CARPE CERVISIA (Seize the Beer)
So far in the story John has told Vivian that he is her long lost uterinal twin, from a previous marriage. Joan of course doesn't believe a word of of this because she's off bonk- um, playing cards with the young Spanish gardener who...

Sorry wrong story, (damn that daytime TV it'll rot your brain) best if you just read on below

* * *

Two weeks passed, hand in hand, and trotted off into the past like all their ancestors before them.

..And the fated day of the Scumble competition finally came.

The UU wizards of Ankh Morpork awoke early# and most could only manage half of their pre-pre-pre breakfast meal, due to their excitement. Ridcully came striding into the main hall, and right into utter chaos and commotion.

"Bursar! Bursar! No! Someone- Damn! Get him away from that- Damn! Don't drink that! DAMN!" The Dean was rushing about madly trying to save their scumble entry from being knocked over, drunk, lost, or used as a substitute for coffee by one or more of the least awake wizards.

"GODDAMN IT! WHERE'S THE BURSAR'S DRIED FROG PILLS?!" An awkward silence followed as tends to happen when someone yells something unnecessarily loud, causing an embarrassing amount of attention to be drawn to them.

"Ummm..." said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. "Didn't we give the last lot to Hex?..." More awkward silence followed which tends to be the case when someone has to give a rational answer to the person who had just yelled too loud and was already feeling embarrassed as it was.^

"Oh. Fine," said the Dean in a slightly less confident voice. "Well...just- WHAT ARE YOU ALL STARING AT???"

The wizards all looked meaningfully at each other as raised eyebrows noted the presence of three question marks - a sure sign of madness.

"Dean-" started Ridcully, who had been standing patiently (and rather wisely) at the door.

"WHAT??! Oh- Archchancellor!"

Ridcully raised an eyebrow. A few of the less senior wizards giggled and sniggered immaturely as always happens all over the multiverse when one member of a peer group gets caught out and embarrassed by a figure of authority. The Dean glared at them.

"Just shut up, you lot! Just...just..." He undertook a minor but otherwise impressive mental battle to find a memorable rebuttal to their mockery. "Just... Eat your breakfast!!"

More awkward silence. Silence, due to the dangerously high levels of raw magic in the UU, had developed into a lifeform of its own. Right now it was beginning to settle in and nest in the rafters.

"Damn it!" cried the Dean again, desperate to change the subject. "Bugger! Someone- get the Bursar AWAY from the scumble!"

Ridcully cleared this throat. It was a relatively small noise, but all the same it carried an air of authority and a certain degree of threat which made every wizard in the room fall silent.^^

"The Bugarup University wizards from down in XXXX are arriving today," he said. "They'll be here to enter the scumble competition of course, and they'll be staying with us."

He paused to give a meaningful look.

"I don't want any trouble, d'y'all hear?"

Rows of overly innocent faces looked up at him. A chorus of "no, sir"'s and "what *us*, sir?"'s filled the room.

Ridcully sighed martyredly.

* * *

The librarian sat back and grinned widely.

"Oook," he said smugly. In his hand he held a bubbling pot of ferocious looking scumble.

* * *

Far off in the Ramtops, the witches were preparing to leave.

"Forn parts, huh?" Granny was muttering. "I don't abide with trav'lin' to forn parts."
"Really, Esme. Why?" mumbled Nanny who was only half listening, due to the fact that she was currently attempting to pull Greebo out of a notch in the chimney that he had previously and defiantly clawed his way into. Magrat was already on the roof, pushing from the other end.

"Coz forn is not here, and you have to be here, coz here is where you are where ever you are, so if you're not here then you're not anywhere which isn't possible unless maybe you're dead, and I'm not, so forn is just wrong, and any self respectin' person wouldn't go there."

Nanny paused from her work to fully absorb that logic.

"What about 'there', then?" she asked innocently.
"What?" replied Granny, momentarily caught off guard.
"What about 'there'? If you're not 'here', then you *could* be 'there'.

