Last Continent (14 page)

‘Ook?'

‘That means we must be a long way off the normal shipping . . . oh, no . . . don't . . .'

The Librarian wrinkled his nose desperately.

‘Quickly! Concentrate on having arms and legs! I mean living ones!'

The Librarian nodded miserably, and sneezed.

‘Awk?' he said, when his shape had settled down again.

‘Well,' said Ponder sadly. ‘At least you're animate. Possibly rather large for a penguin, though. I
think
it's your body's survival strategy. It keeps trying to find a stable shape that works.'

‘Awk?'

‘Funny it can't seem to do anything about the red hair . . .'

The Librarian glared at him, shuffled a little way along the beach, and sagged into a heap.

Ponder looked around the fire.
He
seemed to be the man on watch, if only because no one else intended to do it. Well, wasn't that a surprise.

Things twittered in the trees. Phosphorescence glimmered on the sea. The stars were coming out.

He looked up at the stars. At least you could depend—

And, suddenly, he saw what
else
was wrong.

‘Archchancellor!'

So how long have you been mad? No, not a good start, really . . . It was quite hard to know how to open the conversation.

‘So . . . I didn't expect dwarfs here,' Rincewind said.

‘Oh, the family blew in from NoThingfjord when I was a kid,' said Mad. ‘Meant to go down the coast a bit, storm got up, next thing we're shipwrecked and up to our knees in parrots. Best thing that could've happened. Back there I'd be down some freezing cold mine picking bits of rock out of the walls but, over here, a dwarf can stand tall.'

‘Really,' said Rincewind, his face carefully blank.

‘But not too bloody tall!' Mad went on.

‘Certainly not.'

‘So we settled down, and now my dad's
got a chain of bakeries in Bugarup.'

‘Dwarf bread?' said Rincewind.

‘Too right! That's what kept us going across thousands of miles of shark-infested ocean,' said Mad. ‘If we hadn't had that sack of dwarf bread we'd—'

‘—never have been able to club the sharks to death?' said Rincewind.

‘Ah, you're a man who knows your breads.'

‘Big place, Bugarup? Has it got a harbour?'

‘People say so. Never been back there. I like the outdoor life.'

The ground trembled. The trees by the track shook, even though there was no wind.

‘Sounds like a storm,' said Rincewind.

‘What's one of them?'

‘You know,' said Rincewind. ‘Rain.'

‘Aw, strain the flaming cows, you don't believe all
that
stuff, do you? My granddad used to go on about that when he'd been at the beer. It's just an old story. Water falling out of the sky? Do me a favour!'

‘It never does that here?'

‘Course not!'

‘Happens quite a lot where I come from,' said Rincewind.

‘Yeah? How's it get up into the sky, then? Water's heavy.'

‘Oh, it . . . it . . . I think the sun sucks it up. Or something.'

‘How?'

‘I don't know. It just happens.'

‘And then it drops out of the sky?'

‘Yes!'

‘For free?'

‘Haven't you ever
seen
rain?'

‘Look,
everyone
knows all the water's deep underground. That's only sense. It's heavy stuff, it leaks down. I never seen it floating around in the air, mate.'

‘Well, how do you think it got on the ground in the first place?'

Mad looked astonished. ‘How do mountains get on the ground?' he said.

‘What? They're just there!'

‘Oh, so
they
don't drop out of the sky?'

‘Of course not! They're much heavier than air!'

‘And water isn't? I've got a coupla drums of it under the cart and you'd sweat to lift 'em.'

‘Aren't there any rivers here?'

‘
Course
we've got rivers! This country's got everything, mate!'

‘Well, how do you think the water gets into them?'

Mad looked genuinely puzzled. ‘What'd we want water in the rivers for? What'd it do?'

‘Flow out to sea—'

‘Bloody waste! That's what you let it do where you come from, is it?'

‘You don't
let
it, it . . . happens . . . it's what rivers do!'

Mad gave Rincewind a long hard look. ‘Yep. And they call
me
mad,' he said.

