Tales from the Guilds Ch. 10

The Senior Wrangler's hands shook with nervousness. Ever since the glorious day he had glimpsed Mrs. Whitlow's dress dummy through an open door he had harbored fantasies about her that he couldn't articulate. Through the difficult time when the Senior Faculty had slipped through a Door that took them thousands of years into the past and thousands of miles to the XXXX continent and then finally back via sailing ship to Ankh-Morpork, the very possibility of being in close proximity to the Housekeeper was enough to make him shake. Now, there was a possibility that his longings might have a chance of being requited.

It had begun, he thought, some decades back when that amazing little girl, Eskarina Smith, had essentially forced her way into Unseen University. Unlikely as it seemed at the time, she had begun as a downstairs maid. But then, through a series of impossibly unlikely events, the girl had managed to demonstrate that she was fully capable of mastering the kind of magic hitherto thought only possible to men. She'd graduated, enrolled in graduate studies, attained the degree of DM and then disappeared. That should, the Senior Wrangler thought, have been the end of it. But he was wrong. Now, Phoebe Emergent-Weatherwax, D. Thau., DM, was a member of the faculty and, against all probability, she was marrying Jeremy Barcbeadle, D. Thau., D.M., D.S., B.El.L., and doing it with the Archchancellor's approval!

Precedent. That's what the Lore was all about. If it hadn't been done in the past it wasn't supposed to be done. But if it was, it could be done again. Now the Lore was on the cusp of allowing wizards to not only marry, but remain on faculty after they did. It was a Disc shaking development and one that the faculty either ignored, absently accepted or worried about depending on the nature of the Wizard. The Senior Wrangler was a worrier by inclination but because of his obsession with Mrs. Whitlow was of two minds. Should he worry or try to take advantage of the evident new order? In response, he did both. Having no experience in such matters and being too unsure of himself to ask his equally inexperienced colleagues, the Senior Wrangler did what any sensible Wizard would do. He went to the Library.

Knowledge=Power=Energy=Mass. Mass has gravity and enough of it warps space time. Unseen University's Library contains a thousand years (and 90,00o books) of powerful magical knowledge and so warps the space time around it that though it has a diameter of only a hundred yards, its interior radius is near infinite. Within lies every book ever written, every book ever contemplated and every book that could be. To the Senior Wrangler's surprise, an astounding number of them were written on the subject of attracting the attention and affection of the opposite sex. And most seemed to suggest that flowers made an excellent opening gambit. He certainly hoped they were right as he anxiously carried a bouquet of orchids down the hall to Mrs. Whitlow's quarters.

*****

'Holes' have been a magical phenomenon at Unseen for centuries occurring sporadically and eventually fading away. They seemed to connect two different points in the Multiverse's space time and each time one opened up, the younger Wizards became excited with their potential. Sadly, the total inability to control them always resulted in disappointment and occasionally in hysterics. This was, it had to be admitted, better than catastrophe but hardly merited them being potential objects of study. The negative attitude changed with the discovery that the previous Egregious Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography had managed to turn one into a Door leading onto a tropical island. There he spent Ankh-Morpork's miserable winters while the rest of his colleagues froze. When Ponder Stibbons, at the Archchancellor's insistence, turned the immense calculating power of Hex on the problem, steerable 'holes' were soon highly valued perks of faculty membership. Naturally, the Archchancellor got first dibs and opened a Doorway from his quarters onto a mile of virgin chalk stream where he happily spent his time casting trout flies and bringing the results to the kitchen.

Most of the faculty, however, followed the late professor's leadership and preferred palm covered islands surrounded by atolls and crystal lagoons—and, incidentally, covered in orchids. Naturally, the worse the weather outside UU, the more likely that the Wizards would be basking in warm sunshine and consuming vast quantities of fruit flavored rum drinks. Today was no different.

"So the Archchancellor has agreed to give you away and his brother will perform the ceremony?" Jeremy asked Phoebe, as they sat watching a spectacular sunset from a black sand beach.

"Oh, yes. And Mrs. Whitlow has already designed my gown and is industrially stitching away. Have you found a best man?"

"No," Jeremy replied with a wink, "I've decided on a best ape."

"Ook," replied the Librarian placing his hand across his chest and bowing slightly before helping himself to another banana. The Librarian was thrilled at the idea. It meant he could kiss the bridesmaids and they weren't allowed to run away. He had laid aside vast quantities of Grabpot Thundergust's pomade ("The Thaumaturge's Choice") just for the occasion.

