Unseen Academicals

  ‘That would indeed appear to be the complaint of the luckless warriors of United,’ said the editor. ‘They are clustering around the referee and what would I give to be a fly on that wall?’

  ‘There is no wall, sir.’

  ‘It would seem—’ and the editor stopped dead. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘What is that, sir?’

  ‘Look over there at the stands! The upper-class stands, I might add, to which we were not invited.’

  The sun usefully took this opportunity to appear from behind the clouds and the bowl of the Hippo seemed to fill with light.

  ‘That’s the micromail girl, sir,’ said the assistant.

  Even some of the protesting United team were looking up at the stands now. She hurt the eyes, but they were dragged towards it again.

  ‘I’ve got her picture on my bedroom wall,’ said the assistant. ‘Everyone has been looking for her.’ He coughed. ‘They say it doesn’t chafe, you know.’

  Now, all the footballers on the field, bar the unfortunate Charlie Barton, who was having a dizzy spell, were clustered around the referee, who said, ‘I repeat; it was a perfectly acceptable goal. A trifle unkind and showy, perhaps, but nevertheless entirely within the rules. You’ve watched the Unseen lads training. The game moves about. It doesn’t send you a clacks to tell you what’s happening next.’

  A voice a little lower down said, ‘It is an elementary mistake to believe that even the most doughty keeper of the net can singlehandedly defend against the full might of the opposing team.’ This was Nutt.

  ‘Mister Nutt, you are not supposed to tell them that sort of thing,’ said Ridcully.

  Mr Hoggett looked downcast. A man betrayed by team, history and expectations. ‘I can see we’ve got a lot to learn,’ he said.

  Trev pulled Nutt off to one side. ‘And this is where it all goes bad,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, come now, Mister Trev. We’re doing very well. Bengo is, anyway.’

  ‘I’m not watching him. I’m watching Andy and Andy is watchin’ Bengo. They’re bidin’ their time. They’re lettin’ the poor old buggers get into a hell of a fix and then they’ll just take over.’

  And then Trev was given a short lesson in why wizards are wizards.

  ‘I have a modest proposal and I wonder if you will hear me out, referee. While we at Unseen University are absolute novices, we have had rather more time to get to grips with the new football than our current opponents have. Therefore, I propose to give them one of our goals,’ said Ridcully.

  ‘You can’t do that, sir!’ said Ponder.

  ‘Why, is it against the rules?’ Ridcully’s tone deepened and became noticeably more pompous. ‘I ask you, are good sportsmanship, fellowship and generosity against the rules, pray?’ By the end of the sentence, his voice was audible nearly to the very back of the stadium.

  ‘Well, of course there is nothing against it, sir. There isn’t a rule stopping you washing your laundry during the middle of the game – and that is because no one would do it.’

  ‘Right. Mister Hoggett? One of our goals is now yours. We are, as it were, level.’

  Hoggett, transfixed, looked around at his fellow players, ‘Well, er, if you insist, sir.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of taking no for an answer,’ said Ridcully expansively.

  ‘What in the world made him do that?’ said the editor of the Times, as an exhausted runner brought him the news.

  ‘It was a very generous gesture.’

  ‘Why did you do it?’ said Ponder to Ridcully.

  ‘I am totally transparent, Stibbons. Generous to a fault, that’s me. It’s not my fault that they do not know they are inferior and this will play on their minds for the rest of the game.’

  ‘That’s rather . . . cunning, sir.’

  ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? I’m rather proud of it. And once again, we get to kick first. No wonder this is such a popular game.’

  ‘That was a remarkable piece of psychology there,’ said Nutt to Trev as they walked back to the sidelines. ‘Somewhat cruel, possibly, but clever.’

  Trev said nothing. There was the shrill call of the whistle for the game to resume, followed instantly by the referee screaming, ‘A LITTLE BIT OF HAIL WON’T HURT YOU, BOY, IT’S HEALTHY AND WILL DO YOU GOOD.’

  ‘That’s magic,’ said Trev. ‘Should that be happening?’

  ‘No,’ said Ponder Stibbons behind him. ‘It’s just possession.’

  ‘Yes, the game is all about possession, Mister Trev,’ said Nutt.

  Trev looked up again at the stand. There was the shining shape of Juliet, only a few feet away from Vetinari himself and flanked by Glenda and Pepe. She could be a goddess. It’s never going to happen, is it? he said to himself. Not her and a boy from the candle vats.

  Not really going to happen. Not now.

  And then Bengo screamed and it seemed as though every voice in the stadium joined in one communal ‘OOOOOH!’

  And the whistle blew again.

  ‘What happened, sir?’ said the editorial assistant.

  ‘Can’t exactly be sure. They got the ball to Macarona again and then he collided with a couple of United players and they all ended up in a heap.’

  Nutt, the first to reach the stricken Macarona, looked up at Trev gravely. ‘Both patellas dislocated,’ he said. ‘We’ll need a couple of men to take him down to the Lady Sybil.’

