There are at least three sites in Koom claiming to be the Koom Valley and at least fourteen major battles are now believed to have been fought there, wherever there turns out to be.
The most likely site of Koom Valley, which is in Koom Valley, is a lonely, forebidding place. Even stormclouds go around it. It has been suggested by some wizards in the History Department at Unseen University that the rock formations in the valley, in the path of the prevailing winds, vibrate at a frequency that causes considerable unease and ill-temper in the brains of dwarfs, trolls and men, but attempts to prove this experimentally have failed three times because of fights breaking out amongst the researchers.
The most recent battle involved a party of young dwarfs from Ankh-Morpork, who were visiting the area as part of a cultural tour. City dwarfs feel that it is very important for their offspring to stay in touch with the roots of dwarfishness, and often send them back to Copperhead or Überwald for what is known as some ‘mine time’. On this day, unfortunately, a party of young trolls were also visiting the area for very similar reasons, and after some name-calling the two tour groups fell to fighting and gave a very spirited re-creation of the earlier battles.
Thud
The game of Thud was devised as an alternative to the fighting. It was considered by some older dwarfs and trolls that a non-fatal means of contest might be a boon to peace in the mountains and, besides, they were running out of people. And, in recognition of the general state of all unsuccessful fighters in the wars, it is a game of two halves.
For according to the trollish philosopher Plateau, ‘if you wants to understan’ an enemy, you gotta walk a mile in his shoes. Den, if he’s still your enemy, at least you’re a mile away and he’s got no shoes.’
Legend says that a large war party of dwarfs and a smaller one of trolls were hunting one another in the valley, and that on this occasion the leader of the trolls tried an artful strategy. Usually, both groups would hunt each other among the big rocks that litter the valley, but this time the troll leader positioned his company right out in the middle of a stretch of open ground, reasoning that the dwarfs would never look there.
‘After all,’ he is recorded as saying, ‘dey always find us when we hide behind fings ’cos dey look behind fings, so if we stands out in the open they won’t find us ’cos dere’s nuffin to look behind.’
This major step in trollish thinking had some success because of the heavy fog that, most unusually, had fallen that morning. However, it lifted shortly after sunrise, and the trolls were, to the confoundment of what seemed like impeccable logic, immediately spotted. Battle ensued, both sides claiming foul play on the part of the other, and both sides claiming to have won.
The Thud game seeks to re-create this and has been credited with seriously reducing the number of major wars between dwarfs and trolls, replacing them instead with innumerable bar-room scuffles in which Thud boards, and sometimes pieces, are used as the weapons. But since this becomes merely a police matter, it counts as peace …
1 And was called, amazingly enough, Thud!
A FEW WORDS FROM LORD HAVELOCK VETINARI
ON THE OCCASION OF THE TWINNING OF ANKH-MORPORK WITH WINCANTON, 2002
This address was written by me, Terry Pratchett, and delivered with appropriate solemnity by Stephen Briggs, who has often played the part of Lord Vetinari in amateur dramatic plays: frankly, it’s hard to get him out of the costume! A bewildered bystander, I watched the twinning, which was of course attended by many, many fans wearing strange and exotic garments, in some cases quite possibly the same garments that they wear every day – but even they were very nearly outdone by the people of Ankh-Morpork who came out dressed, as they say, ‘en fête’. It was one of those occasions when some time afterwards you wake up and think ‘Did that really happen?’ And, on enquiring, I am very glad to hear that it did.
My friends …
It is with extreme pleasure that I welcome this – I believe – very first twinning between one real and one apparently unreal city. I say apparently because here in Ankh-Morpork we are taking firm steps to make it clear to our citizens that there is indeed a place called Wincanton and that it hasn’t just been made up.
Fortunately we in Ankh-Morpork have the advantage of being the home of Unseen University, whose magical library potentially contains any book that will ever be written anywhere. And it was here, after some searching, we located A Specially Written Guide to Wincanton.
We learned that it is a town noted for the extreme wisdom of its men and the unsurpassed beauty of its women, for its racecourse and for its traditional manufacture of some wondrous thing known as ‘bed ticking’. Beyond that, it would appear that it does what my town does, which is to buckle down and make sure that tomorrow happens.
