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That could be right, said the Dean. He is, after all, basically a conduit.
Ive always thought of myself as more of a tube, said the oh god.
No, no, shes right, said Ridcully. When he drinks, this lad here gets the nasty result. So, logically, when our friend here takes a hangover cure the side effects should head back the same way--
Someone mentioned a crystal ball just now, said the oh god in a voice suddenly clanging with vengeance. I want to see this-- It was a big drink. A very big and a very long drink. It was one of those special cocktails where each very sticky, very strong ingredient is poured in very slowly, so that they layer on top of one another. Drinks like this tend to get called Traffic Lights or Rainbows Revenge or, in places where truth is more highly valued, Hello and Goodbye, Mr Brain Cell. In addition, this drink had some lettuce floating in it. And a slice of lemon and a piece of pineapple hooked coquettishly on the side of the glass, which had sugar frosted round the rim. There were two paper umbrellas, one pink and one blue, and they each had a cherry on the end. And someone had taken the trouble to freeze ice cubes in the shape of little elephants. After that, theres no hope. You might as well be drinking in a place called the Cococobana. The God of Wine picked it up lovingly. It was his kind of drink. There was a rumba going on in the background. There were also a couple of young ladies snuggling up to him. It was going to be a good night. It was always a good night. Happy Hogswatch, everyone! he said, and raised the glass. And then: Can anyone hear something? Someone blew a paper squeaker at him. No, seriously . . . like a sort of descending note Since no one paid this any attention he shrugged, and nudged one of his fellow drinkers. How about we have a couple more and go to this club I know? he said. And then The wizards leaned back, and one or two of them grimaced. Only the oh god stayed glued to the glass, face contorted in a vicious smile. We have eructation! he shouted, and punched the air. Yes! Yes! Yes! The worm is on the other boot now, eh? Hah! How do you like them apples, huh?
Well, mainly apples-- said the Dean. Looked like a lot of other things to me, said Ridcully. It seems we have reversed the cause- effect flow . . .
Will it be permanent? said the oh god hopefully. I shouldnt think so. After all, you are the God of Hangovers. Itll probably just reverse itself again when the potion wears off.
Then I may not have much time. Bring me . . . lets see . . . twenty pints of lager, some pepper vodka and a bottle of coffee liqueur! With an umbrella in it! Lets see how he enjoys that, Mr Youve Cot Room For Another One In There! Susan grabbed his hand and pulled him over to a bench. I didnt have you sobered up just so you could go on a binge! she said. He blinked at her. You didnt?
I want you to help me!
Help you what?
You said youd never been human before, didnt you?
Er . . . The oh god looked down at himself. Thats right, he said. Never.
Youve never incarnated? said Ridcully. Surely thats a rather personal question, isnt it? said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. Thats . . . right, said the oh god. Odd, that. I remember always having headaches . . . but never having a head. That cant be right, can it?
You existed in potentia? said Ridcully. Did P
Did he? said Susan. Ridcully paused. Oh dear, he said. I think I did it, didnt I? I said something to young Stibbons about drinking and hangovers, didnt I . . . ?
And you created him just like that? said the Dean. I find that very hard to believe, Mustrum. Hah! Out of thin air? I suppose we can all do that, can we? Anyone care to think up some new pixie?
Like the Hair Loss Fairy? said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. The other wizards laughed. I am not losing my hair! snapped the Dean. It is just very finely spaced.
Half on your head and half on your hairbrush, said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. No sense in bein bashful about goin bald, said Ridcully evenly. Anyway, you know what they say about bald men, Dean.
Yes, they say, “Look at him, hes got no hair,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. The Dean had been annoying him lately. For the last time, shouted the Dean, I am not-- He stopped. There was a glingleglingleglingle noise. I wish I knew where that was coming from, said Ridcully. Er . . . the Dean began. Is there . . . something on my head? The other wizards stared. Something was moving under his hat. Very carefully, he reached up and removed it. The very small gnome sitting on his head had a chimp of the Deans hair in each hand. It blinked guiltily in the light. Is there a problem? it said. Get it off me! the Dean yelled. The wizards hesitated. They were all vaguely aware of the theory that very small creatures could pass on diseases, and while the gnome was larger than such creatures were generally thought to be, no one wanted to catch Expanding Scalp Sickness. Susan grabbed it. Are you the Hair Loss Fairy? she said. `Apparently, said the gnome, wriggling in her grip. The Dean ran his hands desperately through his hair. What have you been doing with my hair? he demanded. Welt some of it I think I have to put on hairbrushes, said the gnome, but sometimes I think I weave it into little mats to block up the bath with.
What do you mean, you think? said Ridcully. Just a minute, said Susan. She turned to the oh god. Where exactly were you before I found you in the snow?
Er . . . sort of . . . everywhere, I think, said the oh god. Anywhere where drink had been consumed in beastly quantities some time previously, you could say.
Ah-ha, said Ridcully. You were an immanent vital force, yes?
I suppose I could have been, the oh god conceded. And when we joked about the Hair Loss Fairy it suddenly focused on the Deans head, said Ridcully, where its operations have been noticeable to all of us in recent months although of course we have been far too polite to pass comment on the subject.
