‘Um, yes, yes indeed,’ he said. ‘The good old red jersey we used to wear in myrowing days, with the big U’s on the front, bold as brass… ’

He glanced at the maid, who was frowning. But he was Archchancellor, wasn’t he?It said so on his door, didn’t it?

‘That’s what we’ll do,’ he declared. ‘We’ll look into pies, although I’ve seena few pies that don’t bear looking into, haha, and we’ll adapt the good old redsweater. What’s next, Mister Stibbons?’

‘With regard to the chanting, sir. I’ve asked the Master of the Music to workon some options,’ said Ponder smoothly. ‘We need to select a team as soon aspossible.’

‘I don’t see what the rush is,’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, who hadalmost nodded off in the arms of a chocolate biscuit surfeit.

‘The bequest, remember?’ said the head of the Department of Post-MortemCommunications. ‘We—’

‘Pas devant la domestique!’ snapped the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

Automatically, Ridcully turned again to look at Glenda, and got a distinctfeeling that here was a woman about to learn a foreign language in a hurry. Itwas an odd but slightly exciting idea. Until this moment, he had never thoughtof 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 thanfetch and carry, and sometimes went off to get married and sometimes just… wentoff. Up until now, though, he’d never really thought that they might think, letalone what they thought about, and least of all what they thought about thewizards. 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 knewexactly 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 youwould be a fan, would you not, my child?’

The Archchancellor sat back. He had a definite feeling that this was going tobe fun. Well, she hadn’t blushed and she hadn’t yelled. In fact, she had notdone 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 goodindeed!’

‘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 offto 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 yougo to a real enemy.’ She looked at their puzzled expressions, sighed and wenton: ‘Like Naphill United and the Whoppers, or Dolly Sisters and Dimwell OldPals, or the Pigsty Hill Pork Packers and the Cockbill Boars. You know?’

When they clearly didn’t, she continued: ‘They hate each other. Always havedone, always will. They are the bad matches. The shutters go up for those. Idon’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 oneanother, 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 longway away. You forget how dreadful they are. But you see a neighbour’s wartsevery day.’

‘That’s just the sort of cynical comment I’d expect from a post-mortemcommunicator,’ grumbled the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

‘Or a realist,’ said Ridcully, smiling. ‘But Dolly Sisters and Dimwell arequite 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 ofits own accord.

There was a stirring among the wizards, who were nonplussed because what hadhappened could not really have happened. The tea trolley might as well haveneighed.

Ridcully banged his hand on the table before the others could summon up words.

‘Well said, miss,’ he chuckled, as Glenda waited for the floor to open andswallow her. ‘And I’m sure that remark came from the heart, because I suspectit could not have come from the head.’

‘Sorry, sir, but the gentleman did ask for my opinion.’

‘Now, that one was from the head. Well done,’ said Ridcully. ‘So do, therefore,give us the benefit of your thinking, Miss Glenda.’

Still in a kind of shock, Glenda looked into the Archchancellor’s eyes and sawthat it was no time to be less than bold, but that was unnerving too.

‘Well, what’s this all about, sir? If you want to play, just go and do it, yes?Why change things?’

‘The game of foot-the-ball is very behind the times, Miss Glenda.’

‘Well, so are you—Sorry, sorry, but, well. You know. Wizards are alwayswizards. Not a lot changes in here, does it? And then you talk about someMaster of the Music to make a new chant, and that’s not how it goes. The Shovemakes up the chants. They just happen. They just, like, come out of the air.And the pies are pretty awful, that’s true, but when you’re in the Shove, andit’s mucky weather, and the water’s coming through your coat, and your shoesare leaking, and then you bite into your pie, and you know that everyone elseis biting into their pie, and the grease slides down your sleeve, well, sir, Idon’t have the words for it, sir, I really don’t, sir. There’s a feeling Ican’t describe, but it’s a bit like being a kid at Hogswatch, and you can’tjust buy it, sir, you can’t write it down or organize it or make it shiny ormake it tame. Sorry to speak out of turn, sirs, but that’s the long and theshort of it. You must have known it, sir. Didn’t your father ever take you to agame?’

Ridcully looked down the table at the Council and noted a certain moistness ofeye. Wizards were, largely, of that generation from which grandfathers arecarved. They were also, largely, large, and awash with cynical crabbiness andthe barnacles of the years, but… the smell of cheap overcoats in the rain,which always had a tint and taste of soot in it, and your father, or maybe yourgrandfather, lifting you on to his shoulders, and there you were, above allthose cheap hats and scarves, and you could feel the warmth of the Shove, watchits tides, feel its heartbeat, and then, certainly, a pie would be handed up,or maybe half a pie if times were hard, and if they were really bad it might bea handful of fat greasy pease which were to be eaten one at a time to make themlast longer… or when times were flush there might be a real treat, like a hotdog you didn’t have to share, or a plate of scouse, with yellow fat beading onthe top and lumps of gristle you could chew at on the way home, meat which nowyou would not give to a dog but which was sacred lotus eaten with the gods, inthe rain, in the cheering, in the bosom of the Shove…

The Archchancellor blinked. No time seemed to have passed, unless you countseventy years which had gone past like that. ‘Er, very graphically argued,’ hesaid, and pulled himself together. ‘Interesting points well made. But, you see,we have a responsibility here. After all, this city was just a handful ofvillages before my university was built. We are concerned about the fighting inthe streets yesterday. We heard a rumour that someone was killed because hesupported the wrong team. We can’t stand by and let this sort of thing happen.’