'I think this was even before that,' said Ponder. He stood up and brushed chalk dust off his robe.
'Hex thinks that the elves did something to ... something. Something that became humans.'
'Interfered with them?' said the Dean.
'Yes, sir. We know they can affect people's minds when they sing-'
'You said became humans? said Ridcully.
'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I really don't want to have that argument all over again, sir. On Roundworld, things become other things. At least, some of some things become other things. I'm not saying that happens on Discworld, sir, but Hex is quite certain that it happens here. Can we just pretend for a moment, sir, that this is true?'
'For the sake of argument?'
'Well, for the sake of not having an argument, sir, really,' said Ponder. Mustrum Ridcully on the subject of evolution could go on for far too long.
'All right, then,' said the Archchancellor with some reluctance.
'And we know, sir, that elves can really affect the minds of lesser creatures ...'
Rincewind let the words go over his head. He didn't need to be told this. He'd spent far more time in the field -and the ditch, the forest, hiding in the reeds, staggering across deserts -and had run into and away from elves a couple of times. They didn't like all the things that Rincewind thought made life worthwhile, like cities and cookery and not being hit over the head with rocks on a regular basis. He'd never been certain if they actually ate anything, other than for amusement; they acted as if what they really consumed was other creatures' fear.
They must have loved humanity when they found it. Humanity was very creative, when it came to being frightened. It was good at filling the future full of dread.
And then it had gone and spoiled everything by using that wonderful, fear-generating mind for thinking up things to take the fear away -like calendars, locks, candles and stories. Stories in particular. Stories were where the monsters died.
While the wizards argued, Rincewind went to see what the Librarian was doing. The ape, shorn of his dress but still wearing his ruff to conform to local clothing standards, was as happy as, well, as happy as a librarian among books. Dee was quite a collector. Most of the books were about magic or numbers or magic and numbers. They weren't very magical, though. The pages didn't even turn by themselves.
The crystal sphere had been placed on a shelf, so that Hex could watch.
'The Archchancellor wants us all to go back and stop the elves,' said Rincewind, sitting down on a stack of titles. 'He thinks we can ambush them before they do anything. Me, I don't think it's going to work.'
Ook?' said the Librarian, sniffing a bestiary and laying it aside.
'Because things generally don't, that's why. Best laid plans, and all that. And these aren't best laid plans, anyway. "Let's get back there and beat the devils to death with big iron bars" is not, in my opinion, a best laid plan. What's funny?'
The Librarian's shoulders were shaking. He passed a book across to Rincewind, who read the passage that had been pointed out by a black fingernail.
He stopped reading, and stared at the Librarian.
It was uplifting. Oh, it was uplifting. Rincewind hadn't read anything like it. But ...
He'd spent the day in this city. There were dog fights and bear pits and that wasn't the worst of it.
He'd seen the heads on spikes over the gates. Of course, Ankh-Morpork had been bad, but Ankh Morpork had thousands of years of experience of being a big city and had become, well, sophisticated in its sins. This place was half farmyard.
The man who wrote this woke up every morning in a city that burned people alive and had still written this.
'—what a piece of work is a man ... how noble in reason ... how infinite in faculty ... in form, in moving, how express and admirable ...'
The Librarian was almost sobbing with laughter.
'Nothing to laugh at, it's a perfectly valid point of view," said Rincewind. He shuffled the pages.
'Who wrote this?' he said.
'According to the flows of L-space, he is widely regarded as one of the greatest playwrights who ever lived,' said Hex, from the shelf.
'What was his name?'
'His own spelling is inconsistent,' said Hex, 'but the consensus is that his name was William Shakespeare.'
'Does he exist on this world?'
'Yes. In one of the many alternate histories.'
'So not actually here, then?'
'No. The leading playwright in this city is Arthur J. Nightingale.'
'Is he any good?'
'He is the best they have. Objectively, he is dreadful. His play King Rufus III is widely considered the worst play ever written.'
'Oh.'
'Rincewind!' bellowed the Archchancellor.
The wizards were gathering in the circle. They had tied horseshoes and bits of iron to their staffs and had the look of high-order men prepared to kick low-order ass. Rincewind tucked the pages in his robe, picked up Hex and hurried over.
'I'll just—' he began.
'You're coming, too. No arguing. And the Luggage,' snapped Ridcully.
'But—'
'Otherwise we might have a talk about seven buckets of coal,' the Archchancellor went on.
He knew about the buckets. Rincewind swallowed.
'Leave Hex behind with the Librarian, will you?' said Ponder. 'He can keep an eye on Dr Dee.'
'Isn't Hex coming?' said Rincewind, alarmed at the prospect of losing the only entity at UU that seemed to have a grasp on things.
'There will be no suitable avatars,' said Hex.
'He means no magic mirrors, no crystal balls,' said Ponder. 'Nothing that people expect to be magical. No people at all, where we're going. Put Hex down. We'll be back instantly, in any case.
Ready, Hex?'
For a moment the circle glowed, and the wizards vanished.
Dr Dee turned to the Librarian.
'It works!' he said. 'The Great Seal works! Now I can—'
He vanished. And the floor vanished. And the house vanished. And the city vanished. And the Librarian landed in the swamp.
PLANET OP THE APES
'What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form, in moving, how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god!'
But you wouldn't want to watch him eat, close up ...
William Shakespeare was another key figure in the transition from medieval mysticism to post- Renaissance rationalism. We were going to mention him, but we had to wait for him to turn up in Roundworld.
Shakespeare's plays are a cornerstone of our present Western civilisation.27 They led us from a confrontation between aristocratism, barbarism and tradition-bound tribalism into real civilisation as we know it. And yet ... he seems to be a contradiction: uplifting sentiments in a barbarous age. That's because he was standing at a pivot point in history. The elves have been seeking something that will become human, and will interfere with Roundworld to make sure they get it. Humans are superstitious. But the human condition can also create a Shakespeare.
Though not in this version of history.
The elves aren't the only Discworld inhabitants that have interfered with Roundworld: the wizards have tried some 'uplift' of their own, in the sense of David Brin, and using the techniques of Arthur C. Clark near the end of The Science of Discworld, the apes of Roundworld are sitting in their cave, watching a manifestation from another dimension, an enigmatic black rectangular slab ... The Dean of Unseen University taps on it with his pointer, to attract attention, and chalks the letters R-O-C-K. 'Rock. Can anyone tell me what you do with it?' But all the apes are interested in is S-E-X.
The next time the wizards look at Roundworld, the space elevator is collapsing. The planet's inhabitants are heading out into the universe on vast ships made from the cores of comets.
Something very dramatic has happened between the apes and the space elevator. What was it?