In short, Windle Poons went back to Windle Poons.

Wizards don't believe in gods in the same way that most people don't find it necessary to believe in, say, tables. They know they're there, they know they're there for a purpose, they'd probably agree that they have a place in a well-organised universe, but they wouldn't see the point of believing, of going around saying, "O great table, without whom we are as naught". Anyway, either the gods are there whether you believe or not, or exist only as a function of the belief, so either way you might as well ignore the whole business and, as it were, eat off your knees.

Nevertheless, there is a small chapel off the University's Great Hall, because while the wizards stand right behind the philosophy as outlined above, you don't become a success~ wizard by getting up gods' noses even if those noses only exist in an ethereal or metaphorical sense. Because while wizards don't believe in gods they know for a fact that gods believe in gods.

And in this chapel lay the body of Windle Poons.

The University had instituted twenty-four hours sitting-in-state ever since the embarrassing affair thirty years previously with the late Prissal ‘Merry Rankster' Teatar.

The body of Windle Poons opened its eyes. Two coins jingled on to the stone floor.

The hands, crossed over the chest, unclenched.

Windle raised his head. Some idiot had stuck a lily in his stomach.

His eyes swivelled sideways. There was a candle on either side of his head.