Youre calling things into being, said Susan. Things like the Give the Dean a Huge Bag of Money Goblin? said the Dean, who could think very quickly at times. He looked around hopefully. Anyone hear any fairy tinkling?
Do you often get given huge bags of money, sir? said Susan. Not on what youd call a daily basis, no, said the Dean. But if---
Then there probably isnt any occult room for a Huge Bags of Money Goblin, said Susan. I personally have always wondered what happens to my socks, said the Bursar cheerfully. You know how theres always one missing? When I was a lad I always thought that something was taking them . . . The wizards gave this some thought. Then they all heard it - the little crinkly tinkling noise of magic taking place. The Archchancellor pointed dramatically skywards. To the laundry! he said. Its downstairs, Ridcully, said the Dean. Down to the laundry!
And you know Mrs Whitlow doesnt like us going in there, said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. And who is Archchancellor of this University, may I ask? said Ridcully. Is it Mrs Whitlow? I dont think so! Is it me? Why, how amazing, I do believe it is!
Yes, but you know what she can be like, said the Chair. Er, yes, thats true-- Ridcully began. I believe shes gone to her sisters for the holiday, said the Bursar. We certainly dont have to take orders from any kind of housekeeper! said the Archchancellor. To the laundry! The wizards surged out excitedly, leaving Susan, the oh god, the Verruca Gnome and the Hair Loss Fairy. Tell me again who those people were, said the oh god. Some of the cleverest men in the world, said Susan. And Im sober, am W Clever isnt the same as sensible, said Susan, and they do say that if you wish to walk the path to wisdom then for your first step you must become as a small child.
Do you think theyve heard about the second step? Susan sighed. Probably not, but sometimes they fall over it while theyre running around shouting.
Ah. The oh god looked around. Do you think they have any soft drinks here? he said. The path to wisdom does, in fact, begin with a single step. Where people go wrong is in ignoring all the thousands of other steps that come after it. They make the single step of deciding to become one with the universe, and for some reason forget to take the logical next step of living for seventy years on a mountain and a daily bowl of rice and yak- butter tea that would give it any kind of meaning. While e
vidence says that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, theyre probably all on first steps. The Dean was always at his best at times like this. He led the way between the huge, ardent copper vats, prodding with his staff into dark corners and going Hut! Hut! under his breath. Why would it turn up here? whispered the Lecturer in Recent Runes. Point of reality instability, said Ridcully, standing on tiptoe to look into a bleaching cauldron. Every damn thing turns up here. You should know that by now.
But why now? said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. No talking! hissed the Dean, and leapt out into the next alleyway, staff held protectively in front of him.
Hall! he screamed, and then looked disappointed Er, how big would this sock-stealing thing be? said the Senior Wrangler. Dont know, said Ridcully. He peered behind a stack of washboards. Come to think of it, I mustve lost a ton of socks over the years.
Me too, said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. So . . . should we be looking in small places or very large places? the Senior Wrangler went on, in the voice of one whose train of thought has just entered a long dark tunnel. Good point, said Ridcully. Dean, why do you keep referring to sheds all the time?
Its “hut”, Mustrum, said the Dean. It means . it means. . .
Small wooden building? Ridcully suggested. Welt sometimes, agreed, but other times . . . well, you just have to say “hut”.
This sock creature . . . does it just steal them, or does it eat them? said the Senior Wrangler. Valuable contribution that man, said Ridcully, giving tip on the Dean. Right, pass the word along: no one is to look like a sock, understand?
How can you--- the Dean began, and stopped. They all heard it. . . . grnf, grnf, grnf . . . It was a busy sound, the sound of something with a serious appetite to satisfy. The Eater of Socks, moaned the Senior Wrangler, with his eyes shut. How many tentacles would you expect it to have? said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. I mean, roughly speaking?
Its a very large sort of noise, isnt it? said the Bursar. To the nearest dozen, say, said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, edging backwards. . . . grnf, grnf, grnf . . . Itd probably tear our socks off as soon as look at us . . . wailed the Senior Wrangler. Ah. So at least five or six tentacles, then, would you say? said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. Seems to me its coming from one of the washing engines, said the Dean. The engines were each two storeys high, and usually only used when the Universitys population soared during term time. A huge treadmill connected to a couple of big bleached wooden paddles in each vat, which were heated via the fireboxes underneath. In full production the washing engines needed at least half a dozen people to manhandle the loads, maintain the fires and oil the scrubbing arms. Ridcully had seen them at work once, when it had looked like a picture of a very dean and hygienic Hell, the kind of place soap might go to when it died. The Dean stopped by the door to the boiler area. Somethings in here, he whispered. Listen! . . grnf. . . Its stopped! It knows were here! he hissed. "All right? Ready? Hut!
No! squeaked the Lecturer in Recent Runes. Ill open the door and you be ready to stop it! One . . . two . . . three! Oh . . . The sleigh soared into the snowy sky. ON THE WHOLE, I THINK THAT WENT VERY WELL, DONT YOU? Yes, master, said Albert. I WAS RATHER PUZZLED BY THE LITTLE BOY IN THE CHAIN MAIL, THOUGH. I think that was a Watchman, master. REALLY? WELL, HE WENT AWAY HAPPY, AND THATs THE MAIN THING.
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