Havelock, Lord Vetinari, ever careful to provide enrichment for people.
There was a crash from above. A chaise-longue cantered down the stairs and smashed through the hall door.
‘I think perhaps the guards are still trying to free the Patrician,’ said the High Priest.
‘Apparently even his secret passages locked themselves.’
‘All of them? I thought the sly devil had ’em everywhere,’ said Ridcully.
‘All locked,’ said the High Priest. ‘All of them.’
‘Almost all of them,’ said a voice behind him. Ridcully’s tones did not change as he turned around, except that a slight extra syrup was added.
A figure had apparently stepped out of the wall. It was human, but only by default. Thin, pale, and clad all in dusty black, the Patrician always put Ridcully in mind of a predatory flamingo, if you could find a flamingo that was black and had the patience of a rock.
‘Ah, Lord Vetinari,’ he said,
‘I am so glad you are unhurt.’
‘I will see you gentleman in the Oblong Office,’ said the Patrician. Behind him, a panel in the wall slid back noiselessly.
‘I, um, I believe there are a number of guards upstairs trying to free—’ the Chief Priest began.
The Patrician waved a thin hand at him. ‘I wouldn’t dream of stopping them,’ he said. ‘It gives them something to do and makes them feel important. Otherwise they just have to stand around all day looking fierce and controlling their bladders. Come this way.’
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I am not that thrilled about the football plot of Unseen Academicals, but there are so many gems in the book. Here we have Lord Veterinary 🤣 who did his homework on the subject at hand so well that it makes everybody speechless (no news), and the last part is just... glorious.
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At which point someone tried to slap Vetinari on the back. It happened with remarkable speed and ended possibly even faster than it began, with Vetinari still seated in his chair with his beer mug in one hand and the man’s wrist gripped tightly at head height. He let go and said, ‘Can I help you, sir?’
‘You’re that Lord Veterinary, ain’t ya? I seed you on them postage stamps.’
Ridcully glanced up. Some of Lord Vetinari’s clerks were briskly heading towards them, along with some of the slurred speaker’s friends, who could be defined at this point as people who were slightly more sober than he was and right now were sobering up very, very fast, because when you have just slapped a tyrant on the back you need all the friends you can get. Vetinari nodded at his gentlemen, who evaporated back into the crowd, and then he snapped his fingers at one of the waiters.
‘A chair here, please, for my new friend.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Ridcully, as a chair was pushed under the man who, by happy coincidence, was falling backwards in any case.
‘I mean,’ said the man, ‘everary one saysh you’re a bit of a wnacker, but I saysh you’re awright over thish football fing. ’Sno future in jus’ shlogging away. I should know, I got kicked inna head quite a few times.’
‘Really?’ said Lord Vetinari.
‘And what is your name?’
‘Swithin, shir,’ said the man.
‘Any other name, by any chance?’ said Vetinari.
‘Dustworthy,’ he said. He raised a finger in a kind of salute. ‘Captain, the Cockbill Boars.’
‘Ah, you aren’t having a good season,’ said Vetinari. ‘You need fresh blood in the squad, especially since Jimmy Wilkins got put into the Tanty after eating someone’s nose. Naphill walked all over you because you lost your backbone when both of the Pinchpenny brothers were taken to the Lady Sybil, and you’ve been stuck down in the mud for three seasons. Okay, everyone says that Harry Capstick is making a very good showing since you bought him from Treacle Mine Tuesday for two crates of Winkle’s Old Peculiar and a sack of pork scratchings, which is not bad for a man with a wooden leg, but there’s never anyone in support.’
A circle of silence spread outwards from Vetinari and the swaying Swithin. Ridcully’s mouth had dropped open and Henry’s brandy glass remained half empty, an unusual occurrence for a glass that’s been in the hands of a wizard for more than fifteen seconds.
‘Also, I’m hearing that your pies are leaving a lot to be desired, such as dead, cooked, organic content,’ continued Vetinari. ‘Can’t get the Shove behind you when the pies are seen to walk about.’
‘My ladsh,’ said Swithin, ‘are the besht there ish. It’sh not their fault they’re up againsht better people. They never getsh a chance to play shomeone they can beat. They alwaysh gives it one hundred and twenty pershent and you can’t give more than that. Anyhow, how come you know all this shtuff ? It’s not like we’re big in the league.’
‘Oh, I take an interest,’ said Vetinari. ‘I believe that football is a lot like life.’
‘There ish that, shir, there ish that. You does your besht and then shomeone kicksh you inna fork.’
‘Then I strongly advise you to take an interest in our new football,’ said Vetinari, ‘which will be about speed, skill and thinking.’
‘Oh, yeah, right, I can do all them,’ said Swithin, at which point he fell off his chair.
‘Does this poor man have any friends here?’ said Vetinari, turning to the crowd.
There was some diffidence among them concerning whether or not it was a good idea to be friends with Swithin at this point.
Vetinari raised his voice: ‘I would just like a couple of people to take him back to his home. I would like them to put him to bed and see that no trouble comes to him. Perhaps they ought to stay with him until morning too, because he just might try to commit suicide when he wakes up.’
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Night poured over the desert. It came suddenly, in purple. In the clear air, the stars drilled down out of the sky, reminding any thoughtful watcher that it is in the deserts and high places that religions are generated. When men see nothing but bottomless infinity over their heads, they have always had a driving and desperate urge to find someone to put in the way.
Jingo, Terry Pratchett
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