‘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 Sanded 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 hugeV
‘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—’
The wail behind Ponder made him turn around. There were more piles of clothing where the wizards had been. He pulled aside the Dean’s hat just as a faint bloop suggested that Mustrum Ridcully had managed to regain full possession of his years again.
‘That the Dean, Stibbons?’
‘Could be, sir. Er . . . some of them have gone, sir!’
Ridcully looked unflustered. ‘Temporal gland acting up in the high field,’ he said. ‘Probably decided that since it’s thousands of years ago they’re not here. Don’t worry, they’ll come back when it works it out . . .’
Ponder suddenly felt breathless. ‘And . . . hwee . . . think this one’s the Lecturer in Recent Runes . . . hwee . . . of course . . . hwee . . . all babies look the . . . hwee . . . same.’
There was another wail from under the Senior Wrangler’s hat.
‘Bit of a . . . hwee . . . kindergarten here, sir,’ Ponder wheezed. His back creaked when he tried to stand upright.
‘Oh, they’ll probably come back if they don’t get fed,’ said Ridcully. ‘It’s you that’ll be the problem, lad. I mean, sir.’
Ponder held his hands up in front of him. He could see the veins through the pale skin. He could nearly see the bones.
Around him the piles of clothing rose again as the wizards clambered back to their proper age.
‘How . . . old . . . hwee . . . I . . . ha . . . look?’ he panted. ‘Like someone who shouldn’t . . . hwee . . . start reading a long book?’
‘A long sentence,’ said Ridcully cheerfully, holding him up. ‘How old do you feel? In yourself?’
‘I . . . hwee . . . ought to feel . . . hwee . . . about twenty-four, sir,’ Ponder groaned. ‘I actually . . . hwee . . . feel like a twenty-four-year-old who has been hit by eighty years travelling at . . . hwee . . . high speed.’
‘Hold on to that thought. Your temporal gland knows how old you are.’
Ponder tried to concentrate, but it was hard. Pan of him wanted to go to sleep. Part of him wanted to say, ‘Hah, you call this a temporal disturbance? You should’ve seen the temporal disturbances we will have been used to be going to get in my day.’ A pressing part of him was threatening that if he didn’t find a toilet it would make its own arrangements.
‘You’ve kept your hair,’ said the Senior Wrangler, encouragingly.
Ponder heard himself say, ‘Remember old “Cruddy” Trusset? Now there was a wizard who had . . . good . . . hair . . .’ He tried to get a grip. ‘He’s still alive, isn’t he?’ he wheezed. ‘He’s the same age as me. Oh, no . . . now I’m remembering only yesterday as if it was . . . hwee . . . seventy years ago!’
‘You can get over it,’ said Ridcully. ‘You’ve got to make it clear you’re not accepting it, you see.
The important thing is not to panic.’
‘I am panicking,’ squeaked Ponder. ‘I’m just doing it very slowly! Why’ve I got this horrible feeling that I’m . . . hwee . . . falling forward all the . . . hwee . . . time?’
‘Oh, that’s just apprehensions of mortality,’ said Ridcully. ‘Everyone gets that.’
‘And . . . hwee . . . now I think my memory’s going . . .’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Think what? Speak up, you . . . hwee . . . man . . .’
Something exploded somewhere behind Ponder’s eyeballs and lifted him off the ground. For a moment he felt he had jumped into icy water.
The blood flowed back to his hands.
‘Well done, lad,’ said Ridcully. ‘Your hair’s going brown again, too.’
‘Ow . . .’ Ponder slumped to his knees. ‘It was like wearing a lead suit! I never want to go through that again!’
‘Suicide’s your best bet, then,’ said Ridcully.
‘Is this going to happen again?’
‘Probably. At least once, anyway.’
Ponder got to his feet with a steely look in his eyes. ‘Then let’s find whoever’s building this place and ask them to send us home,’ he growled.
‘They might not want to listen,’ said Ridcully. ‘Deities can be touchy.’