Soul Music

The smallest room in Unseen University is in fact a broom cupboard on the fourth floor. He really meant the privy. The Reader had a theory that all the really good books in any building ‑ at least, all the really funny ones* ‑ gravitate to a pile in the privy but no‑one ever has time to read all of them, or even knows how they came to be there. His research was causing extreme constipation and a queue outside the door every morning.

* The ones with cartoons about cows and dogs. And captions like: "As soon as he saw the duck, Elmer knew it was going to be a bad day."

And didn't appear to do anything to the enemy at all.

He was a wizard. Trick shots for a wizard aren't the old three‑times­round‑the‑table jobs. His best one was once off the cushion, once off a seagull, once off the back of the head of the Bursar who'd been walking along the corridor outside last Tuesday (a bit of temporal spin there) and a tricky rebound off the ceiling. He'd missed sinking the actual shot by a whisker, but it had been pretty tricky, even so.

And this was true. Nature can adapt to practically anything. There were fish evolved to live in the river. They looked like a cross between a soft‑shelled crab and an industrial vacuum cleaner, and tended to explode in fresh water, and what you had to use for bait was nobody's business, but they were fish and a sportsman like Ridcully never cared about what the quarry tasted like.

The Senior Wrangler had a theory that long food ‑ beans, celery and rhubarb ‑ made you taller, because of the famous Doctrine of Signatures. It certainly made him lighter.

And, of course, one that misfires. Deafness doesn't prevent composers hearing the music. It prevents them hearing the distractions.

It wasn't the taste. Plenty of hot dogs taste bad. But Dibbler had now actually managed to produce sausages that didn't taste of anything. It was weird. No matter how much mustard, ketchup and pickle people put on them, they still didn't taste of anything. Not even the midnight dogs they sell to drunks in Helsinki can quite manage that.

Troll beer is ammonium sulphide dissolved in alcohol and tastes like drinking fermented batteries.

Not with very good results, however. Stibbons spent weeks grinding lenses and blowing glassware and had finally produced a device which showed the tremendous amount of tiny animals there were in one drop of water from the river Ankh.

The Archchancellor had taken a look and then remarked that anything in which that much life could exist had to be healthy.

All right ‑ all dwarf songs. Except the one about Hiho.

Troll gambling is even simpler than Australian gambling. One of the most popular games is One Up, which consists of throwing a coin in the air and betting on whether it will come down again.

Rats had featured largely in the history of Ankh‑Morpork. Shortly before the Patrician came to power there was a terrible plague of rats. The city council countered it by offering twenty pence for every rat tail. This did, for a week or two, reduce the number of rats ‑ and then people were suddenly queuing up with tails, the city treasury was being drained, and no‑one seemed to be doing much work. And there still seemed to be a lot of rats around. Lord Vetinari had listened carefully while the problem was explained, and had solved the thing with one memorable phrase which said a lot about him, about the folly of bounty offers, and about the natural instinct of Ankh-­Morporkians in any situation involving money: "Tax the rat farms."

From the Old wys‑ars, lit.: one who, at bottom, is very smart.

Or, at least, on to the river.

A very grammatical half an hour, however.

Old shoes always turn up in the bottom of every wardrobe. If a mermaid had a wardrobe old shoes would turn up in the bottom of it.

Although, strictly speaking, humans feel it all the time.

PLUGGERS

They've Got Soles

FEEL THE NALES!

He'd still got the nugget somewhere.