Unseen Academicals (27 page)

‘Excuse me, skull ring,’ Hix intervened. ‘I am required to attempt to break the rules, under college statutes.’

‘Within acceptable limits,’ Ponder added quickly.

‘Bledlow Nobbs (no relation), you have a furiously powerful kick,’ Nutt continued, ‘but you don’t seem to care where the ball goes so long as it gets there. All of you have strengths and weaknesses and it might be possible to make use of both of them. That is, if you want to win. But for now, a good exercise would be to get a lot more of these balls and learn how to control them. Running while kicking the ball ahead of you simply means that you will lose it to an opponent. You must learn to keep it at your feet. You were all looking down to check that you had the ball. Gentlemen, if you need to check that you still have the ball, you either do not have it or you will lose it in the next fraction of a second. Now, if you will excuse me, Mister Trev and I will get into trouble if we don’t get the chandelier back up soon.’

The spell broke.

‘What?’ said Ponder. ‘I mean, what? Stay there, Mister Nutt!’

Nutt immediately hunched and stared at his feet in their clumsy shoes. ‘I am sorry if I have transgressed in any way. I was only seeking worth.’

‘Worth?’ said Ponder, looking at Trev for some kind of map of this new territory.

‘That’s how he talks, that’s all,’ said Trev. ‘He ’asn’t done anythin’ wrong, so why shout at him like that? They were some bloody good ideas! You shouldn’t pick on ’im just ’cos he’s small and talks posh.’

Nutt seemed noticeably taller a little while ago, Ponder thought. Is he really just hunched up? ‘I wasn’t exactly shouting at him,’ he said. ‘I just
wondered what he’s doing dribbling candles! I mean, I know that’s what he’s doing, but why?’

‘Ah, you have to have dribbled candles, sir,’ said Bledlow Nobbs (no relation), ‘and to my mind, the dribbling has been particularly fine just lately. Often, when I’m walking the corridors of a night, I think to myself—’

‘Good heavens, man, he’s erudite! He radiates learning! He’s a polymath!’ said Ponder.

‘Are you saying he’s too smart to be a candle dribbler?’ said the bledlow, a militant look in his eye. ‘You wouldn’t want a stupid dribbler, would you? You’d get, like, manky dribbles all over the place.’

‘I simply meant that—’

‘…and blobs,’ said the bledlow firmly.

‘But you must admit that it is strange that—’

Probably everyone wants him dead.

Ponder stopped as the chasm of memory opened. ‘That makes no sense. It can’t be true!’

‘Sir?’

He realized that all the footballers were staring at him. Ridcully had refused to say any more, and in Ponder’s crowded mind he’d settled for believing that Nutt was on the run in some way. It was not unknown. Occasionally a novice wizard working in a small town might find it a good idea to hurry back for a swift refresher course in the safety of the university’s hospitable stones until his little mistake had been rectified/forgotten/erased/caught and bottled. There had always been others given sanctuary for mysterious reasons. The politics of wizardry were either very simple, and resolved by someone ceasing to breathe, or as complex as one ball of yarn in a room with three bright-eyed little kittens.

But Nutt…What crime could he have done? And then you had to factor in that it was Ridcully who had allowed him to come here and indeed had put Ponder in this position. The sensible thing, therefore, was to–just get on with it.

‘I think Mister Nutt has some very good ideas,’ he said carefully, ‘and I think he should continue. Do carry on, Mister Nutt.’

Watching Nutt look up was like watching the sun rise, but a hesitant sun afraid that any moment the gods might slap it back down into the night, and hungry for reassurance that this would not be so.

‘I am worthy?’

‘Well, er…’ Ponder began, and saw Trev nodding frantically.

‘Well, er, yes, it would seem so, Mister Nutt. I’m amazed at your insight in so short a time.’

‘I have a talent for pattern recognition in developing situations.’

‘Really? Oh. Good. Carry on, then.’

‘Excuse me, I have a question, if you would be so good?’

Looks like a bag of second-hand clothes, talks like a retired theologian, Ponder thought. ‘Ask away, Mister Nutt.’

‘Can I carry on with the dribbling?’

‘What? Do you want to?’

‘Yes, thank you. I enjoy it and it does not take me long.’

Ponder glanced at Trev, who shrugged, made a face and nodded.

‘But I have a favour to ask,’ Nutt went on.

