Interesting Times

'Hah, you don't know what it was like,' muttered the Dean, not meeting the Archchancellor's eye. 'A man daren't turn his back for five minutes in those days. You'd hear the patter of those damn feet and—'

Ridcully ignored him. He put an arm around Rincewind's bony shoulders and led the way towards the Great Hall.

'Well, now, Rincewind,' he said. 'They tell me you're no good at magic.'

'That's right.'

'Never passed any exams or anything?'

'None, I'm afraid.'

'But everyone calls you Rincewind the wizard.'

Rincewind looked at his feet. 'Well, I kind of worked here as sort of deputy Librarian—'

'—an ape's number two—' said the Dean.

'—and, you know, did odd jobs and things and kind of, you know, helped out—'

'I say, did anyone notice that? An ape's number two? Rather clever, I thought.'

'But you have never, in fact, actually been entitled to call yourself a wizard?' said Ridcully.

'Not technically, I suppose...'

'I see. That is a problem.'

'I've got this hat with the word "Wizzard" on it,' said Rincewind hopefully.

'Not a great help, I'm afraid. Hmm. This presents us with a bit of a difficulty, I'm afraid. Let me see... How long can you hold your breath?'

'I don't know. A couple of minutes. Is that important?'

'It is in the context of being nailed upside down to one of the supports of the Brass Bridge for two high tides and then being beheaded which, I'm afraid, is the statutory punishment for impersonating a wizard. I looked it up. No-one was more sorry than me, I can tell you. But the Lore is the Lore.'

'Oh, no!'

'Sorry. No alternative. Otherwise we'd be knee-deep in people in pointy hats they'd no right to. It's a terrible shame. Can't do a thing. Wish I could. Hands tied. The statutes say you can only be a wizard by passing through the University in the normal way or by performing some great service of benefit to magic, and I'm afraid that—'

'Couldn't you just send me back to my island? I liked it there. It was dull!'

Ridcully shook his head sadly.

'No can do, I'm afraid. The offence has been committed over a period of many years. And since you haven't passed any exams or performed,' Ridcully raised his voice slightly, 'any service of great benefit to magic, I'm afraid I shall have to instruct the bledlows to fetch some rope and—'

'Er. I think I may have saved the world a couple of times,' said Rincewind. 'Does that help?'

'Did anyone from the University see you do it?'

'No, I don't think so.'

Ridcully shook his head. 'Probably doesn't count, then. It's a shame, because if you had performed any service of great benefit to magic then I'd be happy to let you keep that hat and, of course, something to wear it on.

Rincewind looked crestfallen. Ridcully sighed, and had one last try.

'So,' he said, 'since it seems that you haven't actually passed your exams OR PERFORMED A SERVICE OF GREAT BENEFIT TO MAGIC, then—'

'I suppose... I could try to perform some great service?' said Rincewind, with the expression of one who knows that the light at the end of the tunnel is an incoming train.

'Really? Hmm? Well, that's definitely a thought,' said Ridcully.

'What sort of services are they?'

'Oh, typically you'd be expected to, for the sake of example, go on a quest, or find the answer to some very ancient and important question - What the hell is that thing with all the legs?'

Rincewind didn't even bother to look round. The expression on Ridcully's face, as it stared over his shoulder, was quite familiar.

'Ah,' he said, 'I think I know that one.'

Magic isn't like maths. Like the Discworld itself, it follows common sense rather than logic. And nor is it like cookery. A cake's a cake. Mix the ingredients up right and cook them at the right temperature and a cake happens. No casserole requires moonbeams. No souffle ever demanded to be mixed by a virgin.

Nevertheless, those afflicted with an enquiring turn of mind have often wondered whether there are rules of magic. There are more than five hundred known spells to secure the love of another person, and they range from messing around with fern seed at midnight to doing something rather unpleasant with a rhino horn at an unspecified time, but probably not just after a meal. Was it possible (the enquir ing minds enquired) that an analysis of all these spells might reveal some small powerful common denominator, some meta-spell, some simple little equation which would achieve the required end far more simply, and incidentally come as a great relief to all rhinos?

To answer such questions Hex had been built, although Ponder Stibbons was a bit uneasy about the word 'built' in this context. He and a few keen students had put it together, certainly, but... well... sometimes he thought bits of it, strange though this sounded, just turned up.