The Science of Discworld IV Judgement Da

ELEVEN



* * *



A VERY INTERESTING CASE





Mustrum looked at Miss Daw with a slightly sorry expression, which burst into a smile. ‘Going home, then? Well now, isn’t that good news? I’m sure your people there will be wondering what has happened to you, though of course you needn’t worry – we can put you back right at the point where and when you left. Such a pity you couldn’t stay longer; it is always useful to talk to somebody who knows how to talk.’ Ridcully sighed. ‘It isn’t easy being Archchancellor. Very few people will talk to you as if you are a human as opposed to a very large hat; you just have to hope that there is somebody ready and willing to tell you when you are making a bloody fool of yourself.’

He sighed again, and Marjorie said, ‘Would you mind if I stayed a little longer, then? I mean, if you can send me back home as if this never happened, well, it’s a long time since I’ve had a holiday, and I’m fascinated by what is happening here. After all, it appears that there is going to be a major court case to see who owns my planet. So excuse me if I demand a ringside seat, since I am a sitting tenant, as it were. I could earn my keep too; although I say it myself, I am well versed in all aspects of library practice. But really, surely some representative of the population of the world in question should in all fairness be allowed to at least follow the proceedings.’

Ponder Stibbons glanced at the Archchancellor and said, ‘She might have to wear a beard, Archchancellor; it is laid down by statute.’ The air thickened a little, and he kept a weather eye on Ridcully’s face.

Slowly the Archchancellor said, turning over every letter like some delicate and precious thing, ‘It would seem, Mister Stibbons, that you have forgotten … the codicil.’

‘The codicil, Archchancellor?’

‘Yes, Mister Stibbons, the codicil which directs that the sex of a librarian is immaterial.’

Theoretically, Ponder Stibbons was at this point treading on dangerous ground, were it not for the fact that he had both tenure and an encyclopaedic knowledge of the university that was second to none. And so he theoretically girded his theoretical loins and said, ‘Archchancellor, there is no such codicil. Believe me, sir, I am aware of all relevant university statutes and guidelines.’

He was expecting a certain amount of noise about this and had stepped back a little before Mustrum Ridcully beamed at him and said, ‘My dear boy, there is a de facto codicil; surely if an orangutan – albeit one who has travelled through humanity on his way to a higher calling – can be our Librarian, and indeed the best librarian we have ever had apart from being the cheapest to feed, then a librarian who is also a lady can certainly work in our library beardless! After all, the convention that you do not need to be a human male to be a librarian is there in place irrevocably.’

After the thunder had died away, Marjorie said, as cheerfully as possible, ‘Is it true you have an orangutan librarian? I knew it! I’ve seen him before – and so have others, although it is seldom openly discussed, just in case. The first time was when I had to go down to the stacks, and he must have been surprised because he handed me a fresh banana skin and disappeared. The head librarian told me not to mention it to younger librarians, and whispered, “You are lucky if it happens once in a lifetime.” And the second time—’

‘Twice in a lifetime, Miss Daw?’ Ridcully beamed. ‘Let us make it three. I’ll take you to meet him shortly, but first, alas, I must go and have a chat with Mister Slant, who is our lawyer. I can hardly wait! The game is afoot! Yes, Mister Stibbons, you have a point?’

‘I do, Archchancellor. In a case like this I am sure that Lord Vetinari himself will want to be the adjudicator, to ensure fairness.’

‘What! But we made the Roundworld; it belongs to us as it is our creature. It’s not as if we just pulled it out of the air …’

Ponder fell on that statement like a chess player taking the opponent’s Queen. ‘But pulling it out of the air was exactly what we did, Archchancellor. Exactly! You could say that it was immanent in the air, but whose imminence? It’s going to be a very interesting case …’

‘This is a very interesting case,’ said Mister Slant, the foremost lawyer in Ankh-Morpork, and indeed the most dead – at least, the most dead person who could tell you that he was dead. He rustled the papers in front of him, or possibly – since Mister Slant was the hardest-working zombie in Ankh-Morpork – they were his hands. He looked over the table at Ridcully and his face looked … well, grave … and his voice crackled; regrettably, there was no other way of putting it.

‘You see, Archchancellor, this isn’t just a squabble over a horse or a house; it goes beyond the occult into unknown regions – expensive regions. I am aware that the Church of the Latter-Day Omnians is seeking support from other religious groups, and it is no secret that some of them don’t have all that much love for wizardry; they think of it as trespassing.’

Ridcully was outraged. ‘Trespass!?’