But we noted with particular interest its provision of large breakfasts to the passing world. According to the wizards of Unseen University, who are no strangers to the art of the knife and fork, this is surely one of the noblest activities of mankind. We find, though, that after provisioning the hungry traveller the citizens of Wincanton let them continue on their way with most of their money intact, an oversight which would not be allowed in my own city, let me assure you.
Since an experimental portal was accidentally opened in the High Street, the citizenry may have noticed, in recent years, the occasional strange-garbed yet free-spending visitor from my world, just as we have occasionally received lost souls looking for a really good breakfast or the way back to a place called ‘the Ae Three oh Three’. After a meeting with your venerable councillors, it was decided that the only way to resolve the problem was to make this link formal.
And thus to the people of Wincanton we most heartily extend our hand of friendship, with the other hand hidden behind our backs, and I for one am looking forward to some big sausages and hearing my bed tick.
Lord Havelock Vetinari
Patrician of Ankh-Morpork
DEATH AND WHAT COMES NEXT
TIME ON-LINE GAMES, 2004
This was written for the on-line game TimeHunt, in which each story incorporated a hidden phrase.
It’s relevant to the story, it’s still in there, you need the mind of a fan to find it, and I bend the rules a little – or, rather, there are exceptions to the rule.
I rather liked the idea of Heaven being a logical certainty …
When Death met the philosopher, the philosopher said, rather excitedly, ‘At this point, you realize, I’m both dead and not dead.’
There was a sigh from Death. Oh dear, one of those, he thought. Is this going to be about quantum again? He hated dealing with philosophers. They always tried to wriggle out of it.
‘You see,’ said the philosopher, while Death, motionless, watched the sands of his life drain through the hourglass, ‘everything is made of tiny particles, which have the strange property of being in many places at one time. But things made of tiny particles tend to stay in one place at one time, which does not seem right according to quantum theory. May I continue?’
YES, BUT NOT INDEFINITELY, said Death. EVERYTHING IS TRANSIENT. He did not take his gaze away from the tumbling sand.
‘Well, then, if we agree that there are an infinite number of universes, then the problem is solved! If there are an unlimited number of universes, this bed can be in millions of them, all at the same time!’
DOES IT MOVE?
‘What?’
Death nodded at the bed. CAN YOU FEEL IT MOVING? he said.
‘No, because there are a million versions of me, too, And … here is the good bit … in some of them I am not about to pass away! Anything is possible!’
Death tapped the handle of his scythe as he considered this.
AND YOUR POINT IS …?
‘Well, I’m not exactly dying, correct? You are no longer such a certainty.’
There was a sigh from Death. Space, he thought. That was the trouble. It was never like this on worlds with everlastingly cloudy skies. But once humans saw all t
hat space, their brains expanded to try to fill it up.
‘No answer, eh?’ said the dying philosopher. ‘Feel a bit old-fashioned, do we?’
THIS IS A CONUNDRUM, CERTAINLY, said Death. Once they prayed, he thought. Mind you, he’d never been sure that prayer worked, either. He thought for a while. AND I SHALL ANSWER IT IN THIS MANNER, he added. YOU LOVE YOUR WIFE?
‘What?’
THE LADY WHO HAS BEEN LOOKING AFTER YOU. YOU LOVE HER?
‘Yes. Of course.’
CAN YOU THINK OF ANY CIRCUMSTANCES WHERE, WITHOUT YOUR PERSONAL HISTORY CHANGING IN ANY WAY, YOU WOULD AT THIS MOMENT PICK UP A KNIFE AND STAB HER? said Death. FOR EXAMPLE?
‘Certainly not!’
BUT YOUR THEORY SAYS THAT YOU MUST. IT IS EASILY POSSIBLE WITHIN THE PHYSICAL LAWS OF THE UNIVERSE, AND THEREFORE MUST HAPPEN, AND HAPPEN MANY TIMES. EVERY MOMENT IS A BILLION, BILLION MOMENTS, AND IN THOSE MOMENTS ALL THINGS THAT ARE POSSIBLE ARE INEVITABLE. ALL TIME, SOONER OR LATER, BOILS DOWN TO A MOMENT.
‘But of course we can make choices between—’
ARE THERE CHOICES? EVERYTHING THAT CAN HAPPEN, MUST HAPPEN. YOUR THEORY SAYS THAT FOR EVERY UNIVERSE THAT’S FORMED TO ACCOMMODATE YOUR ‘NO’, THERE MUST BE ONE TO ACCOMMODATE YOUR ‘YES’. BUT YOU SAID YOU WOULD NEVER COMMIT MURDER. THE FABRIC OF THE COSMOS TREMBLES BEFORE YOUR TERRIBLE CERTAINTY. YOUR MORALITY BECOMES A FORCE AS STRONG AS GRAVITY. And, thought Death, space certainly has a lot to answer for.