‘I rather expected you would,’ said Ponder, ‘but I’m sorry to say that the budget this term means—’

‘Oh no, I don’t want any money,’ said Nutt. ‘I don’t really spend it anyway. I just want Mister Trev in the team. He is very modest, but you should know that he is a genius with his feet. I cannot see how you could lose with him in the team.’

‘Oh no,’ said Trev, waving his hands and backing away. ‘No! Not me! I’m not a footballer! I just kick tin cans around!’

‘Thought that was at the heart and soul of foot-the-ball, isn’t it?’ said Ponder, who’d never been allowed to play in the street.

‘I thought it was when early blokes kicked a dead enemy’s head around,’ Bledlow Nobbs (no relation) volunteered.

A throat was cleared. ‘Unlikely in my opinion,’ said Hix. ‘Unless it’s in a bag or some sort of metal brace, and then you have the problem of weight, because a human head comes in at around ten pounds, which is a
pain in the foot, I should think. Scooping it out would work for a while, of course, but mind you wire the jaw, because no one wants to be bitten in the foot. I do have some heads on ice if anyone wants to experiment. It’s amazing, but there are still those who leave their bodies to necromancy. There’s some strange people out there.’

At this point, the head of the Department of Post-Mortem Communications realized that he was not taking his audience with him.

‘There’s no need to look at me like that,’ he grumbled. ‘Skull ring, remember? I have to know this wretched stuff.’

Ponder coughed politely. ‘Mister, er, Likely, isn’t it? Your colleague speaks very highly of you. Won’t you join us?’

‘Sorry, guv, but I promised my old mum that I’d never play football. It’s a good way of gettin’ your head caved in!’

‘Trev Likely?’ roared Bledlow Nobbs (no relation). ‘Are you Dave Likely’s lad? He—’

‘Scored four goals, yeah, yeah, yeah,’ said Trev. ‘And then died in the street with the rain washing his blood down the gutter and someone’s smelly overcoat over him. The Prince of Football?’

‘Do we need a little talk, Mister Trev?’ Nutt said urgently.

‘No. No. I’m okay. Okay?’

‘This isn’t that kind of football, Trev,’ said Nutt soothingly.

‘Yeah, I know. But I promised my old mum.’

‘Then at least show them your moves, Mister Trev,’ Nutt pleaded. He turned to the players. ‘You must see this!’

Trev sighed, but Nutt knew just how to wheedle. ‘All right, if it shuts you up,’ he said, and pulled a tin can out of his pocket, to much laughter.

‘See?’ he complained to Nutt. ‘They just think it’s a joke.’

Nutt folded his arms. ‘Show them.’

Trev dropped the can on to his foot and with hardly any effort flicked it on to his shoulder, where it rolled around his neck to his other shoulder and, after a tiny pause, righted itself. He shrugged it on to his other foot, spun it into the air, and let it tumble and spin on the toe of his boot with a faint rattling noise.

Trev winked at Ponder Stibbons. ‘Don’t move, guv.’

The can sprang off the boot and up into the air, then, as it fell, he hit it with a roundhouse kick, driving it at Ponder. The people behind Ponder dived out of the way as it growled past his face and went into orbit, appearing for a moment to give him a silver necklace until it broke away and dropped into Trev’s hand like a beached salmon.

In the silence, Ponder pulled his thaumometer out of his pocket and glanced at it.

‘Natural background,’ he said flatly. ‘No magic involved. How did you do that, Mister Likely?’

‘You just ’ave to get the hang of it, guv. Getting the spins is the thing, but if I ’ave to think too much it don’t work.’

‘Can you do it with a ball?’

‘Dunno, never tried. But prob’ly no. Can’t get the long spin and the short spin, see? But you ort to be able to get somethin’ out of a ball.’

‘But how would that help us?’ said Hix.

‘Mastery of the ball is everything,’ said Nutt. ‘The planned rule will, I think, allow the keeper of the goal to handle the ball. This is vital. There is, however, no explicit ban on nodding the ball, kneeing the ball or blocking the ball with the chest and letting it drop neatly on to the foot. Remember, gentlemen, this ball flies. It will spend a lot of time in the air. You must learn not to think just about the ground.’

‘I feel sure that using the head would be considered illegal,’ said Ponder.

‘Sir, you presume a rule where there is none. Remember what I said about the real nature of the game.’

Ponder saw Nutt’s little half-smile, and gave in. ‘Mister Nutt, I am delegating the selection and training of our football team to you. You will report to me, of course.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I will need the power to sequester team members from their normal duties when required.’

