Read Lords and Ladies for Free Online Page B

heavily. “Hope he’s not going off his rocker, poor fella,” he said, in what he chose to believe was a whisper. “Spends too much time indoors, if you get my drift.”
    The Dean, who went outdoors about once a month, shrugged his shoulders.
    “I EXPECT YOU’D LIKE A LITTLE TIME AWAY FROM THE UNIVERSITY, EH?” said the Archchancellor, nodding and grimacing madly. “Peace and quiet? Healthy country livin’?”
    “I, I, I, I should like that very much, Archchancellor,” said the Bursar, hope rising in his face like an autumn mushroom.
    “Good man. Good man. You shall come with me,” said Ridcully, beaming.
    The Bursar’s expression froze.
    “Got to be someone else, too,” said Ridcully. “Volunteers, anyone?”
    The wizards, townies to a man, bent industriously over their food. They always bent industriously over their food in any case, but this time they were doing it to avoid catching Ridcully’s eye.
    “What about the Librarian?” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, throwing a random victim to the wolves.
    There was a sudden babble of relieved agreement.
    “Good choice,” said the Dean. “Just the thing for him. Countryside. Trees. And…and…trees.”
    “Mountain air,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
    “Yes, he’s been looking peaky lately,” said the Reader in Invisible Writings.
    “It’d be a real treat for him,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
    “Home away from home, I expect,” said the Dean. “Trees all over the place.”
    They all looked expectantly at the Archchancellor.
    “He doesn’t wear clothes,” said Ridcully. “And he goes ‘ook’ all the time.”
    “He does wear the old green robe thing,” said the Dean.
    “Only when he’s had a bath.”
    Ridcully rubbed his beard. In fact he quite liked the Librarian, who never argued with him and always kept himself in shape, even if that shape was a pear shape. It was the right shape for an orang-utan.
    The thing about the Librarian was that no one noticed he was an orang-utan anymore, unless a visitor to the University happened to point it out. In which case someone would say, “Oh, yes. Some kind of magical accident, wasn’t it? Pretty sure it was something like that. One minute human, next minute an ape. Funny thing, really…can’t remember what he looked like before. I mean, he must have been human, I suppose. Always thought of him as an ape, really. It’s more him. ”
    And indeed it had been an accident among the potent and magical books of the University library that had as it were bounced the Librarian’s genotype down the evolutionary tree and back up a different branch, with the significant difference that now he could hang on to it upside down with his feet.
    “Oh, all right,” said the Archchancellor. “But he’s got to wear something during the ceremony, if only for the sake of the poor bride.”
    There was a whimper from the Bursar.
    All the wizards turned toward him.
    His spoon landed on the floor with a small thud. It was wooden. The wizards had gently prevented him from having metal cutlery since what was now known as the Unfortunate Incident At Dinner.
    “A-a-a-a,” gurgled the Bursar, trying to push himself away from the table.
    “Dried frog pills,” said the Archchancellor. “Someone fish ’em out of his pocket.”
    The wizards didn’t rush this. You could find anything in a wizard’s pocket—peas, unreasonable things with legs, small experimental universes, anything…
    The Reader in Invisible Writings craned to see what had unglued his colleague.
    “Here, look at his porridge,” he said.
    There was a perfect round depression in the oatmeal.
    “Oh dear, another crop circle,” said the Dean.
    The wizards relaxed.
    “Damn things turning up everywhere this year,” said the Archchancellor. He hadn’t taken his hat off to eat the meal. This was because it was holding down a poultice of honey and horse manure and a small mouse-powered electrostatic generator he’d got those clever