Granny paused in thought before answering.

"Well, 'there' is not 'here' either and 'here' is the only right place to be, so being 'there' is as bad as being nowhere, which is where forn parts are," she replied smugly.
"Really Esme," Nanny replied, unabashed. "You're not...scared are you?..."

She was fishing for a certain reply and Granny took the bait - hook, line and sinker.

"Hmph! There ain't nothing on the disc that could scare me. I don't scare. Really, Gytha, you should know better," she mumbled. "Anyway, are you nearly packed? We've got a fair bit of travelling to do if we're going to get to Ankh-Morpork in time for the scumble competition, and I'm yet to warm my broomstick up."

Granny turned back  to her packing, but could still feel the smirkspread widely over Nanny's face, taunting its way into the back of her skull.

* * *

Back in Ankh Morpork, down in the numerous passageways under the Patrician's palace, Leonard sat back with a grin.

"Eureka!"

The Patrician, still facing the wall, not so much out of modesty, but more for not wanting the image of Leonard sitting in a bath naked scarred in his brain for life, reached for a towel and passed it over his shoulder to the dripping wet man.

"Really, Leonard," he said. "I don't know why you have to sit in the bath to do this."

Leonard grinned happily.

"All great ideas come to those who sit in a bath long enough. I've done experiments on it, you know."

The Patrician nodded. He didn't doubt it for a second.

"Anyway," Leonard continued on, "I found that the combination of sitting in the bath, interjected by an exclamation of "Eureka!" at a precisely calculated moment, can in fact generate ideas of a very high quality. Fascinating, isn't it? Anyway, running down the street naked within, say, 4.9 seconds of the discovery also greatly boosts inspiration..." He gave the Patrician a hopeful look.

The Patrician sighed.

"I don't thing that would be...wise," he replied. "Though you could give a run of the corridor just outside the door if it'll help," he finished in an uncharacteristic display of charity.

Leonard shook his head sadly.

"Too late now. I'm afraid 32.7 seconds is the longest time one can wait before it won't work. Put-things-in-to-make-them-cold."

"Pardon?" said the Patrician. While used the Leonard's strange train of thought, he'd found it was still best to ask anyway.

"It's what I perfected the scumble recipe with," said Leonard happily while drying himself. "I thought of freezing it just before the final stage, so I invented a big rectangle thing which kind of looks like a cupboard, but it's cold and its purpose is to freeze things. That's why I called it a 'Put-things-in-to-make-them-cold' machine."

The Patrician sighed.

"Pass over the scumble, would you then? I've got a lot of planning to do."

* * *

..And far, far away, yet maybe not, maybe very close, as time and space do not exist in this world, Death watched.

ALBERT. IS IT MEANT TO BUBBLE?

His servant patiently wandered over and peered carefully into the concoction.

"Ummm... I don't see why not..." he replied slowly, while backing subtly away from the stove. He was slowly losing self control, as the day progressed. Firstly his master decided to enter the competition. Death entering a scumble competition! He understood that his master found a fascination in mortals and their doings, but he wished he wouldn't continue to interfere in the hope of Fitting In. But, if that wasn't enough, he'd decided to make scumble himself.

Death inventing!
Death creating!

It wasn't right and it couldn't be done. Death had no imagination, yet he tried all the same. Albert had watched sadly as the great skeleton had searched for hours through his cookbooks for ideas, and had finally settled on mashing apples^^^ and adding anything else which he could get his hands on. Yet he took so much pride in it, Albert thought sadly. It was a disaster, in cooking terms, but his master didn't see that. He couldn't quite think like that. It was a creation to him, something he'd made, and that was all that was important. He'd even made the effort to borrow one of Albert's aprons, as he'd seen pictures which suggested that was what one wore when one cooked. And a chef's hat. That was the final straw for Albert. He'd walking into the kitchen and saw a seven-foot high skeleton wearing a chef's hat and apron##, whistling a toneless tune while stirring a hideous black** mixture. Albert would have died from shock had it been possible.

