Unseen Academicals

lordship. My, but ain’t you lookin’ quite the swell tonight.’ As breaths were indrawn all around the Hall Trev pulled out his tin can, dropped it on to his foot and flicked it up on to his shoulder, where it travelled around the back of his neck and down his other arm.
    ‘At the start people used to kick rocks. That was sort of stupid. Then they tried skulls, but you had to get ’em off people and that led to fightin’.’
    Beside Glenda, Nutt was still counting…
    ‘An’ now we’ve got what we call a ball,’ Trev continued, as his tin can rolled and climbed around him, ‘but it ain’t all that, ’cos it’s a lump of firewood. You can’t kick it ’less you’ve got big heavy boots on. It’s slow. It’s heavy. It don’t live, gentlemen, and football should live…’
    The doors at the other end of the Hall opened and Bengo Macarona trotted in, bouncing the new football. Its gloing, gloing echoed around the Hall. Some of the football captains had got to their feet, craning for a better view.
    ‘And with the old football, you couldn’t do this,’ said Trev, and dived for the floor as Macarona spun in one balletic movement and sent the ball screaming up the aisle like an angry hornet.
    Some scenes are only ever a memory rather than an experience, because they happen too fast for immediate comprehension, and Glenda watched the subsequent events on the internal screen of horrified recollection. There were the two Archmages and the Tyrant of the city, watching with frozen interest as the spinning globe hummed towards them, dragging terrible consequences in its wake, and then there was the Librarian rising out of nowhere, stopping it dead in mid air with a hand like a shovel.
    ‘That’s us, gentlemen. And we’ll take on the first team that joins us on the Hippo on Saturday at one o’clock. We’ll be training all around the city. You can join in if you like. And don’t worry if you don’t have the balls! We’ll give you some!’ The candle flames went out, which was just as well because it is hard to riot in the dark. When the flames rose again in their eerie way, shouting, arguments, laughter and even discussion were taking place on every table. Quietly, too, the servants went to and fro with their flagons. There always seemed to be another one, Glenda noticed.
    ‘What have they been drinking?’ she whispered to the nearest waiter.
    ‘Winkle’s Old Peculiar, Mages’ Special. It’s top stuff.’
    ‘What about his lordship?’
    He grinned. ‘Ha. Funny thing, some of ’em have asked me that, too. Just the same as the guests. Poured out of the same flagon, just like for everyone else, so it’s—’ He stopped.
    Lord Vetinari was on his feet again. ‘Gentlemen, who among you will accept the challenge? It need not be Dimwell, it need not be Dolly Sisters, it need not be the Nappers, it just has to be a team, gentlemen; the Unseen Academicals will take on the best of you, in the best traditions of sportsmanship. I have set the date of the game for Saturday. As far as the Academicals are concerned, you can watch them train and Mister Stibbons will give you all the advice you may need. This will be a fair match, gentlemen, you have my word on it.’ He paused. ‘Did I mention that when it is presented, the very nearly gold urn will be full of beer? The concept is quite popular, I gather, and I predict that for a reasonable period the golden cup will quite miraculously stay full of beer, no matter how many drink thereof. I shall personally see to it.’
    This got a big cheer, too. Glenda felt embarrassed for the men, but angry at them too. They were being led by the nose. Or, more accurately, by the beer.
    Vetinari didn’t need whips and thumbscrews; he just needed Winkle’s Old Peculiar, Mages’ Special, and he was leading them like little lambs-and matching them pint for pint. How could he manage that? Hey, look at me , he’s saying, I’m just like you , and he’s not like them at all. They can’t have someone killed-she paused the thought to allow consideration of some of the street fights when the pubs shut, and amended it to-and get away with it.
    ‘My friend the Archchancellor has just informed me that, of course, the Unseen Academicals will not on any account resort to magic! Nobody wants to see a team of frogs, I am sure!’
    There was general laughter at this lame joke, but the plain fact was that right now they would have laughed at a paper bag.
    ‘This will be a proper