‘Was that sarcasm?’
ACTUALLY, NO. I AM IMPRESSED AND INTRIGUED, said Death. THE CONCEPT YOU PUT BEFORE ME PROVES THE EXISTENCE OF TWO HITHERTO MYTHICAL PLACES. SOMEWHERE, THERE IS A WORLD WHERE EVERYONE MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE, THE MORAL CHOICE, THE CHOICE THAT MAXIMIZED THE HAPPINESS OF THEIR FELLOW CREATURES. OF COURSE, THAT ALSO MEANS THAT SOMEWHERE ELSE IS THE SMOKING REMNANT OF THE WORLD WHERE THEY DID NOT …
‘Oh, come on! I know what you’re implying, and I’ve never believed in any of that Heaven and Hell nonsense!’
The room was growing darker. The blue gleam along the edge of the Reaper’s scythe was becoming more obvious.
ASTONISHING, said Death. REALLY ASTONISHING. LET ME PUT FORWARD ANOTHER SUGGESTION: THAT YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN A LUCKY SPECIES OF APE THAT IS TRYING TO UNDERSTAND THE COMPLEXITIES OF CREATION VIA A LANGUAGE THAT EVOLVED IN ORDER TO TELL ONE ANOTHER WHERE THE RIPE FRUIT WAS.
Fighting for breath, the philosopher managed to say, ‘Don’t be silly.’
THE REMARK WAS NOT INTENDED AS DEROGATORY, said Death. UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES, YOU HAVE ACHIEVED A GREAT DEAL.
‘We’ve certainly escaped from outmoded superstitions!’
WELL DONE, said Death. THAT’S THE SPIRIT. I JUST WANTED TO CHECK.
He leaned forward.
AND YOU ARE AWARE OF THE THEORY THAT THE STATE OF SOME TINY PARTICLES IS INDETERMINATE UNTIL THE MOMENT THEY ARE OBSERVED? A CAT IN A BOX IS OFTEN MENTIONED.
‘Oh, yes,’ said the philosopher.
GOOD, said Death. He got to his feet as the last of the light died, and smiled.
I SEE YOU …
A COLLEGIATE CASTING-OUT OF DEVILISH DEVICES
TIMES HIGHER EDUCATION SUPPLEMENT, 13 MAY 2005
Well, they asked for it and they got it, because at that time there was some debate around issues to do with government money being given to universities and universities not being particularly happy about being told what to do by governments. Fortunately for Unseen University, they don’t have to ask anybody for anything. And only now can I reveal that this short passage owes a little something to the Thursday afternoon meetings I used to have when I was chairman of the Society of Authors, where I learned the importance of listening for the tea trolley and the etiquette of the chocolate biscuits, surely an essential component of real committee work.
It was a Thursday afternoon. Unseen University’s college council liked their Thursday afternoon meetings. The Council Chamber, with its stained-glass image of Archchancellor Sloman Discovering The Special Theory of Slood, was always nice and warm and there was a distant prospect of tea and chocolate biscuits at half-past three.
Just as the biscuit hour approached, Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully drummed his fingers on the battered leather of the table.
‘Next item, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘and it appears that Lord Vetinari, our gracious ruler, has seen fit to confront us with a little … test. Possibly we have annoyed him, in some way, committed some little faux pas—’
‘This is about Mayhap Street, isn’t it?’ said the Dean. ‘Still not turned up, has it?’
‘There is nothing the matter with Mayhap Street, Dean,’ said Ridcully sharply. ‘It is merely temporarily displaced, that’s all. I am assured the rest of the continuum will catch up with it no later than Thursday. It was an accident that was waiting to happen—’
‘Well, only waiting for a thaumic discharge that happened because you said there was no way it could possibly—’ the Dean began. He was clearly enjoying himself.
‘Dean! We are going to move on and put this behind us!’ Ridcully snapped.
‘Excuse me, Archchancellor?’ said Ponder Stibbons, who was Head of Inadvisably Applied Magic and also the University’s Praelector, a position interpreted at UU as ‘the one who gets given the tedious jobs’.
