Unseen Academicals (46 page)

‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Rincewind. ‘Is it true that some of the men in Ankh-Morpork United are just a bunch of thugs from the Shove?’

‘That might be a bit harsh,’ Ridcully began.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Trev, ‘that is quite true. I would say about half of them are honest cloggers and the rest of them are bastards.’

‘Well, I’m sure we will overcome,’ said Ridcully jovially.

‘I would also like to make a few comments before we leave, sir,’ said Nutt. ‘A few words of advice, perhaps? In these few days I have taught you everything I know, even if I do not know how I know it. As you know, I am an orc and whatever else we were, we were team players. You are playing, therefore, not as individuals, but as a team. I think it was Von Haudenbrau who said—’

‘I don’t think we’ve got very much time to get through the crowds,’ said Ridcully, who had been expecting this. ‘Thank you, Mister Nutt, but I really think we ought to get going.’

Those watching from above would have seen the cramped streets of the city waver as the red caterpillar that was the Unseen Academicals made its way to the ground. There were cheers and there were boos and because this was Ankh-Morpork, usually the cheers and the booing were done alternately by everyone concerned.

By the time Lance-Constable Bluejohn of the Watch and two other trolls had forcibly prised open the gates against the pressure of bodies, the noise was just one great hammer of sound. The troll officers opened a path for them with the forethought and delicacy that has made police crowd control such a byword. It led to a fenced-off and heavily guarded area, in the centre of which was the Archchancellor formerly known as Dean, the entire team of Ankh-Morpork United and His Grace the Duke of Ankh, Commander of the City Watch, Sir Samuel Vimes, with a face like a bad lunch. ‘What the hell are you clowns proposing to do to my city?’ he demanded and looked up at Vetinari in his box in the middle of the stand. He raised his voice. ‘I’ve been grafting like mad this last month on getting the KV Accord sorted out and it turns out that just when the dwarfs and the trolls are shaking hands and being jolly good pals, you lot are starting another KV of your very own.’

‘Oh, come now, Sam,’ said Ridcully. ‘It’s only a jolly day out.’

‘People are queueing up at the gates,’ said Vimes. ‘The
actual
city gates. How much of this is magical?’

‘None, Sam, as far as we’re aware. There will be no magic used during the game, this has been discussed and agreed and the D—’ Ridcully swallowed hard. ‘The Archchancellor of Brazeneck University is making himself responsible for thaumic damping of the stadium.’

‘Then let me tell you this,’ said the commander. ‘None of my men will set a foot on the field of play, no matter what happens. Do I make myself clear?’

‘As crystal, Sam.’

‘Sorry, Archchancellor, for now I am Commander of the City Watch, not Sam, if it’s all the same to you,’ said Vimes. ‘The whole damn city is an accident waiting to—no, an accident that already has happened and
anything that goes bad will get worse very quickly. I’m not going to have it said that the Watch were the problem. Honestly, Mustrum, I really would have expected better from you.’

‘That will be Archchancellor,’ said Ridcully coldly.

‘As far as I’m concerned,’ said Vimes, ‘this is a scuffle between rival gangs. Do you know what my job is, Archchancellor? It’s to keep the peace, and for two pins, I’d arrest the whole boiling of ya, but his lordship won’t have it.’

Ridcully coughed. ‘May I extend my congratulations, sir, on the very good work you have been doing in Koom Valley.’

‘Thank you,’ said Vimes. ‘And so I suspect you can imagine how cheerful I am to see you involved in another kind of war.’ The commander turned to Archchancellor Henry. ‘Nice to see you again, sir,
*
it’s good to see that you’ve moved up in the world. I’m formally telling you that I am laying down the law, here, and as the referee, you have to pick it up. Inside these lines it’s football–step over the line and it’s me.’ He turned back to Ridcully. ‘Mind how you go, Archchancellor.’

He departed, watchmen falling into place behind him.

‘Well, now, I suspect the good commander has a lot on his mind these days,’ said Archchancellor Henry, brightly. He pulled out his watch. ‘I would like to speak to the team captains.’

‘Well, I know I’m one of them,’ said Ridcully.

A man stepped forward from the ranks of United.

‘Joseph Hoggett, of the Pork Packers, as it happens. Captain, for my sins.’

Hoggett held out his hand to Ridcully and, to his credit, hardly winced when it was taken in a firm handshake.

‘Well, gentlemen,’ said the former Dean. ‘I am sure you know the rules, we’ve been through them often enough. I want a good clean game. One long, er, peep from my whistle means that I am interrupting play for an infringement or injury or for some other reason at that
point known only to myself. One even longer peep, which I suppose will be more of a parrp, will mean the end of one half and time for refreshment, after which the game will recommence. During the interval, I believe that there will be a marching display by the Ankh-Morpork accordion band, but I suppose these things are sent to try us. May I remind you gentlemen that you change ends at the half-time. Also, please impress on your team that the goal they are aiming for should not be behind them. If I see any serious infringement, that player will be removed from the pitch. A considerably longer parrp, which as far as I am concerned will continue until I am out of breath, will mark the end of the game. May I also remind you, as Commander Vimes has reminded us, that within these four, rather sticky lines of chalk, I am a wielder of power second only to the gods themselves, and then only perhaps. If at any time it becomes clear that the rules themselves are impractical, I will change them. When I blow the whistle, I shall raise my staff and unleash a spell which will prevent any further magic being used within these hallowed lines until the close of play. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Mr Hoggett.

‘Mustrum?’ said the former Dean, in a meaningful voice.