  The former Dean looked around at the clustered footballers. ‘So, what happened here, Mister Shank?’ he said as perspiration dripped off his chin.

  Andy momentarily lifted a finger to his forelock.

  ‘Well, sir, I was rushing forward according to the rules to tackle

  Mister Macarona and I had no idea at all that Jimmy the Spoon, here, had got exactly the same idea and was coming from a different direction and suddenly we were all there together going arse over tip, if you would excuse my Klatchian.’

  Trev glowered.

  The look on Andy’s face was transparent. He was lying. He knew he was lying. He knew everyone else knew he was lying and he didn’t care. In fact, he rather enjoyed the situation. Andy’s boots looked heavy enough to moor a boat.

  ‘They got ’im like the meat in a sandwich, sir,’ Trev complained to the referee.

  ‘Can you substantiate that, young man?’

  ‘Well, you can see what’s happened to the poor bugger.’

  ‘Yes, but do you have any evidence of collusion?’

  Trev went blank and Nutt supplied in a whisper, ‘Can you prove it was a set-up?’

  ‘Can anyone?’ said the referee, looking around the players. No one could. Trev wondered how many might, were it not for the fact that Andy was standing there, innocent as a shark. ‘I am the referee, gentlemen, and I can only referee what I see and I saw nothing.’

  ‘Yes, because they made sure of that,’ said Trev. ‘Anyway, listen to the crowd. They all saw it!’

  ‘Look! They’ve got boots on them that could strip bark,’ Ridcully protested.

  ‘Yes, indeed, Mustrum, I mean, sorry, captain, but as yet there are no rules about which boots should be worn and at the very least these are the boots that have been traditionally worn for the game of foot-the-ball.’

  ‘But they are man traps!’

  ‘I can certainly see what you are getting at, but what would you like me to do?’ said Henry. ‘I have a suspicion that if I cancel this match at this point you and I would not get out of here alive, because even if we ourselves did escape the wrath of the crowd, we would by no means escape the wrath of Vetinari. The game will continue. Unseen Academicals can play a substitute and I will, let me see—’ He pulled out a notebook. ‘Ah, yes, I will award a free kick at the very point where this unfortunate incident took place. And may I add that I will look askance at any future “incidents”. Mister Hoggett, I trust that you will make this clear to your team.’

  ‘Blow that for a game of soldiers!’ Trev yelled. ‘They just took out our best player an’ you’re gonna let ’
em walk away grinning?’

  But the referee was, after all, the former Dean. A man used to head-to-head confrontations with Mustrum Ridcully. He gave Trev a chilly look and turned very deliberately to the Archchancellor and said, ‘And I trust you, too, captain, will impress upon your team that my decisions are final. There will be a five-minute interlude for you to do this and can some of you fellows take poor Professor Macarona off the field and see if you can find some quack to look at him.’

  A voice behind him bellowed, ‘You have one right here, sir.’ They turned. A figure slightly larger than life, wearing a top hat and carrying a small bag, nodded at them.

  ‘Doctor Lawn,’ said Ridcully. ‘I wouldn’t have expected to see you here.’

  ‘Really?’ said the doctor. ‘Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Now some of you men drag him over to that corner and I’ll take a look at him. I’ll send my bill to you, shall I, Mustrum?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to take him somewhere nice and quiet?’ said the referee.

  ‘No fear! I want to keep my eye on the play.’

  ‘They’re gettin’ away with it,’ said Trev, as he walked back to the line. ‘Everyone knows they’re gettin’ away with it.’

  ‘We still have the rest of the team, Mister Trev,’ said Nutt, lacing up his boots. He had, of course, made them himself. They looked like foot gloves. ‘And me of course, I am the first substitute. I promise that I will do my best, Mister Trev.’

  Thus far, it had been a rather boring afternoon for the Librarian after his one little moment in the sun. It really was rather dull between the goal posts and he was getting hungry and so was pleasantly surprised by the appearance of a large banana in front of the goal. It was later agreed that, in a footballing context, mysteriously appearing fruit should have been greeted with a certain amount of caution. But he was hungry, it was a banana and the metaphysics were sound. He ate it.

  Glenda, up in the stand, wondered if she was the only one to have seen the startlingly yellow fruit in its trajectory and then saw, looking up at her from the crowd, with a big grin on her face, Mrs Atkinson, mother of Tosher, himself something of an unguided weapon. Anyone who had ever been in the Shove knew her as a perpetrator of all kinds of inventive assaults. She had always got away with it because no one in the Shove would hit an old lady, especially one standing next to Tosher.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Glenda, standing up. ‘I’ve got to get down there right now.’

  ‘Not a chance, love,’ said Pepe. ‘It’s shoulder-to-shoulder. A Shove and a half.’

  ‘Look after Juliet,’ said Glenda. She leaned forward and tapped on the shoulder of the nearest man. ‘I’ve got to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible. Mind if I jump?’

  He looked past her at the glittering figure of Juliet and said, ‘Not at all, if you get your girlfriend to give me a big kiss.’