I'M READY ALBERT.

His servant raised his head wearily.

WILL YOU TASTE IT? Death asked as tentatively as a grinning skeleton can.

He offered the bubbling flask to Albert.

He really cares what I think, Albert thought. If I told him it was bad it'd kill him. Well...metaphorically, of course... Albert took the flask and did that mock drinking technique where you make the swallowing motion but keep your mouth shut so nothing went in in the first place. Death, as Albert suspected, fell for it.

"Mmmm..."he said. "Hideously delicious, master."

* * *

Far, far above the ocean, in the middle of nowhere, was a sight to see. Were someone watching, they would have seen eight wizards huddled together in the middle of a speeding flying carpet. What might have been interesting to this unknown watcher, would have been the corks which had been ceremoniously hung from the frayed edges of the carpet.

"...and here on the left is a lovely example of the Baffled Bloatfish, which isn't really native to this region..."

Seven wizards turned carefully to face the eighth.

"We're one hundred feet above certain doom, speeding along on a piece of material, and you're giving us the guided tour?!" screamed the nervous wreck, otherwise known as Bugarup University's Professor in Future Relics.
"Well...I am the Dean of Offshore Studies, and we *are* offshore, therefore I'm studying," replied his companion matter-of-factly.

Future Relics shot a glare in his direction.

"Do you have any idea what this sort of travel is doing to my hair?! How on earth am I expected to dazzle the citizens of Ankh Morpork with my extraordinary beauty, if you insist on directing this thing through so many changing wind currents?!" He reached up carefully to flatten his hair for the one hundred and eleventh time that morning. Offshore Studies rolled his eyes melodramatically.

"Who said I was directing this thing?"

Silence followed.###

The archchancellor spoke up first.

"Ummmm...Who's idea was it to take a flying carpet to the scumble competition anyway?..."

The BU's Dean raised his head from the mini portable Hex he had been busily tapping away at.

"I believe it was yours, archchancellor," he said.
"Oh."
"...but I do believe Silent Contemplator of Irrelevant Ideas objected to it," the Dean concluded.

They all turned to Irrelevant Ideas, who blushed from the sudden attention.

"Why didn't you mention something before?" asked the archchancellor pointedly.

Irrelevant Ideas gave him a Look.

"Maybe because I'm a *Silent* Contemplator."
"...of Irrelevant Ideas, though," finished the Archchancellor, defiantly holding onto his fast-losing point. 'I don't call your objection to this irrelevant"

There was a pause in which the roll of dice could be faintly heard, followed by an even fainter: "Bugger".

In a moment of Fated inspiration, Irrelevant Ideas rebutted smoothly: "Yes, but any objection to your opinion at the time *would* have been irrelevant, wouldn't it?"

There was a pause, only slightly interrupted by a very soft chorus of "Got you there, AC" and "Don't we know it"'s.

The archchancellor rose to give what would have been a huge outburst of an impressive nature which might very well have gone down in history for being quite memorable, but unfortunately he remembered where he was and what he was standing on in time to give a little shriek and fall down quickly in a somewhat less than elegant heap.

Current Ruins looked up from organising his collection of genuine Klatchian stamps, and reached into a large bag next to him.

"Here, you look like you could do with one," he said generously while pushing a beer into an unresisting hand.
"Cheers," muttered the archchancellor.

There was silence for a moment before the Dean suddenly asked: "Where's the librarian?"

There was a pause.

"Ummm...I think he said he'd join us later," said Current Ruins, not too confidently.

There was another pause as everyone thought this over.

"How?' asked Irrelevant Ideas, voicing everyone's thoughts, at which the Archchancellor gave her a glare and made a zipping-the-mouth suggestion.

Another pause.

"I'm...sure...he knows what he's doing..." suggested the Archchancellor doubtfully, while absentmindedly flicking poisoned eyebrow tweezers from out of his robe.
"Damn," muttered Future Relics. "I'll have them back if you don't mind."

They sat in silence for a few moments before the Professor In Ancient Obscurities spoke up, deftly changing the subject.

"I think we need to get some kind of group activity going, you know, to pass the time," she said enthusiastically. "I know this great tale about the evolution of the lesser known species of Morporkian flea, called the 'ohbuggerthatitches'. In fact, there's an interesting story behind..."

"A song!" interjected the Reader in Unchained Melodies, to the relief of the other wizards. 'I think we need a song!"
"We could sing about my other-worldly beauty," suggested Future Relics hopefully.
"Yeah, I think what other world is a poignant question here," muttered Offshore Studies who was still slightly miffed with his fellow wizard.

There was a chorus of muffled giggling and chuckling.

"Future Relics," said the archchancellor finally, "I don't know if that's a particularly good suggestion..."
"Did I mention the fleas have an interesting shade of white blood which evolved back in the ..." started Ancient Obscurities again, not quite taking the hint fast enough.

The wizards quickly glanced at each other and as one* began to sing as loud as possible.

"...as a pub with no beer..."
"...and my hair, it just shines like..."

* * *

About an hour later, the BU wizards were sprawled across various chairs and even tables in Ankh-Morpork's UU, stuffing down as much food as was served in front of them. The UU wizards were standing nonchalantly around the main hall, trying their best to look superior and intellectual. It wasn't, altogether, the most successful attempt ever. Wizards, as we all know, are lone creatures who are naturally suspicious in groups. Keeping this in mind, the UU wizards were currently pondering whether to greet these forn wizards, or try and poison their beer. The BU wizards, on the other hand, were thinking a similar thing while being careful to only drink their own home-made brew.

"They've got females, archchancellor!" whispered the Dean in shock, trying to sound disapproving rather then disappointed for the UU's own lack of them. "How'd they get away with that?"
"Um...they're forn, Dean," the Archchancellor replied, suddenly in shaky territory. "I suppose that's the sort of thing they allow, you know, in forn parts."

Before the conversation could expand any further, the door of the great hall creaked open and all wizards, already slightly jumpy and nervous, snapped their heads around to see the possible danger. It greeted them in the form of a reading orangutan and a similarly disposed young man.

"Librarian!"

The BU's librarian raised his head absentmindedly, and acknowledged the presence of his archchancellor.

"Ah, hi, glad you make it," he said matter-of-factly. The UU's librarian gave a little "Oook" of greeting and they both returned to studying the books they found so absorbing.
"Bu- Wha- *HOW* did you get here?" BU's archchancellor half-shouted in astonishment and annoyance.
"Oh, I took L-Space, of course. Left about half and hour ago, and have been in the library the last 25 minutes discussing this fascinating book the librarian lent me. Amazing place, the UU library. I should really come more often."

There was a pause where the BU wizards mentally compared the librarian's trip to Ankh-Morpork, to the fact that they had just travelled for what seemed like forever, squashed together uncomfortably on a piece of flimsy material, while clinging on for dear life.

"You. Could. Have. Mentioned. It. Librarian," said the archchancellor in an overly calm voice, while the other wizards duly noted the presence of a fractured sentence - not a sign of a stable mind.
"Sorry," said the BU's librarian. "Must have slipped my mind, I did find an original copy of Ian Clubfoot's 'Rock Massacre' this morning, dated to the Year of the Yellow Fungi..."
"I know the ancient origins of that-"
"That's nice," interjected the Librarian with barely a pause, "but it was an intact copy!" he concluded as though that information should carry a certain amount of shock value. It did for one member of the room.

"OOOK?!"

The young man laughed.

"Yes!! I brought it with me if you-"
"OOOK! Oook Eeek Eeek Oook!"
"Ok, ok. Let's go get it shall we..."

The young man and the orangutan left the hall, lost in their own private world. There was silence for a moment as everyone re-directed their trains of thought.

"Ummm," said Ridcully. "Archchancellor - would you like some beer with kidneys and black pudding? I know it's more of a breakfast meal, but considering this is the day of the scumble competition, I thought, maybe..."
"I wouldn't say no," finished BU's archchancellor quickly.

Food preparations began again, as the morning slowly neared afternoon.

* * *

Two figures lurked in the shadows of an alley in the Shades. Glints of metal suggested they were not the most trusting of people.

"Is it done?" asked one.
"Yes."
"Where did you dispose of him?"
"Where you told me to. In the UU."
"You better be telling me the truth. The scumble competition is today. There's no time for mistakes."
"Don't worry. It's all taken care of."

The first man sniggered. Then chuckled for good measure.

"Good."

* * *

Back in the UU's main hall, 'fornness' was being explored.

"So what's this called again?" asked Indefinite Studies.
"Tarow," replied Current Ruins as he shuffled the cards.
"I think that's meant to be Tarot," said Future Relics as he filed his nails. "It's got to be pronounced different from how it's said,
otherwise it's not properly forn."
"I think we have...Tarow...here, you know," commented the UU's Dean.
"That's nice," murmured Indefinite Studies, who was far more interested in learning 'fornness' than in realising it was somewhat similar to what could be found in every strange, incense-smelling shop in Ankh Morpork. "OK, I pick these, What do they mean?"

Current Ruins picked up a final card from a separate pile, studied it in detail, then turned it around to face Indefinite Studies. The other wizard looked down at it.

"Sodomy non mentis sapiens," he read.

A few immature giggles burst out around the room, and Future Relics had to leave the table for fear of spitting out a mouthful of Unchained Melodies home-made beer.

"Ummmm...is that good?" asked Indefinite Studies carefully.
"Trust a wizard not to know!" shouted one of the UU's younger students, and was greeted with a chorus of giggles and laughter before general consensus realised that they were the butt of their own joke.

"It means 'Buggered if I know'," interrupted Offshore Studies. "I learnt that one while in Klatch. Fell for it myself, in fact."
"Damn!" muttered Current Ruins. "Could you just let someone fall for that for longer than one minute? Could you?"

Before a reply could be made, a girlish shriek reverberated around the great hall, piercing everyone's eardrums.

"Ye Gods! What was that?" swore Ridcully.

All heads turned to the figure of Future Relics, who stood in shock over a pile of incoming food. The wizards, never one to miss poking their noses into anything, all wandered over to have a peek.

"My God - it's the main judge for the scumble competition! He's dead!" yelled the Dean.

"Forget that - he's in my black pudding," said Ridcully loudly, in an attempt to gather sympathy. A few murmurs of acknowledgement echoed around from the more hungry of the wizards. Ancient Obscurities wandered up to Future Relics, and they both stood staring at the lifeless body. Future Relics finally finding his voice, spoke first.

"Oh my God, you killed the scumble judge!"
"You Bastards!"

 

 

 

 

# about 1pm, out of interest, but it's the thought that counts. Back to the Text
^ the art of conversation can be a hazardous thing. Back to the Text
^^ a different kind of silence, though. This one was purple and tended to prefer nesting in mouse holes. Back to the Text
^^^ fried apples of course as these *are* Albert's cookbooks. Back to the Text
## with "ETERNITY'S GREATEST COOK" written on it. He'd sown it himself. There were even little skeletal apple cores on it for decoration. Back to the Text
** as of course, everything in Death's realm is black. Back to the Text
### this silence was more bluey-brown, rather large, and had a beer-belly. Back to the Text
* one group, but not, unfortunately, one song. Back to the Text

Hurrah for another bit of the story! And what a bit!! More coming soon...Oh, all right you can have another bit now, but make sure you don't spoil your tea).

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