‘The… boy was brought up by a priest of some sort, I know that,’ said Ridcully.‘But what will he become when he grows up?’

‘By the sound of him, a professor of linguistics.’

‘You know what I mean, Havelock.’

‘Possibly, although I wonder if you do. But he is, I suggest, unlikely tobecome a ravening horde all by himself.’

Ridcully sighed. He glanced towards the game again, and Vetinari noticed.

‘Look at them. Ranks, files,’ he said, waving a hand over the little stonefigures, ‘locked in everlasting conflict at the whim of the player. They fight,they fall, and they cannot turn back because the whips drive them on, and allthey know is whips, kill or be killed. Darkness in front of them, darknessbehind them, darkness and whips in their heads. But what if you could take oneout of this game, get him before the whips do, take him to a place withoutwhips–what might he become? One creature. One singular being. Would you denythem that chance?’

‘You had three men hanged last week,’ said Ridcully, without quiteunderstanding why.

‘They had their chances. They used them to kill, and worse. All we get is achance. We don’t get a benison. He was chained to an anvil for seven years. Heshould get his chance, don’t you think?’

Suddenly Vetinari was smiling again.

‘Let us not get sombre, however. I look forward to your ushering in a new eraof lively, healthy activity in the best sporting tradition. Indeed, traditionwill be your friend here, I am sure. Please don’t let me trespass any furtheron your time.’

Ridcully drained the sherry. That at least was palatable.

It’s a short walk from the palace to Unseen University; positions of power liketo keep an eye on one another.

Ridcully walked back through the crowds, occasionally nodding at people heknew, which, in this part of the city, was practically everyone.

Trolls, he thought, we get along with trolls, now that they remember to lookwhere they’re putting their feet. Got ’em in the Watch and everything. Jollydecent types, bar a few bad apples, and gods know we have enough of those ofour own. Dwarfs? Been here for ages. Can be a bit tricky, can be as tight as aduck’s arse–here he paused to think and edited that thought to ‘drive a hardbargain’. You always know where you are with them, anyway, and of course theyare short, which is always a comfort provided you know what they are doing downthere. Vampires? Well, the Uberwald League of Temperance seemed to be working.Word on the street–or in the vault or whatever–was that they policed their own.Any unreformed bloodsucker who tried to make a killing in the city would behunted down by people who knew exactly how they thought and where they hungout.

Lady Margolotta was behind all that. She was the person who, by diplomacy, andprobably more direct means, had got things moving again in Uberwald, and shehad some sort of… relationship with Vetinari. Everyone knew it, and that wasall everyone knew. A dot dot dot relationship. One of those. And nobody hadbeen able to join up the dots.

She had been to the city on diplomatic visits, and not even the well-practiseddowagers of Ankh-Morpork had been able to detect a whisper of anything otherthan a businesslike amiability and international cooperation between the two ofthem.

And he played endless and complex games with her, via the clacks system, andapart from that, that was, well, that… until now.

And she’d sent him this Nutt to keep safe. Who knew why, apart from them?Politics, probably.

Ridcully sighed. One of the monsters, all alone. It was hard to think of it.They came in thousands, like lice, killing everything and eating the dead,including theirs. The Evil Empire had bred them in huge cellars, grey demonswithout a hell.

The gods alone knew what had happened to them when the Empire collapsed. Butthere was convincing evidence now that some still lived up in the far hills.What might they do? And one, right now, was making candles in Ridcully’scellars. What might he become?

‘A bloody nuisance?’ said Ridcully aloud.

‘’ere, ’oo are you calling a nuisance, mister? It’s my road, same as yours!’

The wizard looked down at a young man who appeared to have stolen his clothesonly from the best washing lines, though the tattered black and red scarfaround his neck was probably his own. There was an edginess to him, a continualshifting of weight, as though he might at any moment run off in a previouslyunguessable direction. And he was throwing a tin can up in the air and catchingit again. For Ridcully it brought back memories so sharp that they stung, buthe pulled himself together.

‘I am Mustrum Ridcully, Archchancellor and Master of Unseen University, youngman, and I see you are sporting colours. For some game? A game of football, Isuggest?’

‘As it happens, yes. So what?’ said the urchin, then realized that his hand wasempty when it should now, under normal gravitational rules, be full again. Thetin had not fallen back from its last ascent, and was in fact turning gentlytwenty feet up in the air.

‘Childish of me, I know,’ said Ridcully, ‘but I did want your full attention. Iwant to witness a game of football.’

‘Witness? Look, I never saw nuffin’—’

Ridcully sighed. ‘I mean I want to watch a game, okay? Today, if possible.’

‘You? Are you sure? It’s your funeral, mister. Got a shilling?’

There was a clink, high above.

‘The tin will come back down with a sixpence in it. Time and place, please.’

‘’ow do I know I can trust you?’ said the urchin.

‘I don’t know,’ said Ridcully. ‘The subtle workings of the brain are a mysteryto me, too. But I’m glad that is your belief.’

‘What?’ With a shrug, the boy decided to gamble, what with having had nobreakfast.

‘Loop Alley off the Scours, ’arp arsed one, an’ I’ve never seen you before inmy life, got it?’

‘That is quite probable,’ said Ridcully, and snapped his fingers.

The tin dropped into the urchin’s waiting hand. He shook out the silver coinand grinned. ‘Best o’ luck to you, guv.’

‘Is there anything to eat at these affairs?’ said Ridcully, for whom lunchtimewas a sacrament.

‘There’s pies, guv, pease pudding, jellied eel pies, pie and mash, lobster…pies, but mostly they are just pies. Just pies, sir. Made of pie.’

‘What kind?’

His informant looked shocked. ‘They’re pies, guv. You don’t ask.’

Ridcully nodded. ‘And as a final transaction, I’ll pay you one penny for a kickof your can.’

‘Tuppence,’ said the boy promptly.

‘You little scamp, we have a deal.’

Ridcully dropped the can on the toe of his boot, balanced it for a moment, thenflicked it into the air and, as it came down, hit it with a roundhouse kickthat sent it spinning over the crowd.

‘Not bad, granddad,’ said the kid, grinning. In the distance there was a yelland the sound of someone bent on retribution.

Ridcully plunged a hand into his pocket and looked down. ‘Two dollars to startrunning, kid. You won’t get a better deal today!’ The boy laughed, grabbed thecoins and ran. Ridcully walked on sedately, while the years fell back on himlike snow.

He found Ponder Stibbons pinning up a notice on the board just outside theGreat Hall. He did this quite a lot. Ridcully assumed it made him feel betterin some way.

He slapped Ponder on the back, causing him to spill drawing pins all over theflagstones.

‘It is a bulletin from the Ankh Committee on Safety, Archchancellor,’ saidPonder, scrabbling for the spinning, wayward pins.

‘This is a university of magic, Stibbons. We have no business with safety. Justbeing a wizard is unsafe, and so it should be.’

‘Yes, Archchancellor.’

‘But I should pick up all those pins if I were you, you can’t be too careful.Tell me-didn’t we use to have a sports master here?’