Mister Slant gave a chuckle, which ended, as ever, as a crackle. ‘If I judge the temperature in the ecclesiastical circles, they find the Omnians dangerously old-fashioned and lacking any understanding of compromise; in short, the Omnians simply know they are right – and that, Archchancellor, is that. Incidentally, I heard this afternoon that Lord Vetinari is prepared to take this case under his wing, as he is the highest temporal power, which means that his word will be law.’ He crackled through the papers on his desk again. ‘Ah, he can find time on Thursday.’

The next day, Marjorie Daw was awakened by Mrs Whitlow with a bowl of bowel-scouring muesli, a teapot full of Earl Green tea, two hard-boiled eggs, and a copy of what turned out to be the Ankh-Morpork Times. On the front page, in big letters, was the headline: THE CHALLENGE OF ROUND WORLD. There was of course also an editorial, but like so many scribblings of that ilk it soft-pedalled when talking about things like faith and gods; it chose instead to hurry hastily towards such anodyne old favourites like seeing everybody’s point of view, since religion was clearly a source of comfort for many people, and without respect for the other’s point of view there can be no debate.

She called it vamp-till-ready journalism, hanging back until the public position was overwhelming; in that way, nobody would get into trouble with the public, or have nasty letters in their in-tray. What the editor called Vox Populari was a lot of fun, however, certainly for those who got their fun by looking sideways at the world. The wizards’ absolute determination not to turn over Roundworld to the Omnians was causing people to think, sometimes without adequate equipment, which was signalled by such phrases as ‘I reckon’.

Marjorie was of the opinion, after years of working in libraries, that any philosophical remark that begins with ‘I reckon’ was probably unlikely to come up with a world-shattering insight or even a new un-shattered one.

She couldn’t help it; she had three degrees, a doctorate and could think in Greek – an excellent language for dealing with ideas. Latin, she thought, was … well, quite useful; but Greek had that extra je ne sais quoi, and so did French, when you came to think about it. So while you were thinking that you could be entertaining seditious arguments against democracy, she couldn’t help sometimes finding herself annoyed that the system allowed the deliberations of somebody who explored a great deal of the background of the talking point in question to have the same value as that of a man who buys his newspapers because they have naked women in them.

She’d had many arguments with her mother about that, and her mother had taken the view that it all worked out in the end, pointing out that some of the most renowned and intelligent people could be guilty of the most stupid and even homicidally dangerous ideas. She said that stupid clever people do much more damage than stupid untutored morons.

Marjorie tossed the paper away and there was a knock, a nervous one. She opened the door to see the wizard known as Rincewind; he was dwarfed by an orangutan – a large one, but a very amiable-looking one who knuckled his way into the room.

Rincewind said, ‘Excuse me, miss; the Archchancellor would like you to meet the Librarian. He used to be as human as you or me but now, after a bit of an accident in the library, he is … more so, if you see what I mean … You don’t look surprised?’

‘You know, Mister Rincewind, I am not surprised, not really. We librarians don’t often talk about it, of course, but everybody knows about the banana skins that turn up overnight when a book you desperately need is found exactly where it ought to be, even though you might swear that place had been empty for months. We all have experience – we know he’s out there; sometimes upside down. I personally have already briefly met the gentleman on two previous occasions.’

She held out her hand to the Librarian; it felt like shaking hands with a delicate ladies’ glove. He winked at her, then Rincewind broke the spell by saying, ‘He will understand everything you say. After a while you find yourself knowing what he is saying; it sort of seeps in … what’s the word?’

‘Osmosis,’ said Marjorie without thinking, and she was rewarded with a very large ‘Ook!’

‘The Archchancellor has decreed that you have the run of our library, which of course holds a copy of every book ever written since the concept of writing began. You might like the contents of the library of Alexandria – we got everything out while it was burning – and … let me see, yes – the library of Atlantis. There weren’t any humans there, of course, but the Librarian – with help from friends – has deciphered the language of a most sapient species of lobster-like creatures that wrote on stone slabs about the creation of the world. It is just a shame that they were so tasty.’

Marjorie stood with her mouth open while Rincewind chattered on, ‘The Archchancellor told me you might like to see around while everybody is getting ready for the case on Thursday; it’s the talk of the city! So now, a grand tour of the Library. Strictly speaking, it should take more than one million billion years, but we can take short cuts.’

In fact, Marjorie didn’t get back until dinner time on Wednesday – sated of books, but not so much that she wouldn’t have wanted another foray the following day. There would be no chance of that, however; the day was going to be tied up with lawyers.

The Archchancellor had agreed with her request to be in the law chamber, but since she was in Discworld by accident her origins would not be mentioned, just in case; and in whose case it was, she didn’t know.

But nobody said she couldn’t talk, or watch the case like a hawk, moreover like a hawk with extremely acute eyesight. She had found time from gloating over the books to read the papers, and it seemed that most of the population weren’t really interested in the outcome at all or even aware of the stakes.

They were much more interested in the fight.