  ‘No, but I’ll give you one.’

  ‘Er, don’t trouble yourself, miss, but come on then, give me your hand.’

  It was a reasonably fast descent, as she was passed from hand to hand, accompanied by ribaldry, much genial horseplay and a definite feeling of satisfaction on Glenda’s part that she was wearing her biggest and most impenetrable pants.24

  Elbowing and kicking people out of the way, she reached the goal just as the banana was consumed in one gulp and stood panting helplessly in front of the Librarian. He gave her a wide smile, looked thoughtful for a moment and went over backwards.

  High up in the stand, Lady Margolotta turned to Vetinari. ‘Is that part of the game?’

  ‘I fear not,’ he said.

  Ladyship yawned. ‘Well, it relieves the boredom, at least. They’ve spent far more time arguing than playing.’

  Vetinari smiled. ‘Yes, madam. It does look as if football is very much like diplomacy: short periods of fighting followed by long periods of negotiation.’

  Glenda prodded the Librarian. ‘Hello? Are you all right?’ All she could hear was a gurgling. She cupped her hands, ‘Man— er, someone down, here!’

  To another chorus of boos, and, because this was Ankh-Morpork, cheers, the travelling committee, which was what the game had now become, hastened over to the Unseen Academicals’ goal.

  ‘Someone threw a banana and I saw who did it and I think it’s poisoned,’ said Glenda, all in one breath.

  ‘He’s breathing very heavily,’ said Ridcully. The comment was unnecessary as the snores were making the goal rattle.

  He crouched down and put his ear to the Librarian’s chest. ‘I don’t think he’s been poisoned,’ he said.

  ‘Why’s that, Archchancellor?’ said Ponder.

  ‘Because if anyone has poisoned our Librarian,’ said Ridcully, ‘then, although I am not, by nature, a vindictive man, I will see to it that this university hunts down the poisoner by every thaumic, mystic and occult means available and makes the rest of their life not only as horrible as they can imagine it, but as horrible as I can imagine it. And you can depend on it, gentlemen, that I have already started work on it.’

  Ponder looked around until he saw Rincewind. ‘Professor Rincewind. You were, I mean you are, his friend, can’t you stick your fingers down his throat or something?’

  ‘Well, no,’ said Rincewind. ‘I am very attached to my fingers and I like to think of them as attached to me.’

  The noise of the crowd was getting louder. They were here to see football, not a debate.

  ‘But Doctor Lawn is still here,’ Rincewind volunteered. ‘He makes a living out of sticking his hand in things. He’s got the knack.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said the referee. ‘Perhaps we can impose upon him to take another patient.’ He turned to Ridcully. ‘You must play your other substitute.’

  ‘That would be Trevor Likely,’ said the Archchancellor.

  ‘No!’ blurted out Trev. ‘I promised my ol’ mum.’

  ‘I thought you were part of the team?’ said Ridcully.

  ‘Well, yes, sir, sort of . . . helpin’ out and all that . . . I promised my ol’ mum, sir, after Dad died. I know I was down on the list, but who would have thought it would have turned out like this?’

  Ridcully stared at the sky. ‘Well, it seems to me, gentlemen, that we cannot ask a man to break a promise made to an old mum. That would be a crime more heinous than murder. We will have to play with ten men. It appears that we will have to go without.’

  Up in his ramshackle box, the editor of the Times picked up his notebook and said, ‘I’m going down there. It’s ridiculous to sit up here like this.’

  ‘You’re going on the pitch, sir?’

  ‘Yes. At least that way I can see what’s happening.’

  ‘I don’t think the referee will allow that, sir!’

  ‘You’re not going to play, Trev?’ said Glenda.

  ‘I told you! How many times do I need to tell people? I promised my ol’ mum!’

  ‘But you are part of the team, Trev.’

  ‘I promised my ol’ mum!’

  ‘Yes, but I am sure she’d understand.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say. We’ll never know, will we?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said a voice cheerfully.

  ‘Oh, hello, Doctor Hix,’ said Glenda.

  ‘I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, and if Mister Likely could tell me where his mother is buried, and the referee was to give us a little leeway in regard to time, well it could be possible that I—’

  ‘Don’t you put a shovel anywhere near my ol’ mum!’ Trev screamed, tears rolling down his face.

  ‘I’m sure we all understand, Trev,’ said Glenda. ‘It’s always difficult with old mums,’ and she added, not really thinking what she was saying, ‘and I think Juliet will understand.’

  She took him by the hand and towed him off the pitch. Trev had been right. It was all going wrong. The buoyant certainties of the beginning of the game were fading.

  ‘You gave away a goal, sir,’ said Ponder as he and Ridcully lined up
for the next encounter.

  ‘I have great faith in Mister Nutt in goal,’ said Ridcully. ‘And I’ll show them what happens to people who try to poison a wizard.’ The whistle blew.

  ‘GET DOWN AND GIVE ME TWENTY! I’m sorry, gentlemen, I don’t quite know why I said that...’