“D'you think maybe we ought to have taught her everything we know?”
“It'd take too long.”
“Yeah, right.”
It took a while for letters to get as far as the Archchancellor. The post tended to be picked up from the University gates by anyone who happened to be passing, and then left lying on a shelf somewhere or used as a pipe lighter or a bookmark or, in the case of the Librarian, as bedding.
This one had only taken two days, and was quite intact apart from a couple of cup rings and a bananary fingerprint. It arrived on the table along with the other post while the faculty were at breakfast. The Dean opened it with a spoon.
“Anyone here know where Lancre is?” he said.
“Why?” said Ridcully, looking up sharply.
“Some king's getting married and wants us to come.”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. “Some tinpot king gets wed and he wants us to come?”
“It's up in the mountains,” said the Archchancellor, quietly “Good trout fishin' in those parts, as I recall. My word. Lancre. Good grief. Hadn't thought about the place in years. You know, there's glacier lakes up there where the fish've never seen a rod. Lancre. Yes.”
“And it's far too far,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
Ridcully wasn't listening. “And there's deer. Thousands of head of deer. And elk. Wolves all over the place. Mountain lions too, I shouldn't wonder. I heard that Ice Eagles have been seen up there again, too.”
His eyes gleamed.
“There's only half a dozen of 'em left,” he said.
Mustrum Ridcully did a lot for rare species. For one thing, he kept them rare.
“It's the back of beyond,” said the Dean. “Right off the edge of the map.”
“Used to stay with my uncle up there, in the holidays,” said Ridcully, his eyes misty with distance. “Great days I had up there. Great days. The summers up there . . . and the sky's a deeper blue than anywhere else, it's very . . . and the grass. . . and. . .”
He returned abruptly from the landscapes of memory.
“Got to go, then,” he said. “Duty calls. Head of state gettin' married. Important occasion. Got to have a few wizards there. Look of the thing. Nobblyess obligay.”
“Well, I'm not going,” said the Dean. “It's not natural, the countryside. Far too many trees. Never could stand it.”
“The Bursar could do with an outing,” said Ridcully. “Seems a bit jumpy just lately, can't imagine why.” He leaned forward to look along the High Table. “Bursaaar!”
The Bursar dropped his spoon into his oatmeal.
“See what I mean?” said Ridcully. “Bundle o' nerves the whole time. I WAS SAYING YOU COULD DO WITH SOME FRESH AIR, BURSAR.” He nudged the Dean heavily. “Hope he's not going off his rocker, poor fella,” he said, in what he chose to believe was a whisper. “Spends too much time indoors, if you get my drift.”
The Dean, who went outdoors about once a month, shrugged his shoulders.
“I EXPECT YOU'D LIKE A LITTLE TIME AWAY FROM THE UNIVERSITY, EH?” said the Archchancellor, nodding and grimacing madly. “Peace and quiet? Healthy country livin'?”
“I, I, I, I should like that very much, Archchancellor,” said the Bursar, hope rising in his face like an autumn mushroom.
“Good man. Good man. You shall come with me,” said Ridcully, beaming.
The Bursar's expression froze.
“Got to be someone else, too,” said Ridcully. “Volunteers, anyone?”
The wizards, townies to a man, bent industriously over their food. They always bent industriously over their food in any case, but this time they were doing it to avoid catching Ridcully's eye.