'He was dead,' said Trev. 'Dead as a doorknob, and then he wasn't. What's that all about?' He levered himself up and realized that he had been put to bed on one of the grubby bedrolls in the vats. Nutt was lying on the roll next to him.
'All right,' said Glenda. 'If you can do it without lying, tell me.' She sat down and watched the sleeping Nutt for a while as Trev tried to make sense of the previous evening. 'What was in the sandwich again? The one the Igor gave him?'
'Tuna, spaghetti and jam. With sprinkles,' said Trev, yawning.
'Are you sure?'
'It's not the kinda thing you forget.'
'What kind of jam?' Glenda insisted.
'Why ask?'
'I'm thinking it might work with quince. Or chilli. Can't see any place for sprinkles, though. They don't make any sense.'
'What? He's an Igor. It doesn't have to make sense!'
'But he warned you about Nutt?'
'Yes, but I don't think he meant "lock up your pies", do you? Are you gonna get into trouble about the pies?'
'No. I've got plenty more maturing in the cool room. They're at their best when matured. You have to keep ahead of yourself, with pies.'
She looked down at Nutt and went on, 'Are you really telling me he got all smashed up by the Stollop boys and then walked out of the Lady Sibyl?'
'He was as dead as a doorknob. Even old 'addock could spot that.'
This time they both stared at Nutt.
'He's alive now,' said Glenda, as if it was an accusation.
'Look,' said Trev, 'all I know about people who come from Uberwald is that some of them are vampires and some are werewolves. Well, I don't think vampires are much interested in pies. And it was a full moon last week and he didn't act odd; well, odder than normal.'
Glenda lowered her voice. 'Maybe he's a zombie - No, they don't eat pies either.' She continued to stare at Nutt, but another part of her said, 'There's going to be a banquet on Wednesday night. Lord Vetinari's up to something with the wizards. It's about the football, I'm sure of it.'
'Well?'
'For some plan, I expect. Something nasty. The wizards were at the game today taking notes! Don't tell me that's healthy. They want to shut down football, that's what it is!'
'Good!'
'Trevor Likely, how can you say that! Your dad - '
'Died because he was dumb,' said Trev. 'And don't tell me it was the way he would have wanted to go. No one would want to go like that.'
'But he loved his football!'
'So? What does that mean? The Stollop boys love their football. Andy Shank loves 'is football! And what does it mean? Not countin' today, how often have you seen the ball in play? Hardly ever, I bet.'
'Well, yes, but it's not about the football.'
'You're saying that football is not about football?'
Glenda wished she'd had a proper education, or, failing that, any real education at all. But she was not going to back off now. 'It's the sharing,' she said. 'It's being part of the crowd. It's chanting together. It's all of it. The whole thing.'
'I believe, Miss Glenda,' said Nutt from his mattress, 'that the work you are looking for is Trousenblert's Der Selbst uberschritten durch das Ganze.'
They looked down at Nutt again, mouths open. He had opened his eyes and appeared to be staring at the ceiling. 'It is the lonely soul trying to reach out to the shared soul of all humanity, and possibly much further. W. E. G. Goodnight's translation of In Search of The Whole is marred, while quite understandable, by the mistranslation of bewu?tseinsschwelle as "haircut" throughout.'