The god gave them both a look of intelligent bewilderment, like a man who had just heard a joke told in a completely foreign language and isn't sure if the speaker has got to the punchline yet. Then he shrugged. The only thing I think I don't quite understand', he said, 'is why any creature would want to spend time on all this . . .' he peered at his notes, 'this sex, when they could be enjoying themselves . . . Oh dear, your associate seems to be choking this time, I'm afraid . . .'
'Dean!' shouted Ridcully. 'I can't help noticing', said the god, 'that when sex is being discussed your faces redden and you tend to shift uneasily from one foot to the other. Is this some sort of signal?'
'Erm . . .'
'If you could just tell me how it all works . . .' Embarrassment filled the air, huge and pink. If it were rock, you could have carved great hidden rose-red cities in it. Ridcully smiled a petrified smile. 'Excuse us,' he said. 'Faculty meeting, gentlemen?' Ponder watched the wizards go into a huddle. He could hear a few phrases above the susurration. '. . . my father said, but of course I didn't believe . . . never raised its ugly head . . . Dean, will you shut up? We can't very well . . . cold showers, really Ridcully turned back and flashed the stony smile again. 'Sex is, er, not something we talk about,' he said. 'Much,' said the Dean. 'Oh, I see,' said the god. 'Well, a practical demonstration would be so much more compre- hendable.'
'Er, we weren't, er . . . planning a . . .'
'Coo-eee! There you are, gentlemen!' Mrs Whitlow entered the cave. The wizards went suddenly quiet, sensing in their wizardry minds that the introduction of Mrs Whitlow at this point was an electric fire in the swimming pool of life. 'Oh, another one of you,' said the god brightly. He focused. 'Or a different species, perhaps?' Ponder felt that he had to say something. Mrs Whitlow was giving him a Look. 'Mrs, er, Whitlow is, er, a lady,' he said.
'Ah, I shall make a note of it,' said the god. 'And what sort of thing do they do?' They're, um, the same species as, er, us,' said Ponder, miserably. 'Um . . . the . . . um . . .'
'Weaker sex,' Ridcully supplied. 'Sorry, you've lost me there,' said the god. 'Er . . . she's, um, er, a . . . of the female persuasion,' said Ponder. The god smiled happily. 'Oh, how very convenient,' he said. 'Excuse me,' said Mrs Whitlow, in as sharp a tone as she cared to use around the wizards, 'but will someone introduce this gentleman to me?'
'Oh, yes, of course,' said Ridcully. 'Do excuse me. God, this is Mrs Whitlow. Mrs Whitlow, this is God. A god. God of this island, in fact. Uh . . .'
'Charmed, Ai'm sure,' said Mrs Whitlow. In Mrs Whitlow's book, gods were socially very acceptable, at least if they had proper human heads and wore clothes; they rated above High Priests and occupied the same level as Dukes. 'Should Ai kneel?' she said. 'Mwaaa,' whimpered the Senior Wrangler. 'Genuflection of any sort is not required,' said the god. 'He means no,' said Ponder. 'Oh, as you wish,' said Mrs Whitlow. She extended a hand. The god grasped it and waggled her thumb backwards and forwards. 'Very practical,' he said. 'Opposable, I see. I think I should make a note of this. Do you brachi-ate? Are you bipedal by habit? Oh, I notice your eyebrows go up, too. Is this a signal of some sort? I also note that you are a different shape from the others and don't have a beard. I assume that means you are less wise?' Ponder saw Mrs Whitlow's eyes narrow and her nostrils flare. 'Is there some sort of problem, sirs?' she said. 'Ai followed your footprints to that funny boat, and this was the only other path, so—'
'We were discussing sex,' said the god enthusiastically. 'It sounds very exciting, don't you think?' The wizards held their breath. This was going to make the Dean's sheets look very minor. 'It's not a subject on which Ai would venture an opinion,' said Mrs Whitlow carefully.
