'Pas devant la domestique!' snapped the Lecturer in Recent Runes. Automatically, Ridcully turned again to look at Glenda, and got a distinct feeling that here was a woman about to learn a foreign language in a hurry. It was an odd but slightly exciting idea. Until this moment, he had never thought of the maids in the singular. They were all... servants. He was polite to them, and smiled when appropriate. He assumed they sometimes did other things than fetch and carry, and sometimes went off to get married and sometimes just... went off. Up until now, though, he'd never really thought that they might think, let alone what they thought about, and least of all what they thought about the wizards. He turned back to the table.
'Who will be doing the chanting, Mister Stibbons?'
'The aforesaid supporters, fans, sir. It's short for fanatics.'
'And ours will be... who?'
'Well, we are the largest employer in the city, sir.'
'As a matter of fact I think Vetinari is, and I wish to all hells I knew exactly who he is employing,' said Ridcully.
'I'm sure our loyal staff will support us,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. He turned to Glenda, and to Ridcully's dismay said, glutinously, 'I'm sure you would be a fan, would you not, my child?'
The Archchancellor sat back. He had a definite feeling that this was going to be fun. Well, she hadn't blushed and she hadn't yelled. In fact, she had not done anything, apart from carefully pick up the china.
'I support Dolly Sisters, sir. Always have done.'
'And are they any good?'
'Having a poor patch at the moment, sir.'
'Ah, then I expect you will want to support our team, which will be very good indeed!'
'Can't do that, sir. You've got to support your team, sir.'
'But you just said they weren't doing well.'
'That's when you support your team, sir. Otherwise you're a numper.'
'A numper being... ?' said Ridcully.
'He's someone who's all cheering when things are going well, and then runs off to another team when there's a losing streak. They always shouts the loudest.'
'So you support the same team all your life?'
'Well, if you move away it's okay to change. No one will mind much unless you go to a real enemy.' She looked at their puzzled expressions, sighed and went on: 'Like Naphill United and the Whoppers, or Dolly Sisters and Dimwell Old Pals, or the Pigsty Hill Pork Packers and the Cockbill Boars. You know?'
When they clearly didn't, she continued: 'They hate each other. Always have done, always will. They are the bad matches. The shutters go up for those. I don't know what my neighbours would say if they saw me cheering a Dimmer.'
'But that's dreadful!' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
'Excuse me, miss,' said Ponder, 'but most of those pairs are quite close to one another, so why do they hate one another so much?'
'That at least is easy,' said Dr Hix. 'It's hard to hate people who are a long way away. You forget how dreadful they are. But you see a neighbour's warts every day.'
'That's just the sort of cynical comment I'd expect from a post-mortem communicator,' grumbled the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
'Or a realist,' said Ridcully, smiling. 'But Dolly Sisters and Dimwell are quite far apart, miss.'
Glenda shrugged. 'I know, but it's always been like that. That's how it is. That's all I know.'
'Well, thank you... ?' There was no mistaking the hanging question.
'Glenda,' she said.
'I see there are a great many things we don't yet understand.'
'Yes, sir. Everything.' She hadn't meant to say that aloud. It just escaped of its own accord.