The Science of Discworld IV

what: let’s go up to the Whispering Gallery and tell the Americans there is a prize for the loudest noise – how about that?’
    ‘Americans?’ said the Dean.
    ‘Yes, great travellers in Roundworld, which they secretly think belongs to them; but salt of the Earth, even so – bearing in mind that salt occasionally gets under the skin. Mind you, we must remember that
they
were the ones who persevered in the attempt to get to the Moon. In my book that shows the right attitude, yes! What is it you want?’
    This was directly to the person who was suggesting to the Dean and Rincewind that they pay him fifteen pounds each to go to the Whispering Gallery, and Rincewind hissed to the Dean that they should have gone invisible, as usual.
    But the Dean, once called pig-headed by Mustrum Ridcully, said, ‘My dear sir, do you know to whom you speak? I brought this little world into being! I really do not believe that
I
have to pay to go
anywhere
.’ Rincewind grabbed the Dean’s hand and tugged, but the Dean raised his voice and added, ‘It’s a matter of principle.’ A phrase that in any area of conflict had something of the overtones of the
Titanic
– it would sink you every time.
    Rincewind managed to convince the staff and subsequently the constabulary that the Dean, although bellowing his celestial
bona fides
, had been recently hit on the head by a piece of falling masonry and would never do it again. And he, that is to say Rincewind, would see to it that he, the Dean, got home – although Rincewind took both of them to Australia, just because he liked the place.
    As they sat addressing a bucket of Oysters Kilpatrick, the Dean said, ‘You know, I’m getting annoyed. People: they think it’s all about
them
!’
    ‘Well,’ said Rincewind, ‘one of their most important holy books tells them that this is so; indeed, there are some people who seriously believe that their
job
is to use up everything on the planet so that their god will make them another one. When I read that, I thought,
Oh dear me, aren’t we going to be surprised
!’
    ‘It sounds to me like toxic advice,’ said the Dean, ‘but surely they have brains? I mean, we
know
they do; though there is politics ofcourse, and mercantile greed – monkey stuff. And surely there will be a lot of wise men, as opposed to wise guys, even though wise guys have
money
behind them. No wise man could sell that kind of bad news, though, even if it
is
important; it would take a fairly brave person to stand up and say that no matter what is in their particular holy book there are certainly some parts that need re-evaluation.’ He sighed. ‘Alas, apparently belief in a god gives a believer the right to have their views taken seriously. It’s superstition – you don’t want to upset a god.’
    ‘Well, I’ve managed to upset several,’ Rincewind said. ‘I think it keeps them on their toes. You know how it is; you can get quite stale unless you are occasionally tested.’ He added, rather gloomily, ‘It happens to me quite a lot.’
    But the Dean wasn’t listening. ‘It’s not all bad, though, or for that matter all that stupid,’ he continued. ‘Science works and is
seen
to work – we made sure of
that
– even though there are still those who believe, for example, in a holy book written in the Iron Age by a committee of old men. Admittedly, it was right in some parts.’
    Rincewind butted in. ‘The tiny little swimming things did come first, and after that the fish, which wasn’t a bad guess. I know! I was there!’
    The Dean helped himself to the last oyster and said, ‘Do you think I should materialise in one of their important places and very carefully tell one of them what they are doing wrong? I can’t help but feeling some responsibility, silly though it sounds.’
    ‘Don’t,’ said Rincewind emphatically. ‘You will only get nailed to something; although from what I can find out, the nails nowadays have become a lot more subtle – they’d give you a very big prize and a hearty handshake, and subsequently tell one another that as an academic you are out of touch with reality, despite wading through the wretched stuff for your whole long career.’
    ‘Nothing can be done, then?’ said the Dean.
    ‘No, not really. Small things in the sea and underground will survive, but at the rate the resources of the planet are beingdestroyed, I can’t see any room for civilisation again. Maybe it would be a good idea to come back in a million