Rincewind gave up. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. But the ground shook again.

* * *

Archchancellor Ridcully glared at the sky as if it was doing this to upset him personally.

‘What, not
one
?' he said.

‘Technically, not a single familiar constellation,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies frantically. ‘We've counted three thousand, one hundred and ninety-one constellations that
could
be called the Triangle, for example, but the Dean says some of them don't count because they use the same stars—'

‘There's not a single star
I
recognize,' said the Senior Wrangler.

Ridcully waved his hands in the air. ‘They change a
bit
all the time,' he said. ‘The Turtle swims through space and—'

‘Not this fast!' said the Dean.

The dishevelled wizards looked up at the rapidly crowding night.

Discworld constellations changed frequently as the world moved through the void, which meant that astrology was cutting-edge research rather than, as elsewhere, a clever way of avoiding a proper job. It was amazing how human traits and affairs could so reliably and continuously be guided by a succession of big balls of plasma billions of miles away, most of whom have never even heard of humanity.

‘We're marooned on some other world!' moaned the Senior Wrangler.

‘Er . . . I don't think so,' said Ponder.

‘You've got a better suggestion, I suppose?'

‘Er . . . you see that big patch of stars over there?'

The wizards looked at the large cluster twinkling near the horizon.

‘Very pretty,' said Ridcully. ‘Well?'

‘I think it's what
we
call the Small Boring Group of Faint Stars. It's about the right shape,' said Ponder. ‘And I know what you're going to say, sir, you're going to say, “But they're just a blob in the sky, not a patch on the blobs we used to get,” sir, but, you see, that's what they might have looked like when Great A'Tuin was much closer to them, thousands of years ago. In other words, sir,' Ponder drew a deep breath, in dread of everything that was to come, ‘I think we've travelled backwards in time. For thousands of years.'

And that was the other side of the odd thing about wizards. While they were quite capable of spending half an hour arguing that it could not possibly be Tuesday, they'd take the outrageous in their pointy-shoed stride. The Senior Wrangler even looked relieved.

‘Oh, is
that
it?' he said.

‘Bound to happen eventually,' said the Dean. ‘It's not written down anywhere that these holes connect to the same time, after all.'

‘Going to make gettin' back a bit tricky,' said Ridcully.

‘Er . . .' Ponder began. ‘It might not be so simple as that, Archchancellor.'

‘You mean as simple as finding a way to move through time and space?'

‘I mean there might not be any
there
to go back
to
,' said Ponder. He shut his eyes. This was going to be difficult, he
knew
it.

‘Of course there is,' said Ridcully. ‘We were there only this morn— Only yesterday. That is to say, yesterday thousands of years in the future, naturally.'

‘But if we're not careful we might alter the future, you see,' said Ponder. ‘The mere presence of us in the past might alter the future. We might
already
have altered history. It's vital that I tell you this.'

‘He's got a point, Ridcully,' said the Dean. ‘Was there any of that rum left, by the way?'

‘Well, there isn't any history happening here,' said Ridcully. ‘It's just an odd little island.'

‘I'm afraid tiny actions anywhere in the world may have huge ramifications, sir,' said Ponder.

‘We certainly don't want any ramifications. Well, what's your point? What do you advise?'

It had been going so well. They almost seemed up to speed. This may have been what caused Ponder to act like the man who, having so far fallen a hundred feet without any harm, believes that the last few inches to the ground will be a mere formality.

‘To use the classic metaphor, the important thing is not to kill your own grandfather,' he said, and smacked into the bedrock.

‘What the hell would I want to do that for?' said Ridcully. ‘I quite liked the old boy.'

‘No, of course, I mean accidentally,' said Ponder. ‘But in any case—'

‘Really? Well, as you know, I accidentally kill people every day,' said Ridcully. ‘Anyway, I don't see him around—'

‘It's just an illustration, sir. The problem is cause
and effect, and the point is—'

‘The point, Mister Stibbons, is that you suddenly seem to think everyone comes over all fratricidal when they go back in time. Now, if I'd met
my
grandfather I'd buy him a drink and tell him not to assume that snakes won't bite if you shout at them in a loud voice, information which he might come to thank me for in later life.'