‘Well, I suppose I must agree to that. Very well, I shall leave the team in your hands,’ said Ponder, thinking: how many bags of old clothes use the word ‘sequester’ as if they’re used to it? Still, Ridcully likes the little
goblin, if that’s what he is, and I’ve never seen the point of team games.

‘May I also, sir, request a very small budget?’

‘Why?’

‘With all due respect to the exigencies of university finances,’ said Nutt, ‘I believe it is very necessary.’

‘Why?’

‘I wish to take the team to the ballet.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ Ponder snapped.

‘No, sir, it’s essential.’

The next day there was a piece in the
Times
about the mysterious disappearance of the fabulous ‘Jewels’, which made Glenda smile. They just haven’t read their fairy stories, she thought as she left the house. If you want to find a beauty, you look for her in the ashes. Because Glenda was Glenda and would always irredeemably be Glenda to the core, she added: although the ovens in the Night Kitchen are scrupulously maintained at all times and all ashes are immediately disposed of.

To her surprise, Juliet stepped out of her doorway at almost the same time and looked as if she was almost awake. ‘Do you think they’ll let me in on the banquet?’ she said as they waited for the bus.

Theoretically yes, Glenda thought, but probably no, because she was a Night Kitchen girl. Even though she was Juliet, she would be tarred by Mrs Whitlow as a Night Kitchen girl. ‘Juliet, you shall go to the banquet,’ she said aloud, ‘and so shall I.’

‘But I think Mrs Whitlow won’t like that,’ said Juliet.

Something was still bubbling inside Glenda. It had started in Shatta and lasted all day yesterday and there was still some left today. ‘I don’t care,’ she said.

Juliet giggled and looked around in case Mrs Whitlow was hiding near the bus stop.

And I really don’t care, Glenda thought. I don’t care. It was like drawing a sword.

Ponder’s office always puzzled Mustrum Ridcully. The man used filing cabinets for heavens’ sake. Ridcully worked on the basis that anything you couldn’t remember wasn’t important and had developed the floor-heap method of document storage to a fine art.

Ponder looked up. ‘Ah, good morning, Archchancellor.’

‘Just had a look in at the Hall,’ said Ridcully.

‘Yes, Archchancellor?’

‘Our lads were all doing ballet.’

‘Yes, Archchancellor.’

‘And there were some girls from the Opera House with those short dresses.’

‘Yes, Archchancellor. They’re helping the team.’

Ridcully leaned over and put huge knuckles either side of the paper Ponder was working on.
‘Why?’

‘Mister Nutt’s idea, Archchancellor. Apparently they must learn balance, poise and elegance.’

‘Have you ever seen Bledlow Nobbs try to stand on one leg? Let me tell you, it’s an immediate cure for melancholy.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Ponder, not looking up.

‘I thought the idea was to learn how to kick the ball into the goal.’

‘Ah, yes, but Mister Nutt has a philosophy.’

‘Does he?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘They’re runnin’ about all over the place, I know that,’ said Ridcully.

‘Yes, Mister Nutt and Mister Likely are preparing a little something extra for the banquet,’ said Ponder, getting up and opening the top drawer of a filing cabinet. The sight of filing cabinets opening tended to remind Ridcully that he should be elsewhere, but on this occasion the ruse failed to work.

‘Oh, and I believe we have some fresh balls.’

‘Mister Snorrisson knows an opportunity when he sees one.’

‘So it’s all going well, then?’ said Ridcully, in a kind of mystified voice.

‘Apparently so, sir.’

‘Well, I suppose I’d better leave it alone,’ said Ridcully. He hesitated, feeling at a bit of a loose end, and found another thread to pull. ‘And how are those rules coming along, Mister Stibbons?’

‘Oh, quite well, thank you, Archchancellor. I’m keeping in some of the ones from the street game, of course, to keep everybody happy. Some of them are quite strange.’

‘Mister Nutt is quite a decent chap, it appears.’

‘Oh yes, Archchancellor.’

‘Very good idea of his to redesign the goal, I thought. Makes it more fun.’

‘Aren’t you going to train, sir?’ said Ponder, pulling another document towards him.

‘I am the captain! I do not need to train.’ Ridcully turned to leave and stopped with his hand on the doorknob. ‘Had a long chat with the former Dean last night. Decent soul at heart, of course,’ he said.

‘Yes, I understand the atmosphere in the Uncommon Room was very convivial, Archchancellor,’ said Ponder. And expensive, he added to himself.

‘You know young Adrian Turnipseed is a professor?’

‘Oh, yes, Archchancellor.’