentlemen: “… The spirit of this earth is y e fire in w ch Pontanus digests his feculent matter, the blood of infants in w ch y e &bath themselves, the unclean green Lion w ch , saith Ripley, is y e means of joyning y e tinctures ofand, the broth w ch Medea poured on y e two serpents, the Venus by meditation of w ch vulgar and theof 7 eagles saith Philalethes must be decocted …” yada yada yada.’
    He thumped the manuscript on to the table.
    â€˜Genuine alchemical gibberish,’ he said, ‘and I don’t like the sound of it. What’s “feculent” mean? Do we dare find out? I think not .’
    â€˜Er … the man who apparently lived here is described as a giant amongst scientists …’ muttered Ponder, leafing though the booklet.
    â€˜Really?’ said Ridcully, with a dismissive sniff. ‘Hex, please take us to a scientist . We don’t mind where he is. Not some dabbler. We want someone who embodies the very essence of science .’
    Ponder sighed, and dropped the booklet on to the ground.
    The wizards vanished.
    For a moment the book lay on the floorboards, front cover upwards showing its title: Great Men of Science No. 2: Sir Isaac Newton . Then it, too, vanished.
    There was a thunderstorm grumbling in the distance, and black clouds hung over the sea. The wizards were back on a beach again.
    â€˜Why is it always beaches?’ said Rincewind.
    â€˜Edges,’ said Ridcully. ‘Things happen on the edges.’
    They had been happening here. At first glance the place looked like a shipyard that had launched its last ship. Large wooden constructions, most of them in disrepair, littered the sand. There were a few shacks, too, also with that hopeless look of things abandoned. There was nothing but desolation.
    And an oppressive, silence. A few sea birds cried and flew away, but that only left the world to the sound of waves and the footfalls of the wizards as they approached the shacks.
    At which point, another sound became apparent. It was a rhythmical cracking, a khss … khss … khss behind which it was just possible to hear voices raised in song; the singers sounded as if they were far away and at the bottom of a tin bath.
    Ridcully stopped outside the largest shack, from which the sound appeared to be issuing.
    â€˜Rincewind?’ he said, beckoning. ‘One for you, I think.’
    â€˜Yes, yes, all right,’ said Rincewind, and entered with extreme caution.
    It was dark inside, but he could see workbenches and a few tools, with a forgotten look about them. The shack must have been thrown up quickly. There wasn’t even a floor; it had been built directly on the sand.
    The singing was coming from a large horn attached to a device on a bench. Rincewind wasn’t very good at technical things, but there was a large wheel projecting over the edge of the bench and it was turning slowly, probably because of the small weight, attached to it by string, which was gently descending towards the sand.
    â€˜Is everything okay?’ said Ridcully, from outside.
    â€˜I’ve found a kind of voice mill,’ said Rincewind.
    â€˜That’s amazing,’ said a voice from the shadows. ‘That’s exactly what my master called it.’
    His name, he said, was Niklias the Cretan, and he was very old. And very pleased to see the