Glenda was amazed to see the Candle Knave waving his hands at Trev and Nutt, and she headed for them. She did not like Smeems very much; a man could be dogmatic, and that was all right, or he could be stupid, and no harm done, but stupid and dogmatic at the same time was too much, especially fluxed with body odour.

‘What’s this all about?’

It worked. The right tone from a woman with her arms folded always bounces an answer out of an unprepared man before he has time to think, and even before he has time to think up a lie.

‘They raised the chandelier! They raised it without lighting the candles! We won’t have enough time now to get it down and up again before the guests come in!’

‘But, Mister Smeems—’ Trev began.

‘And all I get is talking back and lies,’ Smeems complained bitterly.

‘But I can light them from here, Mister Smeems.’ Nutt spoke quietly, even his voice huddling.

‘Don’t give me that! Even wizards can’t do that without getting wax all over the place, you little—’

‘That’s enough, Mister Smeems,’ said a voice that to Glenda’s surprise turned out to be hers. ‘Can you light them, Mister Nutt?’

‘Yes, miss. At the right time.’

‘There you are, then,’ said Glenda. ‘I suggest you leave it to Mister Nutt.’ Smeems looked at her, and she could see there was, as it were, an invisible mallet in his thinking, a feeling that he might get into some trouble here.

‘I should run along now,’ she said.

‘I can’t stand around. I’m a man with responsibilities.’ Smeems looked wrong-footed and bewildered, but from his point of view absence was a good idea. Glenda almost saw his brain reach the conclusion. Not being there diluted the blame for whatever it was that was going to go wrong. ‘Can’t stand around,’ he repeated. ‘Ha! You’d all be in the dark if it wasn’t for me!’ With that, he grabbed his greasy bag and scuttled off.

Glenda turned to Nutt. He can’t possibly make himself smaller, she told herself. His clothes would fit him even worse than they do already. I must be imagining it.

‘Can you really light the candles from here?’ she said aloud. Nutt carried on staring at the floor.

Glenda turned to Trev. ‘Can he really—’ but Trev was not there, because Trev was leaning against the wall some distance away talking to Juliet.

She could read it all at a glance, his possessive stance, her modestly downcast eyes: not hanky panky, as such, but certainly overture and beginners to hanky panky. Oh, the power of words…

As you watch, so are you watched. Glenda looked down into the penetrating eyes of Nutt. Was that a frown? What had he seen in her expression? More than she wanted, that was certain.

The tempo in the Hall was increasing. The football captains would be assembling in one of the anterooms, and she could imagine them there, in clean shirts, or at least in shirts less grubby than usual, dragged here from the various versions of Botney Street all over the city, staring up at the wonderful vaulting and wondering if they were going to walk out of there dead. Huh, she tagged on to that thought, more likely it would be dead drunk. And, just as her brain began to pivot around that new thought, a severe voice behind her said, ‘Hwe do not usually expect to see you in the Great Hall, Glenda?’

It had to be Mrs Whitlow. Only the housekeeper would pronounce ‘we’ with an H and finish a plain statement as if it were a question. Besides, without turning round, Glenda heard the clink of her silver chatelaine, reputed to hold the one key that could open any lock in the university, and the creaking of her fearsome corsetry[16].

Glenda turned. There is no mallet! ‘I thought you might need a few extra hands tonight, Mrs Whitlow,’ she said sweetly.

‘Nevertheless, custom and practice—’

‘Ah, dear Mrs Whitlow, I think we’re ready to let them through now. His lordship’s coach will shortly be leaving the palace,’ said the Archchancellor, behind them.

Mrs Whitlow could loom. But mostly only horizontally. Mustrum Ridcully could out-loom her by more than two feet. She turned hurriedly and gave the little half-curtsy which, he’d never dared tell her, he always found mildly annoying.

‘Oh, and Miss Glenda, isn’t it?’ said the Archchancellor happily. ‘Good to see you up here. Very useful young lady, Mrs Whitlow. Got initiative, fine grasp of things.’

‘How kind of you to say so. She is one of my best girls,’ said the housekeeper, spitting teeth and taking care not to meet Glenda’s suddenly cherubic gaze.

‘Big chandelier not lit, I see,’ said Ridcully.

Glenda stepped forward. ‘Mister Nutt is planning a surprise for us, sir.’

‘Mister Nutt is full of surprises. We’ve had an amazing day here today, Miss Glenda,’ said Ridcully. ‘Our Mister Nutt has been teaching the lads to play football his way. Do you know what he did yesterday? You’ll never guess. Tell them, Mister Nutt.’

‘I took them along to the Royal Opera House to watch the dancers in training,’ said Nutt nervously. ‘You see, it is very important that they learn the skills of movement and poise.’

‘And then when they came back,’ said Ridcully, with the same, slightly threatening joviality, ‘he had them playin’ here in the Hall blindfolded.’

Nutt coughed nervously. ‘It is vital for them to keep track of every other player,’ he said. ‘It is essential that they are a team.’

‘And then he took them to see Lord Rust’s hunting dogs.’

Nutt coughed again, even more embarrassed. ‘When they hunt, every dog knows the position of every other dog. I wanted them to understand the duality of team and player. The strength of the player is the team and the strength of the team is the player.’

‘Did you hear that?’ said Ridcully. ‘Great stuff! Oh, he’s had them running up and down here all day long. Balancing balls on their heads, doing big diagrams on a blackboard. You’d think it was some kind of battle being planned.’

‘It is a battle,’ said Nutt. ‘I mean, not with the opposing team, as such, but it is a battle between every man and himself.’

‘That sounds very Uberwaldian,’ said Ridcully. ‘Still, they all seem full of vim and vigour and ready for the evening. I think Mister Nutt is planning one of those sunny luminair things.’

‘Just a little something to capture people’s attention,’ said Nutt.

‘Anything going to go off bang?’ said Ridcully.

‘No, sir.’

‘Promise? Personally I like the occasional bit of Sturm and Drang, but Lord Vetinari is a tad particular about that sort of thing.’

‘No thunder and lightning, sir. Possibly a brief haze, high up.’

It seemed to Glenda that the Archchancellor was paying some thoughtful attention to Nutt.

‘How many languages do you speak, you… Nutt?’

‘Three dead and twelve living, sir,’ said Nutt.

‘Really. Really,’ said Ridcully, as though filing this away and trying not to think How many of them were alive before you murdered them? ‘Well done. Thank you, Mister Nutt, and you too, ladies. We will bring them in shortly.’

Glenda took this opportunity to get out of Mrs Whitlow’s way. She was not pleased to see that Trev and Juliet had already taken a slightly earlier opportunity to get out of hers.

‘Do not worry about Juliet,’ said Nutt, who had followed her.

‘Who said I was worried?’ Glenda snapped.

‘You did. Your expression, your stance, the set of your body, your… reactions, your tone of voice. Everything.’

‘You have no business to be looking at my everything–I mean the set of my body!’

‘It is simply the way you stand, Miss Glenda.’

‘And you can read my mind?’

‘It may appear that way. I am so sorry.’

‘And Juliet. What was she thinking?’

‘I am not sure, but she likes Mister Trev, she thinks he is funny.’

‘So have you read Trev’s everything? Bet that was a dirty book!’