'Not to my knowledge.'
But what do I know? Ridcully asked himself. Mr Nutt, by definition, is trouble. But the Librarian says he potters about repairing things and is generally an amiable milksop, and he talks as though he's giving a lecture. This little man, who actually, when you look at him, is not as little as he appears because he weighs himself down with humility... this little man was born with a name so fearsome some peasants chained him to an anvil because they were too scared to kill him. Perhaps Vetinari and his friends are right in their smug way and a leopard can change his shorts. I hope so, because if they aren't, a leopard will be a picnic. And any minute now, the Dean is coming, damn his treacherous hide.
'Only he's my friend, guv.'
'Well, that's good. Everyone should have a friend.'
'I'm not gonna let anyone touch 'im, guv.'
'A brave ambition, young man, if I may say so. Nevertheless, Mister Nutt, why did you object when I pointed out that the Librarian, wonderful though his rising save was, was in infringement of the rules?'
Nutt didn't look up, but in a small voice said, 'It was elegant. It was beautiful. The game should be beautiful, like a well-executed war.'
'Oh, I don't think many people would say that war is very jolly,' said Ridcully.
'Beauty can be considered to be neutral, sir. It is not the same as nice or good.'
'I thought it was the same as truth, though,' said Ponder, trying to keep up.
'Which is often horrible, sir, but Mister Librarian's leap was both beautiful, sir, and good, sir, and therefore must be true and therefore the rule which should prevent him from doing it again would be proved to be neither beautiful nor true and would, indeed, be a false law.'
'That's right, guv,' said Trev. 'People will shout for that stuff.'
'Do you mean that they'd cheer for a goal not achieved?' said Ponder.
'Of course they will! And groan! It's something happening,' Ridcully snorted. 'You saw the game the other day! If you were lucky, you got a glimpse of a lot of large, grubby men fighting over a ball like a lump of wood. People want to see goals scored!'
'And saved, remember!' Trev pointed out.
'Exactly, young man,' agreed Ridcully. 'It must be a game of speed. This is the year of the Pensive Hare, after all. People get bored so easily. No wonder there are fights. We need, do we not, to make a sport that is more exciting than beating other people over the head with big weapons.'
'That one's always been very popular,' said Ponder doubtfully.
'Well, we are wizards, after all. And now I must go and greet the bloody, the so-called Archchancellor of Brazeneck so-called College in the correct damn spirit of fraternal goodwill!'
'So called,' murmured Ponder, not quite softly enough.
'What say?' the Archchancellor bellowed.
'Just wondering what you want me to do, Archchancellor?'
'Do? Keep 'em playing! See who's good at it! Work out what the most beautiful rules are,' Ridcully called out, heading out of the Hall at speed.
'By myself?' said Ponder, horrified. 'I've got a huge workload!'
'Delegate!'
'You know I'm hopeless at delegating, sir!'
'Then delegate the job of delegating to someone who isn't! Now, I must be off before he steals the silverware!'
It was very rare for Glenda to take time off. Being the head of the Night Kitchen was a mental state, not a physical one. The only meal she ever ate at home was breakfast, and that was always in a hurry. But now she'd stolen some time to sell the dream. May Hedges was looking after the kitchen and she was reliable and got on with everyone and so there were no worries there.
The sun had come out and now she knocked on the rear door of Mr Stronginthearm's workshop. The dwarf opened the door with rouge all over his fingers. 'Oh, hello, Glenda. How's it going?'
She thumped a wad of orders on the table proudly and opened the suitcase. It was empty. 'And I need a lot more samples,' she said.
'Oh, that's wonderful,' said the dwarf. 'When did you get these?'