‘Yes, Stibbons?’
‘It may be a good idea to put it behind us before we move on, sir,’ said Ponder. ‘That way it will be further behind us when we do, in fact, move.’
‘Good point, that man. See to it,’ said Ridcully. He turned his attention once again to the ominous manilla folder in front of him. ‘Anyway, gentlemen, his lordship has appointed a Mr A. E. Pessimal, a man of whom I know little, as Inspector of Universities. His job, I suspect, is to drag us kicking and no doubt screaming into the Century of the Fruitbat.’
‘That was in fact the last century, Archchancellor,’ said Ponder.
‘Well, we are hard to drag and very good at kicking,’ said Ridcully. ‘He has made a few little, ah, suggestions for improvement …’
‘Really? This should be fun,’ said the Dean.
Ridcully pushed the folder to his right.
‘Over to you, Mr Stibbons.’
‘Yes, Archchancellor. Er … thank you. Um. As you know, the city has always waived all taxes on the University—’
‘Because they know what would happen if they tried it,’ said the Dean, with some satisfaction.
‘Yes,’ said Ponder. ‘And, then again, no. I fear we are past the times when a little shape-changing or a couple of fireballs would do the trick. That is not the modern spirit. It would be a good idea to at least examine Mr Pessimal’s suggestions …’
There was a general shrugging. It would at least pass the time until the tea turned up.
‘Firstly,’ said Ponder, ‘Mr Pessimal wants to know what we do here.’
‘Do? We are the premier college of magic!’ said Ridcully.
‘But do we teach?’
‘Only if no alternative presents itself,’ said the Dean. ‘We show ’em where the library is, give ’em a few little chats, and graduate the survivors. If they run into any problems, my door is always metaphorically open.’
‘Metaphorically, sir?’ said Ponder.
‘Yes. But technically, of course, it’s locked.’
‘Explain to him that we don’t do things, Stibbons,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. ‘We are academics.’
‘Interestin’ idea, though,’ said Ridcully, winking at Ponder. ‘What do you do, Senior Wrangler?’
A hunted look crossed the Senior Wrangler’s face. ‘Well, er,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘The post of Senior Wrangler at Unseen University is, most unusually—’
‘Yes, but what do you do? And have you been doing more of it in the past six months than in the previous six?’
‘Well, if we’re asking that kind of question, Archchancellor, what do you do?’ said the Dean, testily.
‘I administer, Dean,’ said Ridcully, calmly.
; ‘Then we must be doing something, otherwise you’d have nothing to administrate.’
‘That comment strikes at the very heart of the bureaucratic principle, Dean, and I shall ignore it.’
‘You see, Mr Pessimal wonders why we don’t publish the results of, er, whatever it is we do,’ said Ponder.
‘Publish?’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
‘Results?’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
‘Ook?’ said the Librarian.
‘Brazeneck College publishes its Journal of Irreducible Research four times a year now,’ said Ponder meekly.
‘Yes. Six copies,’ said Ridcully.
‘No wizard worth his salt tells other wizards what he’s up to!’ snapped the Lecturer in Recent Runes. ‘Besides, how can you measure thinking? You can count the tables a carpenter makes, but what kind of rule could measure the amount of thought necessary to define the essence of tableosity?’
‘Exactly!’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. ‘I myself have been working on my Theory of Anything for fifteen years! The amount of thought that has gone into it is astonishing! Those six-seven pages have been hard won, I can tell you!’
‘And I’ve seen some of those Brazeneck papers,’ said Ridcully. ‘They’ve got titles like “Diothumatic Aspects of Cheese in Mice”, or possibly it was Mice in Cheese. Or maybe Chess.’
‘And what was it about?’ said the Dean.
‘Oh, I don’t think it was for reading. It was for having written,’ said the Archchancellor. ‘Anyway, no one knows what Diothumics is, except that it’s probably magic with the crusts cut off.’
‘Er … nevertheless, Mr Pessimal does point out that Brazeneck is attracting students, to the general benefit of the city,’ said Ponder. ‘In fact he suggests that we ourselves might even consider, er, advertising for students.’ He paused, because of the sudden frigid quality of the atmosphere, and plunged on: ‘In order to attract young men, in fact, who would not normally consider wizarding as a profession. He notes that Brazeneck gives all new students a free crystal ball and a voucher for a free frog or frog-like creature.’
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