Nutt hung his head as she stepped back in. 'I'm sorry I'm spoiling it for everyone,' he said.
'What's happened to your claws, Mister Nutt?'
He stretched out his arm and with a faint noise the claws extended.
'Oh, well, that's convenient,' said Glenda. 'At least that means you can change your shirt.'
She thumped the table so the candles jumped. 'And now, get up!' she screamed. 'You are supposed to be training the team, Mister Nutt, don't you remember? You're supposed to be going out there and showing them how to play the football!'
'I must accumulate worth,' said Nutt, staring at the candles.
'Then train the team, Mister Nutt! How can you be so certain that the orcs were that bad in any case?'
'We did terrible things.'
'They,' said Glenda. 'They, not we, not you. And one thing I am certain of is that in a war no one is going to say that the other side is made up of very nice people. Now, how about you just run along to training? How hard can it be?'
'You saw what happened,' said Nutt. 'It could be very bad indeed.' He picked up a nearly blue candle. 'I must think.'
'Okay,' said Glenda.
She shut the door carefully behind her, walked a little way along the corridor and looked up at the dripping pipes. 'I know someone is listening. I could hear the creaking pipes. Come out right now.'
There was no reply. She shrugged and then hurried along the labyrinth until she reached the steps to the Library, ran up them and headed for the Librarian's desk.
As she approached it, his big grinning face appeared above it.
'I want - ' she began.
The Librarian rose slowly, put a finger to his lips and placed a book on the table in front of her. The three-letter title, silver on black, was ORC.
He looked her up and down, as if trying to reach a conclusion, then opened the book, and turned the pages with exquisite care, given the thickness of those fingers, until he found the page he had been looking for. He held it up in front of her. There had been no time for breakfast today, but it's still possible to throw up when there's nothing left to throw. And if you needed to vomit, the woodcut held up beneath the Librarian's hands would be a sure-fire medicine.
He put the book down on the desktop, reached down again and produced a barely used handkerchief and, after some rummaging around, a glass of water.
'I don't have to believe that,' said Glenda. 'It's a drawing. It's not real.'
The Librarian's thumb went up and he nodded. He put the book under one arm and grabbed her with another and led her with surprising speed out of the door into the great maze of halls and corridors of the university.
Their breathless journey finished in front of a door on which was painted 'Department of Post-Mortem Communications'. The paint, however, had peeled somewhat and under the bright new title could just be made out the letters NECR and what could possibly be one half of a skull.
The door opened¨Cany door pushed by the Librarian would assuredly open. Glenda heard the clink of the catch falling on to the floor inside.
In the middle of the floor that was revealed stood a hideous figure. Its horrifying countenance had less than the effect it might have done, because from it dangled a quite readable label that said 'Boffo Novelty and Joke Emporium. Improved Necromancer's Mask. Sale Price AM$3'. This was removed to reveal the more salubrious countenance of Dr Hix.
'There really is no need to - ' he said, and then spotted the Librarian. 'Oh, can I help you?'
The Librarian held up the book and Dr Hix groaned. 'That again,' he said. 'All right, what do you want?'
'We've got an orc down in the cellars,' said Glenda.
'Yes, I know,' said Dr Hix.
The Librarian had a big face, but it nevertheless was not large enough to accommodate all of the surprise he wished to show. The head of the Department of Post-Mortem Communications shrugged and sighed. 'Look,' he said, as if weary of having to explain so often, and sighed again. 'I am supposed to be the bad person as defined by university statute, right? I am supposed to listen at doors. Supposed to dabble in the black arts. I've got the skull ring. I've got the staff with the silver skull on it - '
'And a joke-shop mask?' said Glenda.
'Quite serviceable as a matter of fact,' said Hix, haughtily. 'Rather more frightening than the original thing and washable, which is always a consideration in this department. Anyway, the Archchancellor was down here weeks ago, after the same stuff you are, I very much imagine.'