small clearing. Dozens of the little green shoots hung down between its tiny leaves. Each was tipped by a flower, but the flowers were curling up and falling off. The crop was ripe.
Multi-coloured beetles zoomed away from the bush as the Dean selected a pod and peeled it open, revealing a slightly damp white cylinder. He examined it for a few seconds, then put one end in his mouth, took a box of matches from a pocket in his hat, and lit up.
âQuite a smooth smoke,â he said. His hand shook slightly as he took the cigarette out of his mouth and blew a smoke ring. âCork filter, too,â he said.
âEr . . . well, both tobacco and cork are naturally occurring vegetable products,â quavered the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
âChair?â said Ridcully.
âYes, Archchancellor?â
âShut up, will you?â
âYes, Archchancellor.â
Ponder Stibbons broke open a cork tip. There was a tiny ring of what well might have beenâ
âSeeds,â he said. âBut that canât be right, becauseââ
The Dean, wreathed in blue smoke, had been staring at the nearby vines.
âHas it occurred to anyone else that those pods are remarkably rectangular?â he said.
âGo for it, Dean,â said Ridcully.
A brown outer husk was pulled aside.
âAh,â said the Dean. âBiscuits. Just the thing with cheese.â
âEr . . .â said Ponder. He pointed.
Just beyond the bush a couple of boots lay on the ground.
Rincewind ran his fingers over the cave wall.
The ground shook again.
âWhatâs causing that?â he said.
âOh, some people say itâs an earthquake, some say itâs the country drying up, others say itâs a giantsnake rushing through the ground,â said Scrappy.
âWhich is it?â
âThe wrong sort of question.â
They definitely looked like wizards, thought Rincewind. They had that basic cone shape familiar to anyone who had been to Unseen University. They were holding staffs. Even with the crude materials available to them the ancient artists had managed to portray the knobs on the ends.
But UU hadnât even existed thirty thousand years ago . . .
Then he noticed, for the first time, the drawing right at the end of the cave. There were a lot of the ochre handprints on top of it, almost â and the thought expanded in his mind in a sneaky way â as though someone had thought that they could hold it down on to the rock, prevent it â this was a silly thought, he knew â prevent it from getting out .
He brushed away some dust.
âOh, no ,â he mumbled.
It was an oblong box. The artist hadnât got the hang of conventional perspective, but there was no doubt that heâd tried to paint hundreds of little legs.
âThatâs my Luggage!â
âAlways the same, right?â said Scrappy, behind him. âYou arrive okay and your luggage ends up somewhere else.â
âThousands of years in the past?â
âCould be a valuable antique.â
âItâs got my clothes in it!â
âTheyâll probably be back in style, then.â
âYou donât understand! Itâs a magical box! Itâs supposed to end up where I am!â
âIt probably is where you are. Just not when.â
âWhat? Oh.â
âI told you time and space were all stirred up, didnât I? You wait till youâre on your journey. Thereâs places where thereâs several times happening at once and places where thereâs hardly any time at all, and times when thereâs hardly any place. Youâve got to sort it out, right?â
âWhat, like shuffling cards?â said Rincewind. He made a mental note about âon your journeyâ.
âYep.â
âThatâs impossible!â
âYâknow, Iâd have said so too. But you will do it. Now, youâll have to concentrate about this bit, right?â
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