'Mwaa,' squeaked the Senior Wrangler. 'No one seems to want to tell me,' said the god irritably. A spark leapt from his fingers and blew a very small crater in the floor, and that seemed to shock him as much as it did the wizards. 'Oh dear, what can you think of me? I'm so sorry!' he said. 'I'm afraid it's a sort of natural reaction if I get a bit, you know . . . testy.' Everyone looked at the crater. The rock bubbled gently by Fender's feet. He didn't dare move his sandal, just in case he fainted. 'That was just . . . testy, was it?' said Ridcully. 'Well, it may have been more . . . vexed, I suppose,' said the god. 'I can't really help it, it's a god-given reflex. I'm afraid as a . . . well, species, we're not good with, you know, defiance. I'm so sorry. So sorry.' He blew his nose, and sat down on a half-finished panda. 'Oh, dear. There I go again . . .' A tiny bolt of lightning flashed off his thumb and exploded. 'I hope it's not going to be the city of Quint all over again. Of course, you know what happened there . . .'
'I've never heard of the city of Quint,' said Ponder. 'Yes, I suppose you wouldn't have,' said the god. 'That's the whole point, really. It wasn't much of a city. It was mostly made of mud. Well, I say mud. Afterwards, of course, it was mainly ceramics.' He turned a wretched face to them. 'You know those days you get when you just snap at everyone?' Out of the corner of his eye Ponder had noticed that the wizards, in a rare show of unanimity, were shuffling sideways, very slowly, towards the door. A much bigger thunderbolt blew a hole in the floor near the cave entrance. 'Oh dear, where can I put my face?' said the god. 'It's all subconscious, I'm afraid.'
y, this is a pretty amazing place!' Ponder rolled his eyes. You could say that for wizards. When they walked into a place that was pretty amazing, they'd tell you. Loudly. 'Ah,' said the god, turning around, 'this is the rest of your . . . swarm, isn't it?'
'I'd better go and stop them,' said Ponder as the wizards fanned out like small boys in an amusement arcade, ready to press anything in case there was a free game left. 'They poke things and then say, “What does this do?” '
'Don't they ask what things do before they poke them?'
'No, they say you'll never find out if you don't give them a poke,' said Ponder darkly. 'Then why do they ask?'
'They just do. And they bite things and then say, “I wonder if this is poisonous,” with their mouths full. And you know the really annoying thing? It never is.'
'How odd. Laughing in the face of danger is not a survival strategy,' said the god.
'Oh, they don't laugh,' said Ponder gloomily. They say things like, “You call that dangerous? It's not a patch on the kind of danger you used to get when we were lads, eh, Senior Wrangler, what what? Remember when old 'Windows' McPlunder . . .” ' He shrugged. 'When old “Windows” McPlunder what?' said the god. 'I don't know! Sometimes I think they make up the names! Dean, I really don't think you should do that!' The Dean turned away from the shark, whose teeth he'd been examining. 'Why not, Stibbons?' he said. Behind him, the jaw snapped shut. Only the Archchancellor's legs were visible in the exploded elephant. There were muffled noises from inside the whale; they sounded very much ike the Lecturer in Recent Runes saying, 'Look at what happens when I twist this bit . . . See, that purple bit wobbles.'
'Amazin' piece of work,' said Ridcully, emerging from the elephant. 'Very good wheels. You paint these bits before assembly, do you?'
'It's not a kit, sir,' said Ponder, taking a kidney out of his hands and wedging it back in. It's a real dephant under construction!'
'Oh.'
'Being made, sir,' said Ponder, since Ridcully didn't seem to have got the message. 'Which is not usual.'
'Ah. How are they normally made, then?'
'By other elephants, sir.'
'Oh, yes . . .'
'Really? Are they?' said the god. 'How? Those minks are pretty nimble, even if I say so myself, but not really very good for delicate work.'
'Oh, not made like that, sir, obviously. By . . . you know . . . sex . . .' said Ponder, feeling a blush start. 'Sex?' Then Ponder thought: Mono Island. Oh dear . . . 'Er . . . males and females . . .' he ventured. 'What are they, then?' said the god. The wizards paused. 'Do go on, Mister Stibbons,' said the Arch-chancellor. 'We're all ears. Especially the elephant.'
'Well . . .' Ponder knew he was going red. 'Er . . . well, how do you get flowers and things at the moment?'