"But if Mr. Librarian is your best ape, who will play the organ?"

Jeremy smiled. "I had a spot of good luck with that. The Archchancellor mentioned the issue to Commander Vimes and Lady Sybil graciously arranged for a pair of young goblin musical geniuses to take the Librarian's place at the console. They've even written an original score for the event. And did you know the Patrician is coming? Why, I believe he's even bringing Lady Margolotta. It will be the social event of the year!"

Phoebe blushed with pleasure. Never in all her wildest daydreams could she have imagined a life like this. She'd come to the Big Wahoonie from Lancre hoping against hope for a more interesting life than that of an upstairs maid in Lancre castle. And now here she was, only the second woman in the Disc's long history to attain the ranks of Wizardry and about to be a bride. She kept pinching herself to make sure it wasn't a dream.

*****

One good thing about a big bouquet is that if you aren't too terribly large, you can proffer it while hiding behind it. That was exactly the approach the Senior Wrangler took. Knocking timidly on Mrs. Whitlow's door, he stood quaking in his pointy toed shoes until she opened it and then thrust it forward in near panic.

Mrs. Whitlow blinked in surprise and then parted the blooms to see who was behind them.

Completely forgetting to attempt an upper class accent she beamed and said, "Why Senior Wrangler, 'ese is loverly! Wherever did you get 'm?"

Nearly squeaking in terror, the Senior Wrangler answered, "They're from Bang-bang Duc? And y—you c—can call me Horace?"

Mrs. Whitlow's mouth opened slowly into a soft 'O'. Senior Wrangler may have been a total novice in the courts of love but she, after living through four courtships, marriages and widowhoods recognized total, helpless infatuation when she saw it.

A possible husband number five? On her doorstep? And he was a Wizard, a member of the University Council? Was some god playing silly buggers with her? And yet, it made sense in a crazy kind of way. Through what she considered some silly, male prank she had found herself on a tropical island with warm pools to bathe in and infinite kinds (and amounts) of fruit and fish to enjoy. They'd left the island in a sailboat that looked like some sort of squash and when it broke up had been shipwrecked on XXXX, a place so full of raw magic that it even worried the Archchancellor. There, something had happened that left her permanently rejuvenated. She was not quite the stunning, flame-haired siren of her youth but nor was she the heavily overweight matron she was when Eskarina met her. Instead she had settled into a fine-figured maturity that suggested Time had been exceptionally kind.

She reached out and gently took the bouquet from the Senior Wrangler's trembling fingers with a coy smile. "And you can call me Phoenix, dear Horace."

"I—I'm glad you like them, Ph—Phoenix," Horace quavered, "but now I m—must be going. G—goodbye." He scampered off amazed at what he had done and delirious

at her reaction. Phoenix. What a wonderful name, he thought. It alluded not only to her 'rebirth' after XXXX but to the incredible flaming red of her hair. And she'd smiled at him . . .

*****

"He what?" an incredulous Ponder Stibbons asked of Hex.

"He gave her a bouquet of orchids," replied what had started as a calculating engine but was now an aware being inhabited by the mind known (to only a few) as Cryptofer.

"I thought you didn't listen in on people!" Stibbons was not happy.

"I don't listen in on people in their private quarters. But the Senior Wrangler was standing in the corridor outside her rooms. They were in public space. It's not the same thing at all."

"Hmmm, well since you put it that way I guess it's alright. Why do you suppose he did that?"

"Vice-Chancellor Stibbons, the Senior Wrangler has been smitten with Mrs. Whitlow ever since you all went on holiday to XXXX. Surely you remember those days?"

Ponder remembered, though his attention had been more directed towards staying alive in that hyper-magical environment than on kibitzing the more-or-less amorous longings of the rest of the faculty. Still, he did seem to recall a spirited rivalry between the Dean and the Senior Wrangler. It made him wonder if the collapse of Braseneck College (in the wake of the seven-foot-tall chicken fiasco) and Archchancellor Henry's return to UU might also spark a return of the rivalry. He sincerely hoped not. If Mrs. Whitlow got too distracted with suitors the quality of the cleaning and dining could take a turn for the worse.

