The Last Continent

Then at least he ought to be in the Year Book for the year he graduated.'

'It's a very funny thing,' said the Dean, 'but a freak accident appears to have happened to every single copy of the Year Book for that year.'

Ridcully noted his wooden expression. 'Would it be an accident like a particular page being torn out leaving only a lingering bananary aroma?'

'Lucky guess, Archchancellor.'

Ridcully scratched his chin. 'A pattern emerges,' he said.

'You see, he's always been dead set against anyone finding out his name,' said the Senior Wrangler. 'He's afraid we'll try to turn him back into a human.' He looked meaningfully at the Dean, who put on an offended expression. 'Some people have been going around saying that an ape as Librarian is unsuitable.'

'I merely expressed the view that it is against the traditions of the University—' the Dean began.

'Which consist largely of niggling, big dinners and shouting damnfool things about keys in the middle of the night,' said Ridcully. 'So I don't think we—'

The expressions on the faces of the other wizards made him turn around.

The Librarian had entered the hall. He walked very slowly, because of the amount of clothing he'd put on; the sheer volume of coats and sweaters meant that his arms, instead of being used as extra feet, were sticking out very nearly horizontally on either side of his body. But the most horrifying aspect of the shuffling apparition was the red woolly bat.

It was jolly. It had a bobble on it. It had been knitted by Mrs Whitlow, who was technically an extremely good needlewoman, but if she had a fault it lay in failing to take into account the precise dimensions of the intended recipient. Several wizards had on occasion been presented with one of her creations, which often assumed they had three ankles or a neck two metres across. Most of the things were surreptitiously given away to charitable institutions. You can say this about Ankh-Morpork – no matter how misshapen a garment, there will always be someone somewhere it would fit.

Mrs Whitlow's mistake here was the assumption that the Librarian, for whom she had considerable respect, would like a red bobble hat with side flaps that tied under his chin. Given that this would technically require that they be tied under his groin, he'd opted to let them flap loose.

He turned a sad face towards the wizards as he stopped outside the Library door. He reached for the handle. He said, in a very weak voice, ' 'k,' and then sneezed.

The pile of clothing settled. When the wizards pulled it away, they found underneath a very large, thick book bound in hairy red leather.

'Says Ook on the cover,' said the Senior Wrangler after a while, in a rather strained voice.

'Does it say who it's by?' said the Dean.

'Bad taste, that man.'

'I meant that maybe it'd be his real name.'

'Can we look inside?' said the Chair oi Indefinite Studies. 'There may be an index.'

'Any volunteers to look inside the Librarian?' said Ridcully. 'Don't all shout.'

'The morphic instability responds to the environment,' said Ponder. 'Isn't that interesting? He's near the Library, so it turns him into a book. Sort of... protective camouflage, you could say. It's as if he evolves to fit in with—'

'Thank you, Mister Stibbons. And is there a point to this?'

'Well, I assume we can look inside,' said Ponder. 'A book is meant to be opened. There's even a black leather bookmark, see?'

'Oh, that's a bookmark, is it?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, who had been watching it nervously.

Ponder touched the book. It was warm. And it opened easily enough.

Every page was covered with 'ook'.

'Good dialogue, but the plot is a little dull.'

'Dean! I'd be obliged if you'd take this seriously, please!' said Ridcully. He tapped his foot once or twice. 'Anyone got any more ideas?'

The wizards stared at one another and shrugged.

'I suppose...' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

'Yes, Runes... Arnold, isn't it?'

'No, Archchancellor...'

'Well, out with it anyway.'

'I suppose... I know this sounds ridiculous, but...'

'Go on, man. We're almost all agog.'

'I suppose there's always... Rincewind.'

Ridcully stared at him for a moment. 'Skinny fella? Scruffy beard? Bloody useless wizard? Got that box on legs thingy?'

'That's right, Archchancellor. Well done. Er... he was the Deputy Librarian for a while, as I expect you remember.'

'Not really, but do go on,' he said.

'In fact he was here when the Librarian... became the Librarian. And I remember once, when we were watching the Librarian stamping four books all at the same time, he said, "Amazing, really, when you think he was born in Ankh-Morpork." I'm sure if anyone knows the name of the Librarian it's Rincewind.'

'Well, go and fetch him, then! I suppose you do know where he is, do you?'

'Technically, yes, Archchancellor,' said Ponder quickly. 'But we're not sure quite where the place where he is is, if you follow me.'

Ridcully gave him another stare.

'You see, we think he's on EcksEcksEcksEcks, Archchancellor,' said Ponder.