Ah, and here came his fellow wizards, walking awkwardly in the chafing trousers and trying so hard not to stand out in a crowd that they would have stood out even more if the rest of the crowd had been the least bit interested.
Nobody noticed. It was enthralling and exciting at the same time, Ridcully concluded. Normally the pointy hat, robe and staff cleared the way faster than a troll with an axe.
They were being pushed! And shoved! But it was not as unpleasant as the words suggested. There were moderate pressures on all sides as people poured in behind, as though the wizards were standing chest deep in the sea, and were swaying and shifting to the slow rhythm of the tide.
'My goodness,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'Is this football? It's a bit dull, isn't it?'
'Pies were mentioned,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, craning his neck.
'People are still coming in, guv,' said Ottomy.
'But however do we see things?'
'Depends on the Shove, guv. Usually people near the action shout out.'
'Ah, I see a pie seller,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. He took a couple of steps forward, there was a random shift and sway in the crowd, and he vanished.
'How is it now, Mister Trev?' said Nutt, as people surged around them.
'Hurts like buggery, excuse my Klatchian,' muttered Trev, clutching his injured arm to his coat. 'Are you sure you weren't holding a hammer?'
'No hammer, Mister Trev. I'm sorry, but you did ask me - '
'I know, I know. Where did you learn to punch like that?'
'Never learned, Mister Trev. I must never raise my hand to another person! But you went on so, and - '
'I mean, you're so skinny!'
'Long bones, Mister Trev, long muscles. I really am very sorry!'
'My fault, Gobbo, I didn't know your own strength - ' Suddenly Trev shot forward, cannoning into Nutt.
'Where've you been, my man?' said the person who had just slapped him hard on the back. 'We said to meet at the eel-pie stall!'
Now the speaker looked at Nutt and his eyes narrowed. 'And who's this stranger who thinks he's one of us?'
He did not exactly glare at Nutt, but there was a definite sense of a weighing in the balance, and on unfriendly scales.
Trev brushed himself off, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed. 'Hi, Andy. Er, this is Nutt. He works for me.'
'What as? A bog brush?' said Andy. There was laughter from the group behind him. Andy always got a laugh. It was the first thing you noticed, after the glint in his eye.
'Andy's dad is captain of Dimwell, Gobbo.'
'Pleased to meet you, sir,' said Nutt, extending a hand.
'Ooo, pleased to meet you, sir,' Andy mimicked, and Trev grimaced as a calloused hand the size of a plate grasped Nutt's cheese-straw fingers.
'He's got hands like a girl,' Andy observed, taking a grip.
'Mister Trev has been telling me wonderful things about the Dimmers, sir,' said Nutt. Andy grunted. Trev saw his knuckles whiten with effort while Nutt chattered. 'The camaraderie of the sport must be a wonderful thing.'
'Yeah, right,' Andy grunted, finally managing to pull his hand away, his face full of angry puzzlement.
'And this is my mate, Maxie,' said Trev quickly, 'and this is Carter the Farter - '
'It's Fartmeister now,' said Carter.