*****

"Are yer positive this sort 'o thing is a good idea, Mustrum?" Hughnon Ridcully, Chief Priest of Blind IO asked his older brother. They were sitting in a corner of Mended Drum having a casual conversation in private. "For nigh on a thousand years you Wizards have been staunchly opposed to any of yer cohorts gettin' married. Aren't cher afraid of Sourcerors anymore?"

The Archchancellor took a long quaff of his ale and set the flagon down with a thump. Twisting his lips back and forth in thought he finally replied, "Back in th' day when Alberto Malich founded the University, families were norm'ly quite large. Th' odds of havin' eight sons were pretty good and of that eighth one havin' eight more weren't any too slim. O' course the danger of that eighth son of an eighth havin' eight more was far from as great, but it still was a real risk so the rule developed. Nowadays, things 'r' dif'rent. Even out in the country the local witches keep an eye on things and since havin' a huge family is expensive they make sure the local folk keep their numbers down to what they can afford. Even for a farmer, feedin' four or five is a major advance over eight or ten! And since our youngsters'll be stayin' at UU, we can keep an eye on 'em person'ly. Besides, young Phoebe is a practical sort. She isn't sure she wants any babies at all and sure doesn't want 'em by the litter."

"But surely it's against th' Lore?"

"Strange that yer should ask. We thought so for a thousand years but once the odd Wizard start'd leavin' the University t' get married, we began t'wonder. I finally set th' Librarian t'searchin' th' stacks and young Stibbons did a gargle search¹ on his thinkin' engine and th' best we could find was that it was a strongly encouraged guideline."

¹ Hex looked everywhere, including down people's throats.

Hughnon spent some time cleaning out the bowl of his enormous curved pipe and then some more properly packing it. He held it up to where a tiny lightning bolt got it good and lit, took a few puffs and sighed heavily.

"All this new-fangled thinkin'! Folks runnin' around on iron rails, people givin' up perfectly good horses for strange-lookin' two-wheelie contraptions, goblins attainin' citizenship—it's not the same Disc as it was when we were boys, Mustrum, but I suppose there's no stoppin' it. D'they want the ceremony at the University or the temple?"

"Well, they probably want it in the Great Hall but both of them are worried about givin' some of the older faculty apoplexy. After all, change doesn't come easy when you've been used to things bein' the same for a hundred years. It's a good thing Professor Flead isn't around anymore. He'd have raised no end of fuss, especially since all he ever got to have was a concubine. Let's suggest the Temple of Blind Io to 'em. At least that won't be as outré as Om."

Hughnon snorted. Om, the silent god with noisy worshipers was a phenomenon he kept a professional eye on. A god who gained followers by not doing anything but refusing to say he wouldn't, was new. And evidently very popular. It was intriguing.

*****

Mrs. Whitlow hadn't stood naked in front of a mirror in more years than she wanted to admit. It was one thing back when she was a maid attracting her first husband but over the years, added weight and an increased desire for respectability had banished the practice from her mind. But now that that extraordinary time in the distant past of XXXX had rejuvenated her, she once again posed before the looking glass and cast flirtatious looks over her shoulder. Dear Horace was smitten with her. How delightful! But it wouldn't do to appear to be attempting to fraternize with the Wizards. Any courtship she could tempt him to essay would have to be very surreptitious. How might that be managed?

The Senior Wrangler returned to his quarters a day or so later humming happily after an especially sumptuous second breakfast. Though by senior faculty standards he was a light eater and, (again by that standard), rather slim, he enjoyed his meals as much as the next. He opened the door and entered. Then he froze. There was a sealed envelope on his pillow! Since any hostile memo from another Wizard would come to his office, this could only be a letter from dear Phoenix. He began to shake with anxiety once more. What if it was a refusal? What if it wasn't? He paced back and forth trying to get up the courage to open it. It took some time but finally, near to tears with emotion, he jerked the wretched thing off the bed and tore it open.

My dear Horace,

Thank-you so much for the lovely flowers. I really wish there was some way I could thank you more directly, but alas, University rules would never allow it. What would other people think? If only we were alone back on that funny god-of-evolution's island . . .

Affectionately,

Phoenix

Mono Island! It had been the strangest place. A minor god had fled there after his worshipers had all been slaughtered by the nearby wretched god's bloodthirsty followers. He hadn't grieved much at the loss because though loss of believers normally meant fading away, he evidently believed enough in himself to stay in existence. Once on the island he had set about 'improving' things and inculcating his creations with a desire to improve. But he'd only made one of each. Every creature, plant or microbe was a one-off, hence the name, Mono.

