‘That’s it, then,’ said Ridcully.
‘Er … no …’ said Ponder.
The Bursar reappeared further along the beach, expelled from the collapsing tube of water like an arrow from a bow. The wave crashed over behind him, striking the shore as if it had just offended it.
The seed changed direction, cruised gently over the backwash and crunched to a halt on the sand.
The Bursar stepped off. ‘Hooray,’ he said. ‘My feet are wet. What a nice forest. Time for tea.’
He picked up the seed and rammed it point first in the sand. Then he wandered away up the beach.
‘How did he do that?’ said Ridcully. ‘I mean, the man’s crazier than a ferret! Damn good Bursar, of course.’
‘Possibly the lack of mental balance means there’s nothing to impede physical stability?’ said Ponder wearily.
‘You think so?’
‘Not really, sir. I just said it for something to say.’ Ponder tried to massage some life back into his legs, and started to count under his breath.
‘Is there anything to eat here?’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
‘Four,’ said Ponder.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘What? Oh, it was just some counting I was doing, sir. No, sir. There’s probably fish and lobsters in the sea, but the land looks pretty bare to me.’
It did. Reddish sand stretched away through the greyish drizzle to bluish mountains. The only greenishness was the Dean’s face and, suddenly, the shoots winding out of the Bursar’s surfing seed. Leaves unfolded in the rain, tiny flowers opened with little plopping noises.
‘Well, at least we’ll have another boat,’ said the Senior Wrangler.
‘I doubt it, sir,’ said Ponder. ‘The god wasn’t very good at breeding things.’ And, indeed, the swelling fruit was not looking very boat-shaped.
‘You know, I still think it would help if we thought of all this as a valuable opportunity,’ said Ridcully.
‘That’s true,’ said the Dean, sitting up. ‘It’s not many times in your life you get the chance to die of hunger on some bleak continent thousands of years before you’re born. We should make the most of it.’
‘I meant that pitting ourselves against the elements will bring out the best in us and forge us into a go-getting and hard-hitting team,’ said Ridcully. This view got no takers.
‘I’m sure there must be something to eat,’ mumbled the Chair of Indefinite Studies, looking around aimlessly. ‘There usually is.’
‘After all, nothing is beyond men like us,’ said Ridcully.
‘That’s true,’ said Ponder. ‘Oh gods, yes. That’s true.’
‘And at least a wizard can always make a decent fire.’
Ponder’s eyes opened wide. He rose in one movement aimed at Ridcully, but was still airborne when the Archchancellor tossed a small fireball at a heap of driftwood. By the time the glowing ball was halfway to the wood Ponder had hit Ridcully in the back, so that both of them were sprawled on the wet sand when the world went whooph.
When they looked up the heap of driftwood was a blackened crater.
‘Well, thank you,’ said the Dean, behind them. ‘I feel lovely and dry now, and I never did like my eyebrows all that much.’
‘High thaumic field, sir,’ Ponder panted. ‘I did say.’
Ridcully stared at his hands. ‘I was going to light my pipe with one …’ he muttered. He held the hand away from him. ‘It was only a Number Ten,’ he said.
The Dean stood up, brushing away some tufts of burnt beard.
‘I’m not sure I believe what I just saw,’ he said, and pointed a finger at a nearby rock.
‘No, sir, I don’t think you—’
Most of the rock was lifted off the ground and landed a hundred yards away. The rest of it sizzled in a red-hot puddle.
‘Can I have a go?’ said the Senior Wrangler.
‘Sir, I really think—’
‘Oh, well done, Senior Wrangler,’ said the Dean, as another rock fractured into fragments.
‘Ye gods, you were right, Stibbons,’ said Ridcully. ‘The magic field here is huge!’
‘Yes, sir, but I really don’t think we should be using it, sir!’ Ponder shrieked.
‘We’re wizards, young man. Using magic is what wizarding is all about.’
‘No, sir! Not using magic is what wizarding is all about!’
Ridcully hesitated.
‘This is fossil magic, sir!’ said Ponder, speaking fast. ‘It’s what’s being used to create this place! We could do untold damage if we’re not careful!’
‘All right, all right, no one do anything for a moment,’ said Ridcully. ‘Now … what are you talking about, Mister Stibbons?’
‘I don’t think the place is properly, well, finished, sir. I mean, there’re no plants or animals, are there?’
‘Nonsense. I saw a camel a little while ago.’
‘Yes, sir, but that came with us. And there’s seaweed and crabs on the beach and they got washed up too. But where are the trees and bushes and grasses?’
‘Interesting,’ said Ridcully. ‘Place is as bald as a baby’s bottom.’
‘Still under construction, sir. The god did say it was being built.’
‘Unbelievable, really,’ said Ridcully. ‘A whole continent being created out of nothing?’
‘Exactly, sir.’
‘Gazillions of thaums of magic pouring into the world.’
‘You’ve got it, sir.’
‘Whole mountains and cliffs and beaches where once there was nothing, style of thing.’
‘That’s right, sir.’
‘Bit of a miracle, you could say.’
‘I certainly would, sir.’
‘Unimaginably vast amounts of magic doing their stuff.’
‘Astonishing, sir.’
‘So I expect no one will miss a little bit, eh?’
‘No! That’s not how it works, sir! If we use it, it’s like … like treading on ants, sir! This isn’t like … finding an old staff in a cupboard and using up the magic that’s left. This is the real primal energy! Anything we do might well have an effect.’
The Dean tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Then here we are, young Stibbons, stuck on this forsaken shore. What do you suggest? We’re thousands of years from home. Perhaps we should just sit and wait? That Rincewind fellow’s bound to be along in a few millennia?’
‘Er, Dean …’ said the Senior Wrangler.
‘Yes?’
‘Are you standing behind Stibbons there, or are you sitting on this rock over here?’
The Dean looked at himself, sitting on the rock.
‘Oh, blast,’ he muttered. ‘Temporal discontinuity again.’
‘Again?’ said Ponder.
‘We had a patch of it in Room 5b once,’ said the Senior Wrangler. ‘Ridiculous. You had to cough before you went in, in case you were already there. Anyway, you shouldn’t be surprised, young man. Enough magic distorts all physical la—’
The Senior Wrangler vanished, leaving only a pile of clothes.
‘Took a while to take hold,’ said Ridcully. ‘I remember when—’
His voice suddenly rose in pitch. Ponder spun around and saw a small heap of clothing with a pointed hat on top of it.
He raised the hat gingerly. A pink face under a mop of curls looked up at him.
‘Bugger!’ squeaked Ridcully. ‘How old am I, mister?’
‘Er … you look about six, sir,’ said Ponder. His back twinged.
The small worried face crinkled up. ‘I want my mum!’ The little nose sniffed. ‘Was that me who just said that?’
‘Er, yes …’
‘You can keep on top of it if you concentrate,’ the Archchancellor squeaked. ‘It resets the tempor— I wanna sweetie! — it resets the temporal gl— I wanna sweetie, oh, you wait till I get me home, I’ll give me such a smack — it resets the body’s clo— where’s Mr Pootle? — it resets the body’s clock — wanna wanna Mr Pootle! — don’t worry, I think I’ve got the hang of it—’