Unseen Academicals

and the Faces ran the Shove. *
    ‘There’s going to be a team put together for tomorrow and they’ll try to get as many of them in as possible,’ Carter volunteered.
    ‘Yeah, I heard.’
    ‘They’re going to show Vetinari what they think of his new football.’
    ‘I didn’t hear the name of the Stollops there,’ Trev said.
    ‘I hear their dad’s got them doing choir practice every night,’ said Carter.
    ‘The captains did sign up,’ said Trev, ‘so it’ll look bad for them. But ’ow much do you think Andy and his little chums care ’bout that?’ He leaned forward. ‘Vetinari’s got the Watch, though, ’asn’t he? And you know about the Watch. Okay, so there’s some decent bastards among ’em when you get ’em by theirselves, but if it all goes wahoonie-shaped they’ve got big, big sticks and big, big trolls and they’ve not got to bother too much about who they hit because they’re the Watch, which means it’s all legal. And, if you get ’em really pissed off, they’ll add a charge of damaging their truncheons with your face. And talking of faces, exactly ’ow come you’re a quarter-inch away from being a candidate for a white stick?’
    ‘I told Andy I didn’t think it was a good idea,’ said Carter.
    Trev couldn’t hide his surprise. Even that much bravery was alien to Carter. ‘Well, as it ’appens, it might be a blessin’ in disguise. You just stay here in bed and you won’t end up stuck between the Old Sam and Andy.’
    He stopped because of a rustling noise.
    Since Carter glued pages of his used magazines to the walls with flour-and-water paste, the attic was home to some quite well fed mice, and for some reason, one of them had just gnawed its way to freedom via the chest of last year’s Miss April, thus giving her a third nipple, which was, in fact, staring at Trev and wobbling. It was a sight to put anyone off their tea.
    ‘What’re you goin’ to do?’ said Carter.
    ‘Anything I can,’ said Trev.
    ‘You know Andy’s out to get you? You and that weird bloke.’
    ‘I’m not afraid of Andy,’ said Trev. As a statement, this was entirely true. He was not frightened of Andy. He was mortally terrified to his boots and back again, with a visceral fear that dripped off his ribs like melting snow.
    ‘Everyone’s afraid of Andy, Trev. If they’re smart,’ said Carter.
    ‘Hey, Fartmeister, I’m Trevor Likely!’
    ‘I think you’re goin’ to need a lot more than that.’

    I am going to need a lot more than that, thought Trev, travelling at speed across the city. If even Pepe knew there was something on the boil, then surely the Old Sam would know too? Oops.
    He sprinted quickly to the horse bus’s rear platform and landed in the road before the conductor was anywhere near. If they didn’t catch you on the bus then they couldn’t catch you at all, and while they were issued with those big shiny choppers to deter non-paying passengers, everyone knew that a) they were too scared to use them and b) the amount of trouble they would get into if they actually whacked a respectable member of society did not bear thinking of.
    He darted through the alley into Cockbill Street, spotted another bus plodding its way in the right direction, jumped on to the running board and held on. He was lucky this time. The conductor gave him a look and then very carefully did not see him.
    By the time he reached the big junction known as Five Ways, he had travelled almost the width of the city at an average speed faster than walking pace and had hardly had to run very far at all. A near perfect result for Trev Likely, who wouldn’t walk if he could ride.
    And there, right in front of him, was the Hippo. It used to be a racetrack until all that was moved up to the far end of Ankh. Now, it was just a big space that every large town needs for markets, fairs, the occasional insurrection and, of course, the increasingly popular cart-tail sales, which were very fashionable with people who wanted to buy their property back.
    It was full today, without even a stolen shovel to be seen. All over the field, people were kicking footballs about. Trevor relaxed a little. There were pointy hats in the distance and no one seemed to be doing any murder.
    ‘Wotcher, howya doing?’
    He adjusted his eyeline down a little bit. ‘How’s it goin’, Throat?’
    ‘I’m hearing you’re kind of associated with Unseen Academicals,’ said Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, the city’s most enterprising