Unseen Academicals

  Just what we need, thought Trev. Our names on the back as well. Saves them having the trouble to go round the front before they stab.

  ‘Still, I can’t stand here chattin’ all day with you. Got to talk to the team. Got to think about tactics.’

  There will be a referee, thought Trev. The Watch will be there. Lord Vetinari will be there. Unfortunately, Andy Shank will be there, too, and Nutt wants me as his assistant and so I’ve got to be there. If it all goes wrong, the floor of the arena isn’t going to be the place to be and I’ll be in it.

  ‘And if you’re wondering where that dim little girl of yours is, she’s back there with the fat girl. Honestly, what must you think of me?’

  ‘Nothing, right up until you said that,’ said Trev. ‘And now I do.’

  ‘Give my best to the orc,’ said Andy. ‘Shame to hear he’s the last one.’

  They strolled on, but Trev was quick enough to get out of the way before Mrs Atkinson sliced at his leg with her stick.

  Find Juliet. Find Nutt. Find Glenda. Find help. Find a ticket to Fourecks.

  Trev had never fought. Never really fought. Oh, there had been times when he was younger when he was drawn into a bit of a ruck and it was politic to be among the other kids, holding a makeshift weapon in his hands. He’d been so good at appearing to be everywhere, shouting a lot and then running into the thick of the fray, but never actually catching up with the real action. He could go to the Watch and tell them . . . that Andy had been threatening? Andy was always threatening. When trouble struck in the Shove as it sometimes did, when two tribes were brought into conjunction, there was always the forest of legs to dive between and once, when Trev had been really desperate, a number of shoulders to run across . . . What was he thinking? He wouldn’t be there. He wasn’t going to play. He’d promised his old mum. Everyone knew he’d promised his old mum. He’d like to play, but his old mum wouldn’t like it. It was as if his old mum had written him a note: Dear Andy, please do not knife Trevor today because he has promised not to play.

  He blinked away the sensation that a knife was already hurtling towards him and heard the voice of Nutt saying, ‘Oh, I have heard about Bu-bubble.’ There was Glenda and Juliet and Nutt and Juliet and a slightly worried young lady with a notebook and Juliet. There was also Juliet, but it was hard to even notice her because Juliet was there.

  ‘She says she wants to write an article,’ said Glenda, who had clearly waylaid the journalist. ‘Her name is Miss—’

  ‘Roz,’ said the girl. ‘Everyone’s talking about you, Mister Nutt. Would you answer a few questions, please? We have a very now audience.’20

  ‘Yes?’ he ventured.

  ‘How does it feel to be an orc, Mister Nutt?’

  ‘I am not sure. How does it feel to be human?’ said Nutt.

  ‘Have your experiences as an orc affected the way you will play football?’

  ‘I will only be playing as a substitute. My role is merely that of a trainer. And, I have to say, in answer to your question, I’m not sure I have had many experiences as an orc up until now.’

  ‘But are you advising the players to rip opponents’ heads off?’ the girl giggled.

  Glenda opened her mouth, but Nutt said solemnly, ‘No, that would be against the rules.’

  ‘I hear they think you’re a very good trainer. Why do you think this is?’

  Despite the patent stupidity of the question, Nutt seemed to think deeply. ‘One must consider the horizons of possibility,’ he said slowly. ‘E Pluribus Unum, the many become one, but it could just as easily be said that the one becomes many, Ex uno multi, and indeed, as Von Sliss said in The Effluence of Reality, the one, when carefully considered, may in fact be a many in different clothing.’

  Glenda looked at the girl’s face. Her expression hadn’t moved and neither had her pencil. Nutt smiled to himself and continued. ‘Now let us consider this in the light, as it may be, of the speeding ball. Where it has come from we believe we know, but where it will land is an everchanging conundrum, even if only considered in four-dimensional space. And there we have the existential puzzle that confronts the striker, for he is both striker and struck. As the ball flies, all possibilities are inexorably linked, as Herr Frugal said in Das Nichts des Wissens, “Ich kann mich nicht genau erinnern, aber es war so etwas wie eine Vanillehaltige süsse Nachspeisenbeigabe,” although I believe he was on some medication at the time. Who is mover and who is moved? Given that the solution can only be arrived at through conceptual manifestation using, I believe, some perception of transfinite space, it can clearly be seen that among the possibilities is that the ball will land everywhere at the same time or turn out never to have been kicked at all. It is my job to reduce this metaphysical overhead, as it were, and to give my lads some acceptable paradigm, such as, it might be, whack it right down the middle, my son, and at least if the goalie stops it you will have given him a hot handful he won’t forget in a hurry.

