What amazed Ponder Stibbons, when he thought about it later, was that no one had yet resorted to using magic. The wizards had spent a lot of time in an atmosphere where a cutting remark did more damage than a magic sword and, for sheer malign pleasure, a well structured memo could do more real damage than a fireball every time. Besides, no one had their staff, and no one had any spells handy, and in those circumstances it’s easier to hit someone, although in the case of wizards non-magical fighting usually means flailing ineffectually at the opponent while trying to keep out of his way.
The Bursar’s fixed smile faded a little.
‘I got three per cent more than you in my finals!’
‘Oh, and how do you know that, Dean?’
‘I looked up the paper when you were appointed Archchancellor!’
‘What? After forty years?’
‘An examination is an examination!’
‘Er . . .’ the Bursar began.
‘Ye gods, that’s petty! That’s just the sort of thing I’d expect from a student who even had a separate pen for red ink!’
‘Hah! At least I didn’t spend all my time drinking and betting and staying out at all hours!’
‘Hah! I bloody well did, yes, and I learned the ways of the world and I still got nearly as many marks as you in spite of a prize-winning hangover, you puffed-up barrel of lard!’
‘Oh? Oh? It’s personal remarks now, is it?’
‘Absolutely, Two-chairs! Let’s have some personal remarks! We always said that walking behind you made people seasick!’
‘I wonder if at this point . . .’ said the Bursar.
The air crackled around the wizards. A wizard in a foul temper attracts magic like overripe fruit gets flies.
‘You think I’d make a better Archchancellor, don’t you, Bursar?’ said the Dean.
The Bursar blinked his watery eyes. ‘I, er, the two of you . . . er . . . many good points . . . er . . . perhaps this is the time to, er, make a common cause . . .’
They spent just a moment considering this.
‘Well said,’ said the Dean.
‘Got a point,’ said Ridcully.
‘Because, you know, I’ve never liked the Lecturer in Recent Runes very much . . .’
‘Smirks all the time,’ Ridcully agreed. ‘Not a member of the team.’
‘Oh, really?’ The Lecturer in Recent Runes put on a particularly evil smirk. ‘At least I got higher marks than you and am noticeably thinner than the Dean! Although a great many things are! Tell them, Stibbons!’
That’s Mister Stibbons, fatman!’ Ponder heard the voice. He knew it was his. He felt as though he was hypnotized. He could stop any time he liked, it was just that he didn’t quite feel like it.
‘Could I just, er, say . . .’ the Bursar tried.
‘Shut up, Bursar!’ roared Ridcully.
‘Sorry, sorry. Sorry . . .’
Ridcully waved a finger at the Dean. ‘Now you listen to me . . .’
A crimson spark leapt off his hand, left a trail of smoke past the Dean’s ear, and hit the mast, which exploded.
The Dean took a deep breath, and when the Dean took a deep breath appreciably less air was left in the atmosphere. It was let out with a roar.
‘You dare fire magic at me?’
Ridcully was staring at his hand. ‘But I. . . I. . .’
Ponder finally managed to force the words out between teeth that were trying to clamp together.
‘Er agic’s egecting ug!’
‘What? What are you gurgling about, man?’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
‘I’ll show you magic, you pompous clown!’ screamed the Dean, raising both hands.
‘It’s the magic talking!’ Ponder managed, grabbing one arm. ‘You don’t want to blow the Archchancellor to little pieces, Dean!’
‘Yes, I damn well do!’
‘Excuse me, Ai don’t wish to intrude . . .’ Mrs Whitlow’s head appeared at the hatchway.
‘What is it, Mrs Whitlow?’ yelled Ponder, as a blast from the Dean’s hand sizzled over his head.
‘Ai know you are engaged on University business, but should there be all these cracks? The water is coming in.’
Ponder looked down. The deck creaked under his feet.
‘We’re sinking . . .’ he said. ‘You stupid old—’ He bit down on the words. ‘The boat is cracking up as fast as we are! Look, it’s going yellow!’
The green was leaching from the deck like sunlight from a stormy sky.
