Unseen Academicals

said, ‘So you intend to do nothing?’
    The King paused for a moment, staring at the ceiling. ‘No, I intend to do something,’ he said. ‘First of all, I shall see to it that my staff find out just how many orders there have been for micromail originating from here in Bonk today. I’m sure Shatta would not object to them seeing their records, especially since I intend to tell Madame Sharn that she can come back and establish her premises here.’
    ‘You would do that?’ said a grag.
    ‘Yes, of course. We have nearly concluded the Koom Valley Accord, a peace with the trolls that no one ever thought they would see. And I am fed up, gentlemen, with your whining, moaning and endless, endless attempts to re-fight battles that you have already lost. As far as I am concerned, this young lady is showing us a better future and now, if you are not out of my office in ten seconds, I will charge you rent.’
    ‘There will be trouble over this.’
    ‘Gentlemen, there is always trouble! But this time I will be making it for you.’
    As the door slammed shut behind them, the King sat back in his chair.
    ‘Well done, sir,’ said his secretary.
    ‘They’ll keep on. I can’t imagine what being a dwarf would be like if we didn’t argue all the time.’ He squirmed a little in his chair. ‘You know, they’re right when they say it doesn’t chafe and it’s not as cold as you would imagine. Do ask our agent to express my thanks to Madame Sharn for her generous gift, will you?’

    Even this early in the day, the Great Hall of the University was a general thoroughfare. Most of the tables were pushed back against the walls or, if someone felt like showing off, levitated to the ceiling, and the huge black-and-white slabs of the floor, worn smooth by the footfalls of millennia, were polished still further as today’s faculty and students took a short cut to various concerns, destinations and, very occasionally, when no viable excuse presented itself, to lectures.
    The Great Chandelier had been swung down and off to one side for its daily replenishing of candles, but there was, fortunately for Mustrum Ridcully’s purposes, a large expanse of clear floor.
    He saw the figure he was waiting for hurrying towards him. ‘How did it go, Mister Stibbons?’
    ‘Extremely well, I have to say, sir,’ said Ponder. He opened the sack he was carrying. ‘One of these is our original ball and one of them is the ball that Nutt and Trevor Likely had made last night.’
    ‘Ah, spot the ball,’ said Ridcully. He picked them both up in his enormous hands and dropped them on the flagstones.
    Gloing! Gloing!
    ‘Perfectly identical,’ he said.
    ‘Trevor Likely said they had it made by a dwarf for twenty dollars,’ said Ponder.
    ‘Did he really?’
    ‘Yes, sir, and he gave me the change and the receipt.’
    ‘You seem puzzled, Mister Stibbons?’
    ‘Well, yes, sir. I feel I have been rather misjudging him.’
    ‘Possibly even small leopards can change their shorts,’ said Ridcully, slamming him on the back convivially. ‘Call it score one for human nature. Now, which of these balls is the one that’s going back to the Cabinet?’
    ‘Amazingly, sir, they did think to mark the new ball and there’s a tiny little dot of white paint on this one here…I mean this one here…I think it was here…Ah! Here it is. It’s ours. I’ll send one of the students to put the other one back shortly. We still have an hour and a half.’
    ‘No, I’d rather you did it yourself, Mister Stibbons, I’m sure it would only take a few minutes. Do hurry back, I’d like to try a little experiment.’
    When Ponder returned, he found Ridcully loitering unobtrusively by one of the big doors. ‘You have your notebook ready, Mister Stibbons?’ he said quietly.
    ‘And a fresh pencil, Archchancellor.’
    ‘Very well, then. The experiment begins.’
    Ridcully gently rolled the new football out on to the floor, straightened up and glanced at his stopwatch.
    ‘Ah, the ball has been kicked aside by the Professor of Illiberal Studies, quite possibly by accident…Now one of the bledlows, Mister Hipney I think his name is, has kicked it somewhat uncertainly. One of the students, Pondlife, I believe, has prodded it back…We have momentum, Mister Stibbons. Undirected, it is true, but promising. Ah, but we can’t have this…
    ‘No touching the ball with your hands, gentlemen!’ shouted the Archchancellor, deftly trapping the travelling ball with his