'Actually, yes, I've remembered,' said Shawn quickly. 'They move them around all the time. On carts. Big, big carts. They ...'
'Yes, yes,' said Granny, sitting on a stump. 'Be quiet now, I'm readin'
The forest went silent, except for the occasional shuffling of paper.
Finally, Granny Weatherwax finished. She sniffed. Birdsong came back into the forest.
'Silly old fools think they can't see the wood for the trees, and the trees are the wood,' she muttered. 'Cost a lot, does it, sendin' messages like this?'
'That message,' said Shawn, in awe, 'cost more than 600 dollars! I counted the words! Wizards must be made of money!'
'Well, I ain't,' said the witch. 'How much is one word?'
'Five pence for the sending and five pence the first word,' said Shawn, promptly.
'Ah,' said Granny. She frowned in concentration, and her lips moved silently. 'I've never been one for numbers,' she said, 'but I reckon that comes to ... sixpence and one half-penny?'
Shawn knew his witches. It was best to give in right at the start.
'That's right,' he said.
'You have a pencil?' said Granny. Shawn handed it over. With great care, the witch printed some block capitals on the back of one of the pages, and gave it to him.
'That's all?' he said.
'Long question, short answer,' said Granny, as it if was some universal truth. 'Was there anything else?'
Well, there might be the money, Shawn thought. But in her own localised way, Granny Weatherwax had an academic position in these matters. Witches took the view that they helped society in all kinds of ways which couldn't easily be explained but would become obvious if they stopped doing them, and that it was worth six pence and one half-penny not to find out what these were.
He didn't get his pencil back.
The hole into L-space was quite obvious now. It fascinated Dr.Dee, who was confidently expecting angels to come out of it, although all it had produced so far was an ape.
The wizards' automatic response to any problem was to see if there was a book about it. L-space was providing plenty of books. The difficulty, however, was finding the ones that applied to the current history; when you potentially know everything, it's hard to find anything you want to know.
'So let's see where we are now, shall we?' said Ridcully, after a while. 'The last known books in this leg of the trousers of time are due to be written in—?'
'About a hundred years' time,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, looking at his notes. 'Just before the collapse of civilisation, such as it is. Then there's fire, famine, war ... all the usual stuff.'
'Hex says people here are back to living in villages when the asteroid hits,' said Ponder. 'Things are rather better on one or two other continents, but no one even sees it coming.'
'There have been periods like it before,' said the Dean. 'But as far as we can tell, in the area where we are now there were always small isolated groups of people who preserved what books there were.'
'Ah. Our kind of people,' said Ridcully.
'Afraid not,' said the Dean. 'Religious.'
'Oh dear,' said Ridcully.
'It's hard to follow, but there appear to be about four main gods on this continent,' said the Dean.
'Loosely associated.'
'Big beards in the sky?' said Ridcully.
'A couple, yes.'
'Clearly a morphic memory of ourselves, then,' said Ridcully.
'It's hard to tell, with religions,' said the Dean. 'But at least they preserved the idea that books were important and that reading and writing were more than just a skive for people too weedy to hack at one another with swords.'
'Any of these religious places still around?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. "Would it be useful to drop in, explain that we are, in fact, the creators of this universe, and put them right on a few points?'
There was silence. And then Ponder said, in his best talking-to-superiors voice: 'I believe, sir, that this world is no different from our own in its attitude to apparent human beings who turn up and say that they're a god.'
'We wouldn't get special treatment?'
'Not of the sort you have in mind, sir, no,' said Ponder. 'Besides, the places in this country appear to have been closed down by a recent monarch. I'm not sure I understand it all, but it appears to have been some kind of cost-cutting exercise.'
'Downsizing of redundant units, re-allocation of staff, that sort of thing?' said Ridcully.
'Yes, sir,' said Ponder. And a few murders, some torturing, that sort of thing.'
'But probably nothing, I'm sure, that couldn't be sorted out by getting everyone to go and run around in the woods shooting paint at one another,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, innocently.
'I shall ignore that, Runes,' said Ridcully. 'Now, gentlemen, we are supposed to be thinkers. We haven't got magic. We can be moved in time and space, according to Hex. And we've got big sticks. What can we do?'
'A message has arrived,' said Hex.
'From Lancre? That's quick!'
'Yes. The message is unsigned. It is: THEOSTRY'
Hex spelled it out. Ponder wrote it down in his notebook.
'What does that mean?' Ridcully looked up at his wizards.
'Looks a bit religious to me,' said the Dean. 'Rincewind? This sort of thing is right up your street, isn't it?'
Rincewind looked at the word. Really, when you came to think of it, his whole life was a crossword puzzle ...
'The clacks people charge by the word, don't they?' he said.
'Yes, it's scandalous,' said Ridcully. 'Five pence a word, on the longdistance trunk!'
'And this was sent back by an old woman in Lancre, where as far as I recall the chicken is the basic unit of currency?' said Rincewind. 'Not much money for fancy messages, then. It looks to me like a simple anagram of ... THE STORY
'I think it means "change the story",' said Ponder, without looking up. At a saving of five pence.'
'We tried changing it!' said the Dean.
'Change it in a different way, perhaps? At a different time?' said Ponder. 'We've got L-space. We ought to be able to get some guidance from books written in different futures—'
'Ook!'
'I'm sorry, sir, but the library rules don't apply here!' said Ponder.
'Look at it this way, old chap,' said Ridcully, to the angry Librarian. 'The rules do of course apply here, everyone can see that, and we wouldn't dream of asking you to interfere with the nature of causality in the normal way of things. It's just that the nature of causality on this world is such that, if any libraries survive the next thousand years without being used for lighting fires or uncomfortable toilet paper, they're due to be destroyed in a fireball and/or entombed in ice. Dr Dee's wonderful books which you like so much, with their many delicate illustrations of completely useless magical circles and rather interesting mathematical cyphers, will go the way of the, the ...' He snapped his fingers. 'Someone give me the name of something that'll be going completely extinct,' he demanded.
'People,' said Rincewind.
There was silence.
Then the Librarian said: 'Ook ook.'
'He says he's just finding the books, okay?' said Rincewind. 'And he'll leave them in a pile and go out of the room and no one is to look at them while he's gone, because if they do he won't know about it, and if he coughs loudly before he comes back in that will only be because he's got a cough and not for any other reason, okay?'
SMALL GODS
'Religious,' said the Dean. 'Oh dear,' said Ridcully.
Discworld's wizardry is not terribly keen on religion. Given the history of the Discworld, this is not surprising. One big problem is that on Discworld, gods are known to be real. We list a few later on, but we can set the scene with reference to the god of mayflies. In Reaper Man, an old mayfly is telling some youngsters about this god, as they hover just above the surface of a stream: