Rincewind gave in, and opened his eyes. A variety of bearded, overly pink faces looked down upon him.

'How're you feeling, old chap?' said one, extending a hand. 'Name's Ridcully. Archchancellor. How're you feeling?'

'It's all going to go wrong,' said Rincewind flatly.

'What d'you mean, old fellow?'

'I just know it. It's all going to go wrong. Something dreadful's going to happen. I thought it was too good to last.'

'You see?' said the Dean. 'Hundreds of little legs. I told you. Would you listen?'

Rincewind sat up. 'Don't start being nice to me,' he said. 'Don't start offering me grapes. No-one ever wants me for something nice.' A confused memory of his very recent past floated across his mind and he experienced a brief moment of regret that potatoes, while uppermost in his mind at that point, had not been similarly positioned in the mind of the young lady. No-one dressed like that, he was coming to realize, could be thinking of any kind of root vegetable.

He sighed. 'All right, what happens now?'

'How do you feel?'

Rincewind shook his head. 'It's no good,' he said. 'I hate it when people are nice to me. It means something bad is going to happen. Do you mind shouting?'

Ridcully had had enough. 'Get out of that bed you horrible little man and follow me this minute or it will go very hard for you!'

'Ah, that's better. I feel right at home now. Now we're cooking with charcoal,' said Rincewind, glumly. He swung his legs off the bed and stood up carefully.

Ridcully stopped halfway to the door, where the other wizards had lined up.

'Runes?'

'Yes, Archchancellor?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, his voice oozing innocence. 'What is that you've got behind your back?'

'Sorry, Archchancellor?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

'Looks like some kind of tool,' said Ridcully.