Unseen Academicals

much faster than walking, but it wasn’t you doing the walking, and there were seats and a roof and a guard with a battle-axe and all in all it was, in the damp grey hours before dawn, good value for tuppence. Glenda and Juliet sat side by side, rocking gently to the sway, lost in their thoughts. At least Glenda was; Juliet could get lost in half a thought, if that.
    But Glenda had become an expert at knowing when Juliet was going to speak. It was rather like the sense a sailor has that the wind is going to change. There were little signs, as if a thought had to get the beautiful brain warmed up and spinning before anything could happen.
    ‘Who was that boy what come up for his bubble and squeak?’ she asked nonchalantly, or what she probably thought was nonchalantly, or again, what she might have thought was nonchalantly had she known that there was a word like nonchalantly.
    ‘That’s Trevor Likely,’ said Glenda. ‘And you don’t want anything to do with him.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘He’s a Dimmer! Fancies himself as a Face, too. And his dad was Big Dave Likely! Your dad would go mad if he heard you’d even talked to him.’
    ‘He’s got a lovely smile,’ said Juliet, with a wistfulness that rang all kinds of alarms for Glenda.
    ‘He’s a scallywag,’ she said firmly. ‘He’ll try on anything. Can’t keep his hands to himself, too.’
    ‘How come you knows that?’ said Juliet.
    That was another worrying thing about Juliet. Nothing much seemed to be going on between those perfect ears for hours on end and then a question like that would come spinning towards you with edges on it.
    ‘You know, you should try to speak better,’ Glenda said, to change the subject. ‘With your looks you could snag a man who thinks about more than beer and footie. Just speak with a little more class, eh? You don’t have to sound like—’
    ‘My fare, lady?’
    They looked up at the guard, who was holding his axe in a way that was very nearly not threatening. And when it came to looking up, this was not a long way. The axe’s owner was very short.
    Glenda gently pushed the weapon out of the way. ‘Don’t wave it about, Roger,’ she sighed. ‘It doesn’t impress.’
    ‘Oh, sorry, Miss Glenda,’ said the dwarf, what was visible of his face behind the beard colouring with embarrassment. ‘It’s been a long shift. That will be fourpence, ladies. Sorry about the axe, but we’ve been getting people jumping off without paying.’
    ‘He ought to be sent back to where he came from,’ muttered Juliet, as the guard moved on along the bus. Glenda chose not to rise to this. As far as she had been able to tell, up until today, at least, her friend had no opinions of her own, and simply echoed anything other people said to her. But then she couldn’t resist. ‘That would be Treacle Mine Road, then. He was born in the city.’
    ‘He’s a Miners fan, then? I suppose it could be worse.’
    ‘I don’t think dwarfs bother much about football,’ said Glenda.
    ‘I don’t fink you can be a real Morporkian an’ not shout for your team,’ was the next piece of worn-out folk wisdom from Juliet. Glenda let this one pass. Sometimes, arguing with her friend was like punching mist. Besides, the plodding horses were laboriously passing their street. They got off without missing a step.
    The door to Juliet’s house was covered in the ancient remnants of multiple layers of paint, or, rather, multiple layers of paint that had bubbled up into tiny little mountains over the years. It was always the cheapest paint possible. After all, you could afford to buy beer or you could afford to buy paint and you couldn’t drink paint unless you were Mr Johnson at number fourteen, who apparently drank it all the time.
    ‘Now, I won’t tell your dad that you were late,’ said Glenda, opening the door for her. ‘But I want you in early tomorrow, all right?’
    ‘Yes, Glenda,’ said Juliet meekly.
    ‘And no thinking about that Trevor Likely.’
    ‘Yes, Glenda.’ It was a meek reply, but Glenda recognized the sparkle. She’d seen it in the mirror once.
    But now she cooked an early breakfast for widow Crowdy, who occupied the house on the other side and couldn’t get about much these days, made her comfortable, did the chores in the rising light, and finally went to bed.
    Her last thought as she plummeted into sleep was: Don’t goblins steal chickens? Funny, he doesn’t look the type…
    At half past eight, a neighbour woke