‘It’s his fault!’ the Dean screamed.
Ponder raced to the side. There were crackling noises all around him.
The important thing was to settle his mind and be calm and, possibly, think of nice things like blue skies and kittens. Preferably ones which weren’t about to drown.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘if we don’t sink our differences they’ll sink us, understand? The boat’s . . . ripening or something. And we’re a long way from land, do you understand! And there could be sharks down there.’
He looked down. He looked up.
‘There’s sharks down there!’ he shouted.
The boat tilted as the wizards joined him.
‘Are they sharks, do you think?’ said Ridcully.
‘Could be tuna,’ said the Dean. Behind them the remains of the sail fell away.
‘How can you reliably tell the difference?’ said the Senior Wrangler.
‘You could count their teeth on the way down,’ sighed Ponder. But at least no one was throwing magic around any more. You could take the wizards out of Unseen University, but you couldn’t take the University out of the wizards.
The boat listed still further as Mrs Whitlow looked over the side.
‘What happens if we fall in the water?’ she said.
‘We must devise a plan,’ said Ridcully. ‘Dean, form a working party to consider our survival in unknown, shark-infested waters, will you?’
‘Should we swim for the shore?’ said Mrs Whitlow. ‘Ai was good at swimming as a gel.’
Ridcully gave her a warm smile. ‘All in good time, Mrs Whitlow,’ he said. ‘But your suggestion has been taken aboard.’
‘It’s going to be the only thing that is, in a minute,’ said Ponder.
‘And what exactly will your role be, Arch-chancellor?’ the Dean snarled.
‘I have defined your objectives,’ said Ridcully. ‘It is up to you to consider the options.’
‘In that case,’ said the Dean, ‘I move that we abandon ship.’
‘What for?’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. The sharks?’
That is a secondary problem,’ said the Dean.
That’s right,’ said Ponder, ‘we can always vote to abandon shark.’
The ship lurched suddenly. The Senior Wrangler struck a heroic pose.
‘I will save you, Mrs Whitlow!’ he cried, and swept her off her feet. Or, at least, made the effort. But the Senior Wrangler was lightly built for a wizard and Mrs Whitlow was a fine figure of a woman and, furthermore, the wizard’s grip was limited by the fact that there were very few areas of Mrs Whitlow that he dared actually touch. He did his best with some outlying regions and managed to lift her slightly. All this did was transfer the entire weight of wizard and housekeeper to the Senior Wrangler’s quite small feet, which went through the deck like a steel bar.
The boat, dry as tinder now, soft as wood punk, fell apart very gently.
The water was extremely cold. Spray filled the air as they struggled. A piece of wreckage hit Ponder on the head and pushed him under, into a blue world where his ears went gloing-gloing.
When he struggled to the surface again this noise turned out to be an argument. Once again, the sheer magic of Unseen University triumphed. When treading water in a circle of sharks, a wizard will always consider other wizards to be the most immediate danger.
‘Don’t blame me! He was . . . well, I think he was asleep!’
‘You think?’
‘He was a mattress. A red one!’
‘He’s the only Librarian we’ve got! How could you be so thoughtless!’ shouted Ridcully. He took a deep breath, and dived.
‘Abandon sea!’ shouted the Bursar cheerfully.
Ponder shuddered as something big and black and streamlined rose out of the water in from of him. It sank back into the foam and flopped over.
Other shapes were bobbing to the surface all around the frantically treading wizards. The Dean tapped one.
‘Well, these sharks don’t seem anything like as dangerous as I expected,’ he said.
They’re the seeds out of the boat!’ said Ponder. ‘Get on top of them, quickly!’
He was sure that something had brushed his leg. In those circumstances, a man finds unexpected agility. Even the Dean managed to get aboard a board, after a revolving, foamy period when man and seed fought for supremacy.
Ridcully surfaced in a shower of spray. ‘It’s no good!’ he spluttered. ‘I went down as far as I could. There’s no sign of him!’
Try and get on a seed, Archchancellor, do,’ said the Senior Wrangler.