  ‘You see, the thing about football is that it is not about football. It is a most fascinating multi-dimensional philosophy, an extrusion, as it were, of what Doctor Maspinder promulgated in Das Meer von Unvermeidlichkeit. Now, you would say to me, I am sure,’ he went on, ‘What of the 4–4–2 or even the 4–1–2–1–2, yes? And my answer to that would be, there is only the one. Traditionally we say there are eleven players in the team, but that is because of our rather feeble perceptions. In truth, there is only the one and therefore, I would say,’ he gave a little laugh, ‘daring to adapt a line from The Doors of Deception: it does not matter whether you win or lose so long as you score the most goals.’

  The girl looked down at her notepad. ‘Could you give that to me a little bit more simply?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Nutt. ‘I thought I had.’

  ‘And I think that’s about enough,’ said Glenda, taking the girl by the arm.

  ‘But I haven’t asked him about his favourite spoon,’ she wailed.

  Nutt cleared his throat. ‘Well, I would have appreciated some notice of that question because it is quite a large field, but I think the Great Bronze Spoon of Cladh, which weighed more than a ton, would definitely have to be a runner, though we must not forget the set of spoons, each one smaller than a grain of rice, crafted by some unknown genius for the concubines of the Emperor Whezi. But undoubtedly, from what I can gather, these were surpassed by the notorious clock-work spoon, devised by Bloody Stupid Johnson, which could apparently stir coffee so fast that the cup would actually rise up from the saucer and hit the ceiling. Oh, to be a fly on that wall, but not too close, obviously. Possibly less well known is the singing spoon of the learned sage Ly Tin Wheedle, which could entertain the dinner table by singing comic songs. Among other great spoons—’

  ‘That is enough,’ said Glenda, tugging the girl away for her own good.

  ‘He’s an orc?’ the girl said.

  ‘So everyone says,’ said Glenda.

  ‘Were they all like that? I thought it was all about twisting heads off?’

  ‘Well, I suspect people get bored with the same old thing.’

  ‘But how does he know all about spoons?’

  ‘Believe me, if anyone has ever written Great Spoons of the World, Mister Nutt has read it.’

  Trev heard the girl’s plaintive voice as Glenda almost forcibly led her away, or at least away from Nutt. ‘I really wanted to talk to Jewels,’ Trev heard the girl say, as she walked past Juliet without a glance. ‘But she’s hiding out, everyone says.’

  He hurried across and pulled the other two in a huddle towards him. ‘There’s gonna be murder tomorrow,’ he said. ‘The wizards can’t use magic and Ankh-Morpork United is gonna be made up out of the toughest, nastiest bunch of buggers that’re outside of the Tanty.’

  ‘We shall have to change our tactics to suit, then,’ said Nutt.

  ‘Are you nu— insane? I’m talkin’ about people like Andy, Nutt. An’ he might not be the worst one.’

  ‘But everything is a m
atter of tactics. A respect for strengths and weaknesses and the proper utilization of the knowledge,’ said Nutt.

  ‘Listen!’ said Trev. ‘There won’t be time for that sort of thing.’

  ‘If I may quote—’ Nutt began.

  ‘I said listen! Do you know any quotes by people who have been knifed in the back an’ then kicked in the nu—’ He stopped and then continued. ‘Kicked when they’re lyin’ on the ground, yes? Because that’s what you need to be thinkin’ about at the moment.’

  ‘The Watch will be there,’ said Nutt.

  ‘But generally their way of dealing with a complicated event is to get everyone lyin’ on the ground,’ said Trev. ‘That makes it simpler.’

  ‘I feel certain that we could beat any team at football,’ said Nutt soothingly.

  Trev looked around him in a desperate search for anyone who might have a grip. ‘It doesn’t work like that! It’s not about the football!’

  ‘I don’t think I want to see anyone hurt,’ said Juliet.

