The Wit And Wisdom Of Discworld

its head. ‘Carrion regardless, as you might say.’
    *
    Death decides to join the Klatchian Foreign Legion. He arrives at one of their forts and knocks:
    I S THIS THE K LATCHIAN F OREIGN L EGION ?
    The face of the little man on the other side of the door went blank.
    ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘you’ve got me there. Hang on a moment.’ The hatch shut. There was a whispered discussion on the other side of the door. The hatch opened.
    ‘Yes, it appears we are the . .. the … what was that again? Right, got it … the Klatchian Foreign Legion. Yes. What was it you were wanting?’
    I WISH TO JOIN.
    ‘Join? Join what?’
    T HE K LATCHIAN F OREIGN L EGION .
    ‘Where’s that?’
    There was some more whispering.
    ‘Oh. Right. Sorry. Yes. That’s us.’
    The doors swung open. The visitor strode in. A legionary with corporal’s stripes on his arm walked up to him.
    You’ll have to report to …’ his eyes glazed a little, ‘… you know … big man, three stripes … on the tip of my tongue a moment ago …’
    S ERGEANT ?
    ‘Right,’ said the corporal, with relief. ‘What’s your name, soldier?’
    E R…
    You don’t have to say, actually. That’s what the … the …’
    K LATCHIAN F OREIGN L EGION ?
    ‘… what it’s all about. People join to … to … with your mind, you know, when you can’t… things that happened …’
    F ORGET ?
    ‘Right. I’m …’ The man’s face went blank. ‘Wait a minute, would you?’
    He looked down at his sleeve. ‘Corporal …’ he said. He hesitated, looking worried. Then an idea struck him and he pulled at the collar of his vest and twisted his neck until he could squint, with considerable difficulty, at the label thus revealed.
    ‘Corporal … Medium? Does that sound right?’
    I DON’T THINK SO.
    ‘Corporal … Hand Wash Only?’
    P ROBABLY NOT.
    ‘Corporal … Cotton?’
    I T’S A POSSIBILITY.
    ‘Right. Well, welcome to the … er …’
    K LATCHIAN F OREIGN L EGION …
    ‘Right. The pay is three dollars a week and all the sand you can eat.’
    *
    The tradition of promotion in the University by filling dead men’s shoes, sometimes by firstly ensuring the death of the man in those shoes, had lately ceased. This was largely because of Ridcully himself, who was big and kept himself in trim and, as three late-night aspirants to the Archchancellorship had found, also had very good hearing. They had been variously hung out of the window by their ankles, knocked unconscious with a shovel, and had their arm broken in two places. Besides, Ridcully was known to sleep with two loaded crossbows by his bed. He was a kind man and probably wouldn’t shoot you in both ears.
    *
    There was an Ankh-Morpork legend about some old drum in the Palace that was supposed to bang itself if an enemy fleet was seen sailing up the Ankh. The legend had died out in recent centuries, partly because this was the Age of Reason and also because no enemy fleet could sail up the Ankh without a gang of men with shovels going in front.
    *
    Unseen University was used to eccentricity among the faculty. After all, humans derive their notions of what it means to be a normal human being by constant reference to the humans around them, and when those humans are other wizards the spiral can only wiggle downwards. The Librarian was an orang-utan, and no one thought that was at all odd. The Reader in Esoteric Studies spent so much time reading in what the Bursar referred to as ‘the smallest room’ that he was generally referred to as the Reader in The Lavatory, even on official documents. † The Bursar himself in any normal society would have been considered more unglued than a used stamp in a downpour. The Archchancellor, who regularly used the long gallery above the Great Hall for archery practice and had accidentally shot the Bursar twice, thought the whole faculty was as crazy as loons, whatever a loon was. ‘Not enough fresh air,’ he’d say. ‘Too much sittin’ around indoors. Rots the brain.’ More often he’d say, ‘Duck!’
    *
    Leonard of Quirm: skilled artist and certified genius with a mind that wandered so much it came back with souvenirs.
    Leonard’s books were full of sketches - of kittens, of the way water flows, of the wives of influential Ankh-Morporkian merchants whoseportraits had provided his means of making a living. But Leonard had been a genius and was deeply sensitive to the wonders of the world, so the margins were full of detailed doodles of whatever was on his