So the Bursar found it much more satisfying to live inside his own head, where he didn’t have to listen and where there were clouds and flowers. Even so, something must have filtered in from the world outside, because occasionally he’d jump up and down on an ant, just in case he was supposed to. Part of him rather hoped that one of the ants was, in some unimaginably distant way, related to Mustrum Ridcully.
It was while he was thus engaged in changing the future that he noticed what looked like a very thick green hosepipe on the ground.
‘Hmm?’
It was slightly transparent and seemed to be pulsating rhythmically. When he put his ear to it he heard a sound like gloop.
Mildly deranged though he was, the Bursar had the true wizard’s instinct to amble aimlessly into dangerous places, so he followed the throbbing stem.
Rincewind awoke, because sleep was so hard with someone kicking him in the ribs.
‘Wzt?’
‘You want I should pour a bucket of water on yez?’
Rincewind recognized the chatty tones. His eyes unglued. ‘Oh, not you! You’re a figment of my imagination!’
‘I should kick you in the ribs again, then?’ said Scrappy.
Rincewind pulled himself upright. It was dawn, and he was lying in some bushes out behind the pub.
Memory played its silent movie across the tattered sheets of his eyelids.
‘There was a fight … Mad shot that … that … shot him with a crossbow!’
‘Only through the foot so’s he’d stand still to be hit. Wombats can’t hold their drink, that’s their trouble.’
More recollections flickered across the smoky darkness of Rincewind’s brain. ‘That’s right, there were animals drinking in there!’
‘Yes and no,’ said the kangaroo. ‘I tried to explain …’
‘I’m all ears,’ said Rincewind. His eyes glazed for a moment. ‘No, I’m not, I’m all bladder. Back in a minute.’
The buzz of flies and a sort of universal smell drew Rincewind into a nearby hut. Some people would have liked to think of it as ‘the bathroom’, although not after going inside.
He came out again, hopping up and down urgently. ‘Er … there’s a great big spider on the toilet seat …’{41}
‘What’re you gonna do, wait till it’s finished? Fan it with yer hat!’
It was odd, Rincewind thought as he shooed the spider out, that a human being would, er, use the bathroom behind a bush in the middle of a thousand miles of howling wilderness but would fight for a dunny if there was one available.
‘And stay out,’ he muttered, when he was confident the spider was out of earshot.
But the human brain often feels incapable of concentrating on the job in hand, and Rincewind found his gaze wandering. And here, as in private places everywhere, men had found the urge to draw on the walls.
Perhaps it was the way the light hit the ancient woodwork, but under the usual minutiae from people who needed people, and drawings done from overheated hope rather than memory, was a deeply scored drawing of men in pointy hats.
He sidled out thoughtfully and edged away through the bushes.
‘No worries,’ said the kangaroo, so close to his ear that Rincewind was quite pleased that he’d already relieved himself.
‘I don’t believe it!’
‘You’ll see them everywhere. They’re built in. They find their way into people’s thoughts. You can’t outrun your destiny, mate.’
Rincewind didn’t even bother to argue.
‘You’re going to have to sort this out,’ said Scrappy. ‘You’re the cause.’
‘I’m not! Things happen to me, not the other way around!’
‘I could disembowel you with a kick, you know. Would you like to see?’
‘Er … no.’
‘Haven’t you noticed that by running away you end up in more trouble?’
‘Yes, but, you see, you can run away from that, too,’ said Rincewind. ‘That’s the beauty of the system. Dead is only for once, but running away is for ever.’
‘Ah, but it is said that a coward dies a thousand deaths, while a hero dies only one.’
‘Yes, but it’s the important one.’
‘Aren’t you ashamed?’
‘No. I’m going home. I’m going to find this city called Bugarup, find a boat, and go home.’
‘Bugarup?’
‘Don’t tell me the place doesn’t exist.’
‘Oh, no. It’s a big place. And that’s where you’re going?’
‘And don’t try to stop me!’
‘I can see you’ve made up your mind,’ said Scrappy.
‘Read my lips!’
‘Your moustache is in the way.’
‘Read my beard, then!’
The kangaroo shrugged. ‘In that case, I’ve got no choice but to carry on helping you, I suppose.’
Rincewind drew himself up. ‘I’ll find my own way,’ he said.
‘You don’t know the way.’
‘I’ll ask someone!’
‘What about food? You’ll starve.’
‘Ahah, that’s where you’re wrong!’ Rincewind snapped. ‘I’ve got this amazing power. Watch!’
He lifted up a nearby stone, extracted what was underneath, and flourished it.
‘See? Impressed, eh?’
‘Very.’
‘Ahah!’
Scrappy nodded. ‘I’ve never seen anyone do that with a scorpion before.’
The god was sitting high up in a tree working on a particularly promising beetle when the Bursar ambled past far below.
Well, at last. One of them had found it!
The god had spent some time watching the wizards’ attempts at boat-building, although he had been unable to fathom out what it was they were trying to do. As far as he could tell, they were showing some interest in the fact that wood floated. Well, it did float, didn’t it?
He threw the beetle into the air. It hummed into life at the top of the arc and flew away, a smear of iridescence among the treetops.
The god drifted out of his tree and followed the Bursar.
The god hadn’t made up his mind about these creatures yet, but the island was, unfortunately and against all his careful planning, throwing up all sorts of odd things. These were obviously social creatures, with some of the individuals designed for specific tasks. The hairy red one was designed for climbing trees, and the dreamy ant-stamping one for walking into them. Possibly the reasons for this would become apparent.
‘Ah, Bursar!’ said the Dean heartily. ‘How would you like a brief trip around the lagoon?’
The Bursar looked at the soaking log and sought for words. Sometimes, when he really needed to, it was possible to get Mr Brain and Mr Mouth all lined up together.
‘I had a boat once,’ he said.
‘Well done! And here’s another one, just for—’
‘It was green.’
‘Really? Well, we can—’
‘I’ve found another green boat,’ said the Bursar. ‘It’s floating in the water.’
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure you have,’ said Ridcully kindly. ‘A big boat with lots of sails, I expect. Now then, Dean—’
‘Just one sail,’ said the Bursar. ‘And a bare naked lady on the front.’
Hovering immanently, the god cursed. He’d never intended the figurehead. Sometimes, he really wanted to just break down and cry.
‘Bare naked lady?’ said the Dean.
‘Settle down, Dean,’ said the Senior Wrangler. ‘He’s probably just had too many dried frog pills.’
‘It’s going up and down in the water,’ said the Bursar. ‘Up and down, up and down.’