Ridcully turned his head slightly and growled, 'He doesn't have to have one. I have rather walked into this... '
There was a stirring from the more senior wizards, and Ponder heard a whispered phrase. 'Dead man's pointy shoes?'
'No, I forbid it!' said Ponder.
'You forbid it?' said Henry. 'You are but a chick, young Stibbons.'
'The accumulated votes of all the posts I hold on the University Council mean that I do, technically, control it,' said Ponder, trying to stick out a skinny chest that was never built for sticking, but still buoyed up and awash with righteous rage and a certain amount of terror about what might happen when it ran out of steam.
The contenders relaxed a little more in the presence of this turning worm.
'Didn't anyone notice that you were getting all this power?' said Ridcully.
'Yes, sir, me. Only I thought it was responsibility and hard work. None of you ever bother with details, you see. Technically, I have to report to other people, but usually the other people are me. You have no idea, sirs. I'm even the Camerlengo, which means that if you drop dead, Archchancellor, from any cause other than legitimate succession under the Dead Man's Pointy Shoes tradition, I run this place until a successor is elected which, given the nature of wizardry, will mean a job for life, in which case the Librarian, as an identifiable and competent member of the senior staff, will try to discharge his duties, and if he fails, the official procedure is for wizards everywhere to fight among themselves for the Hat, causing fire, destruction, doves, rabbits and billiard balls to appear from every orifice and much loss of life.' After a short pause he continued. 'Again. Which is why some of us get a little worried when we see powerful wizards squabbling like this. To conclude, gentlemen, I have spoken at some length in order to give you time to consider your intentions. Somebody has to.'
Ridcully cleared his throat. 'Thank you for your input, Stibbons. We shall discuss this matter further. Definitely something that needed to be said. These aren't the old days, after all.'
'Your point is taken,' said Henry, 'except that, technically, these are going to be somebody else's old days.'
Ponder's chest was still going up and down.
'A very good point,' said Ridcully.
'I believe I heard mention of a curry?' said Henry, with equal care. It was like listening to two ancient dragons talking to each other with the help of an even older book of etiquette written by nuns.
'It's a long time until lunch. I tell you what, why don't you accept the hospitality of my university? I believe we have left your room exactly as it was, although I understand some quite amazing things have crawled out under the door. And perhaps you might like to stay on for tomorrow's banquet?'
'Oh? Are you having a banquet?' said Henry.
'Indeed so, and I would be delighted if you would accept, old boy. We'll be entertaining some of the solid citizenry. Salt-of-the-earth fellows, you understand. Wonderful people if you don't watch them eat, but quite good conversationalists if you give them enough beer.'
'Funnily enough, I find that works with wizards too. Well, I must accept, of course. I haven't been to a banquet in ages.'
'You haven't?' said Ridcully. 'I thought you would have a banquet every night.'
'We have a limited budget, you know,' said the Archchancellor of Brazeneck. 'It's a governmental grant thing, you see.'
The wizards fell silent. It was as if a man had just told you his mother had died.
Ridcully patted him on the hand. 'Oh, I'm so sorry.' He paused at the doors of the Hall and turned back to Ponder. 'We will be having some high-level discussions, Stibbons. Keep them on their toes! The lads will help! Find out what football wants to be!'
The older members of the faculty exhaled as the two heads left. Most of them were old enough to recall at least two pitched battles among factions of wizards, the worst of which had only been brought to a conclusion by Rincewind, wielding a half-brick in a sock...
Ponder looked across at Rincewind now, and he was hopping awkwardly on one leg, trying to put a sock back on. He thought it better not to comment. It was probably the same sock.
The Chair of Indefinite Studies slapped Ponder on the back. 'Well done, lad. Could have been a nasty incident there.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'I'm sorry we seem to have loaded you down a bit. I'm sure it wasn't deliberate.'
'I'm sure it wasn't, too, sir. Very little around here is.' Ponder sighed. 'I'm afraid that unthinking delegation and prevarication and procrastination are standard practice here.' He looked expectantly at the remaining members of the Council. He wanted to be disappointed, but knew he wouldn't be.
'A very bad state of affairs indeed,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
The Chair looked grave. 'Hm... '
So go on, thought Ponder, say it. I know you're going to, you just won't be able to stop yourself, you really won't -