‘Yes, yes, all right,’ grumbled Ridcully. ‘You are making the most of your little moment, aren’t you? Let’s get on with it, shall we?’

‘Gentlemen, would you please form up your teams for the singing of the National Anthem. Mister Stibbons, I believe you have found me a megaphone, thank you very much.’ He raised the horn to his lips and shouted through it, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, be upstanding for the National Anthem.’

The singing of the National Anthem was always a ragged affair, the good people of Ankh-Morpork feeling that it was unpatriotic to sing songs about how patriotic you were, taking the view that someone singing a song about how patriotic they were was either up to something or a Head of State.
*

An additional problem today lay in the acoustics of the arena, which were rather too good, coupled with the fact that the speed of sound at one end of the stadium was slightly off beat compared with the other end, a drawback exacerbated when both sides tried to recover the gap.

These acoustical anomalies did not count for much if you were standing next to Mustrum Ridcully, as the Archchancellor was one of those gentlemen who will sing it beautifully, correctly enunciated and very, very loudly.

‘“When dragons belch and hippos flee, my thoughts, Ankh-Morpork, are of thee,”’ he began.

Trev noticed, to his surprise, that Nutt was standing stiffly to attention. His own mouth operating on automatic, he looked along the massed rank of Ankh-Morpork United. About fifty-fifty, he thought. Half of them decent old cloggers and half of them Andy and his chums. His gaze lighted on Andy just as he thought that and Andy flashed him a little smile and pointed a finger briefly. But I’m not playing, Trev thought, because of my old mum. He glanced down at the palm of his hand, no star there, he was sure of that. Anyway, he thought, staring at the opponents, when it all goes bad the referee is a wizard, after all.

‘“Let others boast of martial dash, for we have boldly fought with cash,”’ roared the crowd at various pitches and speeds.

I mean, Trev thought, he wouldn’t switch off his own magic, would he?

‘“We own all your helmets, we own all your shoes.”’

I mean, he really wouldn’t do that, would he? The only person who could stop it if it all went wrong wouldn’t have made a mistake like that?

‘“We own all your generals–touch us and you’ll lose.”’

Yes, he has done! He has done just that!

‘“Morporkia! Morporkia! Morporkia owns the day,”’ Trev shouted to quell his own rising panic. He has done that, we all saw him! He’s kept his own staff inside the field where you can’t do magic. He looked at Andy and Andy nodded. Yes, he had worked it out as well.

‘“We can rule you wholesale. Touch us and you’ll pay.”’

It is considered in the Sto Plains that only scoundrels know the second verse of their national anthem, since anyone spending time memorizing that would be up to no good purpose. The Ankh-Morpork national anthem, therefore, had a second verse that was deliberately written as
ner ner ners
and the occasional coherent word desperately trying to stay afloat, on the basis that this is how it would sound in any case. Trev listened to it with even more agony than usual.

But everyone joined in cheerful unison for the last line, which everybody knew, ‘“We can rule you wholesale, credit where it’s due.”’

Glenda, one arm as far across her bosom as it would go, risked a look at what would still probably be called the Royal Box, just as Vetinari raised the gold-ish coloured urn and a cheer went up. Ankh-Morpork was not particularly keen on cheering the Patrician but it would cheer money any day of the week. Yet it seemed to Glenda that there was some strange harmonic to the cheer, coming up from under the ground itself, as if the place was one huge mouth…Then the feeling went away. And the day came back.

‘Gentlemen? Team players to their places,’ said the Archchancellor of Brazeneck, haughtily.

‘Er, can I have a word with you, sir?’ said Trev, sidling up as quickly as possible.

‘Ah, yes. Dave Likely’s boy,’ said the former Dean. ‘We are about to play football, Mister Likely, I’m sure you’ve noticed.’

‘Yes, sir, well, er, but…’

‘Do you know of any good reason why I should hold up the game?’ the referee demanded.

Trev gave up.

Henry produced a coin from his waistcoat pocket. ‘Mustrum?’ he said.

‘Heads,’ said the Archchancellor, and he turned out to be wrong.

‘Very well, Mister Hoggett…and who has the ball?’

Gloing! Gloing!

Nutt picked the ball out of the air and handed it over. ‘Me, sir.’

‘Ah, you are the coach for the Academicals.’

‘Yes, but a player as well should it become necessary.’

‘Gentlemen, you will see that I am placing the ball in the centre of the pitch.’ It’s true that the Archchancellor formerly known as Dean did rather relish the occasion. He took a few steps back, paused for dramatic effect, produced a whistle from his pocket and flourished it. He gave a blow that only a man of that size could give; his face began to twitch and go red. He raised his megaphone to his lips and shouted, ‘ANY BOY WHO HAS NOT BROUGHT HIS KIT WILL PLAY IN HIS PANTS!’ followed by Ponder Stibbons shouting, ‘I want to know who gave that to him!’

The crowd roared and you could hear the laugh going away in the distance, rolling down the streets as every listener in the crowded city passed it on, bringing back such memories that at least two people started to forge letters from their mother.

In his goal, the Librarian swung himself to the top of his posts to get a better look. In his goal, Charlie Barton, goalkeeper for United, methodically lit his pipe. And the man with the biggest problem within the ground that day apart possibly from Trev, was the editor of the
Times
, Mr William de Worde, who had not trusted any underling with the reporting of this unique, most prestigious occasion, but wasn’t at all sure how it should be done.

At the whistle, he’d managed:

A megaphone, thought de Worde, that’s what I need, an extremely big megaphone so I can tell everyone what’s going on.