'Then I may not have much time. Bring me ... let's see ... twenty pints of lager, some pepper vodka and a bottle of coffee liqueur! With an umbrella in it! Let's see how he enjoys that, Mr You've Cot Room For Another One In There!' Susan grabbed his hand and pulled him over to a bench. 'I didn't have you sobered up just so you could go on a binge!' she said. He blinked at her. 'You didn't?'
'I want you to help me!'
'Help you what?'
'You said you'd never been human before, didn't you?'
'Er . . .' The oh god looked down at himself. 'That's right,' he said. 'Never.'
'You've never incarnated?' said Ridcully. 'Surely that's a rather personal question, isn't it?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'That's ... right,' said the oh god. 'Odd, that. I remember always having headaches ... but never having a head. That can't be right, can it?'
'You existed in potentia?' said Ridcully. 'Did P'
'Did he?' said Susan. Ridcully paused. 'Oh dear,' he said. 'I think I did it, didn't I? I said something to young Stibbons about drinking and hangovers, didn't I ... ?'
'And you created him just like that?' said the Dean. 'I find that very hard to believe, Mustrum. Hah! Out of thin air? I suppose we can all do that, can we? Anyone care to think up some new pixie?'
'Like the Hair Loss Fairy?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. The other wizards laughed. 'I am not losing my hair!' snapped the Dean. 'It is just very finely spaced.'
'Half on your head and half on your hairbrush,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'No sense in bein' bashful about goin' bald,' said Ridcully evenly. 'Anyway, you know what they say about bald men, Dean.'
'Yes, they say, “Look at him, he's got no hair,”' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. The Dean had been annoying him lately. 'For the last time,' shouted the Dean, 'I am not--' He stopped. There was a glingleglingleglingle noise. 'I wish I knew where that was coming from,' said Ridcully. 'Er . . .' the Dean began. 'Is there ... something on my head?' The other wizards stared. Something was moving under his hat. Very carefully, he reached up and removed it. The very small gnome sitting on his head had a chimp of the Dean's hair in each hand. It blinked guiltily in the light. 'Is there a problem?' it said. 'Get it off me!' the Dean yelled. The wizards hesitated. They were all vaguely aware of the theory that very small creatures could pass on diseases, and while the gnome was larger than such creatures were generally thought to be, no one wanted to catch Expanding Scalp Sickness. Susan grabbed it. 'Are you the Hair Loss Fairy?' she said. `Apparently,' said the gnome, wriggling in her grip. The Dean ran his hands desperately through his hair. 'What have you been doing with my hair?' he demanded. 'Welt some of it I think I have to put on hairbrushes,' said the gnome, 'but sometimes I think I weave it into little mats to block up the bath with.'
'What do you mean, you think?' said Ridcully. 'Just a minute,' said Susan. She turned to the oh god. 'Where exactly were you before I found you in the snow?'
'Er . . . sort of ... everywhere, I think,' said the oh god. 'Anywhere where drink had been consumed in beastly quantities some time previously, you could say.'
'Ah-ha,' said Ridcully. 'You were an immanent vital force, yes?'
'I suppose I could have been,' the oh god conceded. 'And when we joked about the Hair Loss Fairy it suddenly focused on the Dean's head,' said Ridcully, 'where its operations have been noticeable to all of us in recent months although of course we have been far too polite to pass comment on the subject.'
'You're calling things into being,' said Susan. 'Things like the Give the Dean a Huge Bag of Money Goblin?' said the Dean, who could think very quickly at times. He looked around hopefully. 'Anyone hear any fairy tinkling?'
'Do you often get given huge bags of money, sir?' said Susan. 'Not on what you'd call a daily basis, no,' said the Dean. 'But if---'
'Then there probably isn't any occult room for a Huge Bags of Money Goblin,' said Susan. 'I personally have always wondered what happens to my socks,' said the Bursar cheerfully. 'You know how there's always one missing? When I was a lad I always thought that something was taking them . . .' The wizards gave this some thought. Then they all heard it - the little crinkly tinkling noise of magic taking place. The Archchancellor pointed dramatically skywards. 'To the laundry!' he said. 'It's downstairs, Ridcully,' said the Dean. 'Down to the laundry!'
'And you know Mrs Whitlow doesn't like us going in there,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'And who is Archchancellor of this University, may I ask?' said Ridcully. 'Is it Mrs Whitlow? I don't think so! Is it me? Why, how amazing, I do believe it is!'
'Yes, but you know what she can be like,' said the Chair. 'Er, yes, that's true--' Ridcully began. 'I believe she's gone to her sister's for the holiday,' said the Bursar. 'We certainly don't have to take orders from any kind of housekeeper!' said the Archchancellor. 'To the laundry!' The wizards surged out excitedly, leaving Susan, the oh god, the Verruca Gnome and the Hair Loss Fairy. 'Tell me again who those people were,' said the oh god. 'Some of the cleverest men in the world,' said Susan. 'And I'm sober, am W 'Clever isn't the same as sensible,' said Susan, 'and they do say that if you wish to walk the path to wisdom then for your first step you must become as a small child.'
'Do you think they've heard about the second step?' Susan sighed. 'Probably not, but sometimes they fall over it while they're running around shouting.'
'Ah.' The oh god looked around. 'Do you think they have any soft drinks here?' he said. The path to wisdom does, in fact, begin with a single step. Where people go wrong is in ignoring all the thousands of other steps that come after it. They make the single step of deciding to become one with the universe, and for some reason forget to take the logical next step of living for seventy years on a mountain and a daily bowl of rice and yak- butter tea that would give it any kind of meaning. While evidence says that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, they're probably all on first steps. The Dean was always at his best at times like this. He led the way between the huge, ardent copper vats, prodding with his staff into dark corners and going 'Hut! Hut!' under his breath. 'Why would it turn up here?' whispered the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'Point of reality instability,' said Ridcully, standing on tiptoe to look into a bleaching cauldron. 'Every damn thing turns up here. You should know that by now.'
'But why now?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'No talking!' hissed the Dean, and leapt out into the next alleyway, staff held protectively in front of him.
'Hall!' he screamed, and then looked disappointed ' Er, how big would this sock-stealing thing be?' said the Senior Wrangler. 'Don't know,' said Ridcully. He peered behind a stack of washboards. 'Come to think of it, I must've lost a ton of socks over the years.'
'Me too,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'So ... should we be looking in small places or very large places?' the Senior Wrangler went on, in the voice of one whose train of thought has just entered a long dark tunnel. 'Good point,' said Ridcully. 'Dean, why do you keep referring to sheds all the time?'
'It's “hut”, Mustrum,' said the Dean. 'It means . it means. . .'
'Small wooden building?' Ridcully suggested. 'Welt sometimes, agreed, but other times . . . well, you just have to say “hut”.'
'This sock creature ... does it just steal them, or does it eat them?' said the Senior Wrangler. 'Valuable contribution' that man,' said Ridcully, giving tip on the Dean. 'Right, pass the word along: no one is to look like a sock, understand?'
'How can you---' the Dean began, and stopped. They all heard it. ... grnf, grnf, grnf ... It was a busy sound, the sound of something with a serious appetite to satisfy. 'The Eater of Socks,' moaned the Senior Wrangler, with his eyes shut. 'How many tentacles would you expect it to have?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'I mean, roughly speaking?'