When the realization hit him, the Librarian was greatly disturbed though the other Wizards were merely bemused. Mrs. Whitlow had had to explain the concept (and practice) of sex to the god who was astounded and delighted by the idea. Shortly afterwards, the Wizards had made their escape.

But Mrs. Whitlow had liked the place. She thought it warm and relaxing with a clear lagoon for swimming and freshwater pools for bathing. What an ideal place for a clandestine tryst! Trembling, this time with excitement, the Senior Wrangler set about casting a spell for a steerable Hole. It would, he thought, have to be in two stages. The first would open from his apartment to Mono Island and the second from the island to Mrs. Whitlow's. He would probably need help from Hex.

*****

Had Cryptofer still possessed eyelids after embedding his mind in Hex, he would have raised them in surprised amusement. Still, he (it) thought that what Horace intended made perfect sense—for a given value of sense, that is. He began, just slightly, to regret promising to not kibitz, gossip or intrude in the lives of the faculty, students and staff of Unseen University for he was sure that Ponder Stibbons would be delightfully shocked at the idea of the Senior Wrangler attempting to arrange an assignation with the University Housekeeper. The Archchancellor might even beam benevolently. But it wouldn't be worth the loss of trust the University had developed towards him, Hex/Cryptofer decided, so he assisted the love-struck Wizard with the thaumaturgical algorithms. Soon, where once a set of curtained windows had looked out onto the University Commons, a curtained Door opened onto a tropical paradise. Senior Wrangler took off his pointy toed shoes and socks and rolled up his trouser legs. He wiggled his toes in the warm sand and then strolled down to the water's edge. The lagoon was so warm it was hard to tell where the air left off and the sea began. It was as though the faculty had just left, even though it was some 30,000 years ago that they'd visited the place. He looked around with a carefully observant eye. Things had changed, as one would expect, given the millennia since the previous visit. Now, by the gods, there were more than one example of each type of plant. Mrs. Whitlow's discussion with the god-of-evolution had been fruitful. Living things here now seemed to evolve in their own way.

He wondered along the wet sand line. Since the atoll protected the shore there was no actual surf so it was a simple matter of walking on the sand when he felt like it and then entering the water whenever he felt a need to cool off, more or less given the temperature of the water. After a few minutes' walk, he came to the stream that flowed down from the central mountain into the lagoon. With a reminiscent smile, he followed it up to the pool where his wonderful Mrs. Whitlow had bathed. Naturally the Archchancellor had forbidden any of the faculty to either accompany or 'keep watch' over her but the images in his mind were enough for now. Pleasant as the time spent had been, it was time to get back to magic.

Mrs. Whitlow returned to her suite that evening tired and ready for a good night's sleep. She lit a candle and unlocked her door and then almost dropped the candle stick. Where previously there had been a blank wall was now a stout wooden door. For a moment she inhaled for an outraged scream but stayed herself when she noticed that there was a strong iron bolt holding it shut from whatever might be on the other side. Why, he must have done it. Dear Horace has opened a door for me but left it to me to decide when it could be opened. Such a thoughtful man! She crept forward, brimming with anticipation, lifted the latch and slid back the bolt. Pulling on the door she sighed happily. There it was in all its sundrenched glory, the beach on Mono Island. After long minutes staring at the scene she went to her bedroom, removed all her clothes and wrapped a piece of bright cotton cloth around her hips. Now, she felt, she was ready.

Fatigue and ill-temper from the day fell away as Mrs. Whitlow softly shut the door behind her. She wondered if she ought to be carrying something on one hip. Last time it was Mr. Librarian in his Temporal Gland induced infancy. The Archchancellor had told her that everyone had a gland (which the doctors had never been able to find) that told you how old you were supposed to be. The intense magical field of ancient XXXX had disrupted everyone's quite badly. It had sent the older Wizards into surly teen age and young Vice-Archchancellor Stibbons to the brink of the grave before they all rebounded to the age they really were. All except her. After some minutes spent as a young siren she had 'aged' again but not anywhere as much as the others. Perhaps there was some small section of her Temporal Gland that refused to accept that she was an advanced matron. Instead it seemed to insist that she was a mature seductress. She certainly felt like one now. She looked around. Where had dear Horace gotten off to?