Reaper Man

‘I could have sworn—’ he began.

There was another scream.

Ridcully scrambled to his feet.

‘Come on, you fellows!’ he said, limping heroically onwards.

‘Why does everyone run towards a blood-curdling scream?’ mumbled the Senior Wrangler. ‘It’s contrary to all sense.’

They trotted out through the cloisters and into the quadrangle.

A rounded, dark shape was squatting in the middle of the ancient lawn. Steam was coming out of it in little, noisome wisps.

‘What is it?’

‘It can’t be a compost heap in the middle of the lawn, can it?’

‘Modo will be very upset.’

The Dean peered closer. ‘Er … especially because, I do believe, that’s his feet poking out from under it …’

The heap swivelled towards the wizards and made a glop, glop noise.

Then it moved.

‘Right then,’ said Ridcully, rubbing his hands together hopefully, ‘which of you fellows has got a spell about them at the moment?’

The wizards patted their pockets in an embarrassed fashion.

‘Then I shall attract its attention while the Bursar and the Dean try to pull Modo out,’ said Ridcully.

‘Oh, good,’ said the Dean faintly.

‘How can you attract a compost heap’s attention?’ said the Senior Wrangler. ‘I shouldn’t think it’s even got one.’

Ridcully removed his hat and stepped gingerly forward.

‘Load of rubbish!’ he roared.

The Senior Wrangler groaned and put his hand over his eyes.

Ridcully flapped his hat in front of the heap.

‘Biodegradable garbage!’

‘Poor green trash?’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes helpfully.

‘That’s the ticket,’ said the Archchancellor. ‘Try to infuriate the bugger.’ (Behind him, a slightly different variety of mad waspy creature popped out of the air and buzzed away.) The heap lunged at the hat.

‘Midden!’ said Ridcully.

‘Oh, I say,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, shocked.

The Dean and the Bursar crept forward, grabbed a gardener’s foot each, and pulled. Modo slid out of the heap.

‘It’s eaten through his clothes!’ said the Dean.

‘But is he all right?’

‘He’s still breathing,’ said the Bursar.

‘And if he’s lucky, he’s lost his sense of smell,’ said the Dean.

The heap snapped at Ridcully’s hat. There was a glop. The point of the hat had vanished.

‘Hey, there was still almost half a bottle in there!’ Ridcully roared. The Senior Wrangler grabbed his arm.

‘Come on, Archchancellor!’

The heap swivelled and lunged towards the Bursar.

The wizards backed away.

‘It can’t be intelligent, can it?’ said the Bursar.

‘All it’s doing is moving around slowly and eating things,’ said the Dean.

‘Put a pointy hat on it and it’d be a faculty member,’ said the Archchancellor.

The heap came after them.

‘I wouldn’t call that moving slowly,’ said the Dean. They looked expectantly at the Archchancellor.

‘Run!’

Portly though most of the faculty were, they hit a fair turn of speed up the cloisters, fought one another through the door, slammed it behind them and leaned on it. Very soon afterwards, there was a damp, heavy thud on the far side.

‘We’re well out of that,’ said the Bursar.

The Dean looked down.

‘I think it’s coming through the door, Archchancellor,’ he said, in a tiny voice.

‘Don’t be daft, man, we’re all leanin’ on it.’

‘I didn’t mean through, I mean … through …’

The Archchancellor sniffed.

‘What’s burnin’?’

‘Your boots, Archchancellor,’ said the Dean.

Ridcully looked down. A greenish-yellow puddle was spreading under the door. The wood was charring, the flagstones were hissing, and the leather soles of his boots were definitely in trouble. He could feel himself getting lower.

He fumbled with the laces, and then took a standing jump on to a dry flagstone.

‘Bursar!’

‘Yes, Archchancellor?’

‘Give me your boots!’

‘What?’

‘Dammit, man, I command you to give me your blasted boots!’

This time, a long creature with four pairs of wings, two at each end, and three eyes, popped into existence over Ridcully’s head and dropped on to his hat.

‘But—’

‘I am your Archchancellor!’

‘Yes, but—’

‘I think the hinges are going,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

Ridcully looked around desperately.

‘We’ll regroup in the Great Hall,’ he said. ‘We’ll … strategically withdraw to previously prepared positions.’

‘Who prepared them?’ said the Dean.

‘We’ll prepare them when we get there,’ said the Archchancellor through gritted teeth. ‘Bursar! Your boots! Now!’

They reached the double doors of the Great Hall just as the door behind them half-collapsed, half-dissolved. The Great Hall’s doors were much sturdier. Bolts and bars were dragged into place.

‘Clear the tables and pile them up in front of the door,’ snapped Ridcully.

‘But it eats through wood,’ said the Dean.

There was a moan from the small body of Modo, which had been propped against a chair. He opened his eyes.

‘Quick!’ said Ridcully. ‘How can we kill a compost heap?’

‘Um. I don’t think you can, Mr Ridcully, sir,’ said the gardener.

‘How about fire? I could probably manage a small fireball,’ said the Dean.

‘It wouldn’t work. Too soggy,’ said Ridcully.

‘It’s right outside! It’s eating away at the door! It’s eating away at the door,’ sang the Lecturer in Recent Runes.