‘Why?' said Ponder.

‘Because he would
have
some later life,' said Ridcully.

‘No, sir, no! That'd be worse than shooting him!'

‘It would?'

‘Yes, sir!'

‘I think there may be one or two steps in your logic that I have failed to grasp, Mister Stibbons,' said the Archchancellor coldly. ‘I suppose you're not intending to shoot your own grandfather, by any chance?'

‘Of course not!' snapped Ponder. ‘I don't even know what he looked like. He died before I was born.'

‘Ah-
hah
!'

‘I didn't mean—'

‘Look, we're a lot further back in time than that,' said the Dean. ‘Thousands of years, he says. No one's grandfather is alive.'

‘That's a lucky escape for Mister Stibbons senior, then,' said Ridcully.

‘
No
, sir,' said Ponder. ‘Please! What I was trying to get across, sir, is that
anything
you do in the past changes the future. The tiniest little actions can
have huge consequences. You might . . . tread on an ant now and it might entirely prevent someone from being born in the future!'

‘Really?' said Ridcully.

‘Yes, sir!'

Ridcully brightened up. ‘That's not a bad wheeze. There's one or two people history could do without. Any idea how we can find the right ants?'

‘No, sir!' Ponder struggled to find a crack in his Archchancellor's brain into which could be inserted the crowbar of understanding, and for a few vain seconds thought he had found one. ‘Because . . . the ant you tread on might be your own, sir!'

‘You mean . . . I might tread on an ant and this'd affect history and I wouldn't be born?'

‘Yes! Yes! That's
it
! That's
right
, sir!'

‘How?' Ridcully looked puzzled. ‘I'm not descended from ants.'

‘Because . . .' Ponder felt the sea of mutual incomprehension rising around him, but he refused to drown. ‘Well . . . er . . . well, supposing it . . . bit a man's horse, and he fell off, and he was carrying a very important message, and because he didn't get there in time there was a terrible battle, and one of your ancestors got killed – no, sorry, I mean didn't get killed—'

‘How did this ant get across the sea?' said Ridcully.

‘Clung to a piece of driftwood,' said the Dean promptly. ‘It's amazing what can get even on to remote islands by clinging to driftwood. Insects, lizards, even small mammals.'

‘And then got up the beach and all the way to
this battle?' said Ridcully.

‘Bird's leg,' said the Dean. ‘Read it in a book. Even fish eggs get transported from pond to pond on a bird's leg.'

‘Pretty determined ant, then, really,' said Ridcully, stroking his beard. ‘Still, I must admit stranger things have happened.'

‘Practically every day,' said the Senior Wrangler. Ponder beamed. They had successfully negotiated an extended metaphor.

‘Only one thing I don't understand, though,' Ridcully added. ‘
Who'll tread on the ant?
'

‘What?'

‘Well, it's obvious, isn't it?' said the Archchancellor. ‘If I tread on this ant, then
I
won't exist. But if I don't exist, then I can't have done it, so I won't, so I will. See?' He prodded Ponder with a large, good-natured finger. ‘You've got some brains, Mister Stibbons, but sometimes I wonder if you really try to apply logical thought to the subject in hand. Things that happen stay happened. It stands to reason. Oh, don't look so downcast,' he said, mistaking – possibly innocently – Ponder's expression of futile rage for shameful dismay. ‘If you get stuck with any of this compl'cated stuff, my door's always open.
¹⁴
I
am
your
Archchancellor, after all.'

‘Excuse me,
can
we tread on ants or not?' said the Senior Wrangler peevishly.

‘If you like.' Ridcully swelled with generosity. ‘Because, in fact, history already
depends
on your treading on any ants that you happen to step on. Any ants you tread on, you've already trodden on, so if you do it again it'll be for the first time, because you're doing it now because you did it then. Which is also now.'

‘Really?'