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He waited patiently until the uproar had died away. It was amazing, he thought, how people would argue against figures on no better basis than 'they must be wrong'.

'I'm sure the Bursar would not agree with those figures,' said the Senior Wrangler sourly.

'That is so,' said Ponder, 'but I'm afraid that is because he regards the decimal point as a nuisance.'

The faculty looked at one another.

'Then who is dealing with our financial affairs?' said Ridcully.

'Since last month? Me,' said Ponder, 'but I would be happy to hand the responsibility over to the first volunteer.'

This worked. Regrettably, it always did. 'In that case,' he said, in the sudden silence, 'I have worked out, with reference to calorific tables, a regime that will give every man here a nourishing three meals a day - '

The Senior Wrangler frowned. 'Three meals? Three meals? What kind of person has three meals a day?'

'Someone who can't afford nine,' said Ponder flatly. 'We could eke out the money if we concentrate on a healthy diet of grains and fresh vegetables. That would allow us to keep the cheeseboard with a choice of, say, three types of cheese.'

'Three cheeses isn't a choice, it's a penance!' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

'Or we could play a game of football, gentlemen,' said Ridcully, clapping his hands together cheerfully. 'One game. That's all. How hard would that be?'

'As hard as a face full of hobnails, perhaps?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'People get trodden into the cobbles!'

'If all else fails, we will find volunteers from the student body,' said Ridcully.

'Corpse might be a better word.'

The Archchancellor leaned back in his chair. 'What makes a wizard, gentlemen? A facility with magic? Yes, of course, but around this table we know this is not, for the right kind of mind, hard to obtain. It does not, as it were, happen like magic. Good heavens, witches manage it. But what makes a magic user is a certain cast of mind which looks a little deeper into the world and the way it works, the way its currents twist the fortunes of mankind, et cetera, et cetera. In short, they should be the kind of person who might calculate that a guaranteed double first is worth the occasional inconvenience of sliding down the street on their teeth.'

'Are you seriously suggesting that we give out degrees for mere physical prowess?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

'No, of course not. I am seriously suggesting that we give out degrees for extreme physical prowess. May I remind you that I rowed for this university for five years and got a Brown?'

'And what good did that do, pray?'

'Well, it does say "Archchancellor" on my door. Do you remember why? The University Council at the time took the very decent view that it might be the moment for a leader who was not stupid, mad or dead. Admittedly, most of these are not exactly qualifications in the normal sense, but I like to think that the skill of leadership, tactics and creative cheating that I learned on the river also stood me in good stead. And thus for my sins, which I don't actually remember committing but must have been quite crimson, I was at the top of a shortlist of one. Was that a choice of three cheeses, Mister Stibbons?'

'Yes, Archchancellor.'

'I was just checking.' Ridcully leaned forward. 'Gentlemen, in the morning, correction, later this morning, I propose to tell Vetinari firmly that this university intends to once again play football. And the task falls to me because I am the first among equals. If any of you would like to try your luck in the Oblong Office, you have only to say.'

'He'll suspect something, you know,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

'He suspects everything. That is why he is still Patrician.' Ridcully stood up. 'I declare this meet - this overly extended snack... over. Mister Stibbons, come with me!'

Ponder hurried after him, books clutched to his chest, happy for the excuse to get out of there before they turned on him. The bringer of bad news is never popular, especially when it's on an empty plate.

'Archchancellor, I - ' he began, but Ridcully held his finger to his lips.

After a moment of cloying silence, there was a sudden festival of scuffling, as of men fighting in silence.

'Good for them,' Ridcully said, heading off down the corridor. 'I wondered how long it would take them to realize that they might be seeing the last overloaded snack trolley for some time. I'm almost tempted to wait and see them waddle out with their robes sagging.'

Ponder stared at him. 'Are you enjoying this, Archchancellor?'

'Good heavens no,' said Ridcully, his eyes sparkling. 'How could you suggest such a thing? Besides, in a few hours I have to tell Havelock Vetinari that we are intending to become a personal affront. The unschooled mob hacking at one another's legs is one thing. I don't believe he will be happy with the prospect of our joining in.'

'Of course, sir. Er, there is a minor matter, sir, a small conundrum, if you will... Who is Nutt?'


Tags: Terry Pratchett Discworld Fantasy