  ‘Then you’ll have to close your eyes,’ said Trev. ‘Nutt, you think that everythin’ is going to be nice and sportsmanlike ’cos that’s how the new football has been designed, but it’s the same old people out there. You know what I think?’

  ‘My dad says it won’t look very good for Vetinari if the Academicals lose,’ said Juliet.

  ‘An’ will he be glad about that?’ said Trev.

  ‘Well, I suppose, yes, but even Dad says prob’ly better to have bloody Vetinari than most of the buggers we’ve had.’

  That was because the city worked, thought Trev. It had been a mess before Vetinari had taken over and no one knew exactly how he’d done it. He’d got the Watch working properly. He’d got the war between the dwarfs and the trolls sorted out. He let people do whatever they liked, provided they did whatever he liked. And above all, the city was crammed with people and money. Everyone wanted to live in Ankh-Morpork. Could he really be shaken down because the new football went bad? Well, the answer was, of course, yes – because that’s how people were.

  Trev mentioned this to Glenda as she came back from ushering the bemused Roz out of the range of more of Nutt’s philosophy. She looked at Trev and said, ‘Do you think Vetinari knows about this?’

  ‘Dunno,’ said Trev. ‘Well, I know he’s s’posed to have lots of spies, but I dunno whether they’d know about this.’

  ‘Do you think someone ought to tell him?’ said Glenda.

  Trev laughed. ‘What are you suggestin’? That we go over to the palace, walk right up to him and say, “Excuse us, mister, there are a few things that have escaped your attention?” ’

  ‘Yes,’ said Glenda.

  ‘Thank you, Drumknott, that will be all for now,’ said Vetinari.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Drumknott. He nodded at Lady Margolotta and oiled his way noiselessly out of the room.

  ‘Havelock, I appreciate that Drumknott is very competent, but he always seems to me to be a rather strange little man.’

  ‘Well, it would be a funny old world if we were all alike, madam, although I admit not very funny if we were all like Drumknott. But he is loyal and excessively trustworthy,’ said Vetinari.

  ‘Hmm,’ said her ladyship. ‘Does he have much of a personal life?’

  ‘I believe that he collects different types of stationery,’ said Vetinari.

  ‘I have sometimes speculated that he might change his life for the better should he meet a young lady willing to dress up as a manila envelope.’

  They were on the balcony outside the Oblong Office, which offered a perfect view of the centre of the city while leaving the viewer almost invisible.

  ‘The accord is going ahead?’ said Vetinari.

  ‘Certainly,’ said her ladyship. ‘Peace at last between dwarfs and trolls.’

  Vetinari smiled. ‘The word “peace” is generally defined as a period of rest and rearmament before the next war. Were many assassinations necessary?’

  ‘Havelock, sometimes you are too direct!’

  ‘I do beg your pardon, it’s just that the progress of history requires butchers as well as shepherds.’

  ‘There were no assassinations,’ said her ladyship. She turned her eyes upwards. ‘There was, however, a terrible mining accident and a rather unusual rock slide. But, of course, there is still the Loko business to sort out. The dwarfs still want total extermination.’

  ‘How many orcs are there?’

  ‘Nobody knows. Perhaps Nutt will be able to find them.’

  ‘We must not have genocide,’ said Vetinari. ‘History has a way of repaying.’

  ‘He is turning out to be quite a surprise.’

  ‘So I understand. From the reports I have been receiving, all that the orcs were not, he is.’

  ‘But he will remain an orc underneath it all,’ said her ladyship.

  ‘I wonder what remains under all of us?’ said Vetinari.

  ‘You’ve taken a very big risk, you know,’ said Lady Margolotta.

  ‘Madam, this city is all risk, I assure you.’

  ‘And power is a game of smoke and mirrors,’ said her ladyship, reaching for the wine.

  ‘Oddly enough, Commander Vimes reminds me of that nearly every day. No civil police force could hold out against an irate and resolute population. The trick is not to let them realize that. Yes?’

  There was a knock at the door. It was Drumknott again. ‘I am sorry to interrupt, sir, madam, but in the circumstances I thought it would be a good idea.’ He sniffed. ‘It’s the lady with the pies.’

  ‘Ah, Miss Sugarbean, legendary inventor of the famous Ploughman’s Pie,’ said Vetinari. He glanced at her ladyship. ‘And Mister Nutt’s friend.’ ‘I have met her, Havelock. She harangued me.’

  ‘Yes, she does it very well. You feel as if you’ve had a nice cold bath. Do show her in, Drumknott.’

  ‘And there is a young man with her. I recognize him as Trevor Likely, son of the famous footballer Dave Likely, and I am informed by her that she has indeed brought you a Ploughman’s Pie.’

  ‘You would take untested food from a member of the public?’ said her ladyship, horrified.

  ‘Certainly from this one,’ said Vetinari. ‘There is no possible way that she would ever put poison in anything. Not out of respect for me, you understand, but out of respect for the food. Don’t leave. I think you will find this . . . interesting.’

  The pie was still warm in Glenda’s hands as she stepped into the Oblong Office. She herself almost froze at the sight of Lady Margolotta, but a certain robustness kicked in.

  ‘Do I have to curtsy?’ she said.

  ‘Not unless you really feel the need.’

  ‘We’ve come to warn you,’ said Trev.

  ‘Indeed.’ Vetinari raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Ankh-Morpork United will walk all over Unseen Academicals with great big boots on.’

  ‘Oh, dear. Do you think that will be the case?’

  ‘They’re not yer average players!’ Trev blurted out. ‘They’re from the Shove. They go armed.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Football as warfare,’ said Vetinari. ‘Well, thank you for telling me.’

  Silence fell. Vetinari broke it by saying, ‘Was there anything else you would like to say?’ He looked at the pie that Glenda was holding out in front of her like some kind of chastity device.

  ‘Can’t you do something?’ she said.

  ‘It’s a game, Miss Sugarbean. Having suggested the match in the first place, what do you think I would look like if I intervened? There will, after all, be rules. There will, after all, be a referee.’

  ‘They won’t care,’ said Trev.

  ‘Then I suppose the Watch will have to do its duty. And now, if you will excuse me, I have affairs of state to attend to, but please leave the pie.’

  ‘One moment,’ said her ladyship. ‘Why have you come to warn his lordship, young lady?’

  ‘Isn’t that the sort of thing I ought to do?’ said Glenda.

  ‘And
you walked in, just like that?’

  ‘Well, the pie helped.’

  ‘We have met before, you know,’ said her ladyship.

  She stared at Glenda and Glenda stared back, and she finally managed, ‘Yes, I know, and I’m not frightened and I’m not sorry.’

  The battle of the stares went on for a year too long and then Lady Margolotta turned her head away sharply and said, ‘Well, you have got one of them right, but I am sure I shall enjoy the pie and also the match.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Vetinari. ‘Thank you both for calling, but if you will excuse us we do have matters of state to discuss.’

  ‘Well!’ said Lady Margolotta as the door shut behind them. ‘What type of people are you incubating in this city of yours, Havelock?’

  ‘I imagine some of the very best,’ said Vetinari.

  ‘Two common people can barge in on you without so much as an appointment?’

  ‘But with a pie,’ said Vetinari quickly.

  ‘You were expecting them?’

  ‘Let us just say that I was not unduly surprised,’ said Vetinari. ‘I certainly know about the make-up of Ankh-Morpork United. So does the Watch.’

  ‘And you are going to let them into an arena with a bunch of old wizards who have promised not to do magic?’

  ‘A bunch of old wizards and Mister Nutt,’ said Vetinari cheerfully. ‘Apparently he’s very good at tactical planning.’

  ‘I can’t allow that.’

  ‘This is my city, Margolotta. There are no slaves in Ankh-Morpork.’

  ‘He is my ward. I expect you will ignore that, though.’

  ‘I have every intention of doing so. After all, it’s only a game.’

  ‘But a game is not about games. And what sort of game do you think you will get tomorrow?’

  ‘A war,’ said Vetinari. ‘And the thing about war is that it’s about war.’

  Lady Margolotta shot out her long sleeve and a fine steel dagger was suddenly in her hand.

  ‘I suggest you cut it in half,’ said Vetinari, indicating the pie, ‘and I will choose which half to pick up.’

  ‘But what if one half has more pickled onions than the other?’

  ‘Then I think that will be open to negotiation. Would you like some more . . . wine?’