‘Don’t you worry, sir, I will see that it does not fall into the wrong hands,’ said Nutt, bustling off.

Except, of course, that you are the wrong hands, Ridcully thought, as he returned to the table.

‘An impressive display,’ said Vetinari, as Ridcully took his seat again. ‘Am I right in thinking, Mustrum, that the Mister Nutt you referred to is indeed, as it were, the Mister Nutt?’

‘That’s right, yes, quite a decent chap.’

‘And you’re letting him do alchemy?’

‘I think it was his own idea, sir.’

‘And he’s been standing here all this time?’

‘Very keen. Is there a problem, Havelock?’

‘No, no, not at all,’ said Vetinari.

It was indeed an impressive display, Glenda acknowledged, but while she watched it she could feel Mrs Whitlow’s gaze on her. In theory Glenda’s activities would merit another kind of firework display later on, but it wasn’t going to happen, was it? She had nailed the invisible hammer. But there were other, if less personal, matters on her mind.

Stupid, silly, and thoughtless though some of her neighbours were, it was up to her, as ever, to protect their interests. They had been dropped into a world they didn’t understand, so she had to understand it for them. She thought this because as she prowled between the tables she could make out a certain type of clink, clink noise, and, sure enough, the amount of silverware on the tables appeared to be diminishing. After watching carefully for a moment or two, she walked up behind Mr Stollop and without ceremony pulled three silver spoons and a silver fork out of his jacket pocket.

He spun around and then had the decency to look a bit embarrassed when he saw that it was her.

Glenda didn’t have to open her mouth.

‘They’ve got so many,’ he protested. ‘Who needs all those knives and forks?’

She reached into the man’s other pocket and pulled out three silver knives and a silver salt cellar.

‘Well, there’s such a lot,’ said Stollop. ‘I didn’t think they’d miss one or two.’

Glenda stared at him. The clinking of cutlery disappearing from the tables had been a small but noticeable part of the ambient noise for some time. She leaned down until her face was an inch away from his.

‘Mr Stollop. I wonder if that’s what Lord Vetinari is expecting you all to do.’ His face went white. She nodded. ‘Just a word to the wise,’ she said.

And words spread fast. As Glenda walked on she was gratified to hear behind her, spreading along the tables, more clinking as a tide of cutlery flowed swiftly out of pockets and back on to the tables. The tinkling flew up and down the tables like little fairy bells.

Glenda smiled to herself and hurried off to dare everything. Or at least everything that she dared.

Lord Vetinari stood up. For some inexplicable reason he needed no fanfare. No ‘Would you put your hands together for’, no ‘Lend me your ears’, no ‘Be upstanding for’. He simply stood up and the noise went down. ‘Gentlemen, thank you for coming, and may I thank you, Archchancellor Ridcully, for being such a generous host this evening. May I also take this opportunity to put your minds at rest.

‘You see, there appears to be a rumour going around that I am against the playing of football. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am completely in favour of the traditional game of football and, indeed, would be more than happy to see the game leave the fusty obscurity of the back streets. Moreover, while I know you have your own schedule of games, I personally propose a league, as it were, of senior teams, who will valiantly vie with one another for a golden cup—’

There were cheers, of a beery nature.

‘—or should I say gold-ish cup—’

More cheers and more laughter.

‘—based on the recently discovered ancient urn known as The Tackle, which, I am sure, you have all seen?’

General sniggering.

‘And if you haven’t, then your wives certainly have.’

Silence, followed by a tsunami of laughter which, like most tidal waves, had a lot of froth on the top.

Glenda, lurking among the serving girls, was taken aback and affronted at the same time, which was a bit of a squeeze, and wondered… So, he’s planning something. They’re lapping it up along with the beer, too.

‘Never seen that before,’ said a wine waiter beside her.

‘Seen what before?’

‘Seen his lordship drinking. He doesn’t even drink wine.’

Glenda looked at the skinny black figure and said, enunciating carefully, ‘When you say he does not drink wine, do you mean he does not drink wine, or he does not drink… wine?’

‘He doesn’t have a bloody drink. That’s all I’m saying. That’s Lord Vetinari, that is. He’s got ears everywhere.’

‘I can only see two, but he’s quite handsome, in a way.’

‘Oh, yeah, the ladies like him,’ said the waiter and sniffed. ‘Everyone knows he’s got something going on with that vampire up in Uberwald. You know? The one who invented the Temperance League? Vampires who don’t suck blood? Hello, what’s this… ?’

‘Let no one suppose that I am alone in a desire to see a better future for this great game,’ Vetinari was saying. ‘Tonight, gentlemen, you will see football, hear football and if you don’t duck, gentlemen, you might even eat football. Here to display a marriage of football from the past and I dare hope from the future, I present to you the first team of Unseen University… Unseen Academicals!’

The candles went out, all at once, even the ones high up in the chandelier; Glenda could see pale ghosts of smoke rising in the gloom. Beside her, Nutt started counting under his breath. One, two… At the count of three, the candles at the far end of the Hall burst into life again, revealing Trevor Likely, wearing his most infectious grin.

‘Evenin’ all,’ he said, ‘an’ to you too, your lordship. My, but ain’t you lookin’ quite the swell tonight.’ As breaths were indrawn all around the Hall Trev pulled out his tin can, dropped it on to his foot and flicked it up on to his shoulder, where it travelled around the back of his neck and down his other arm.

‘At the start people used to kick rocks. That was sort of stupid. Then they tried skulls, but you had to get ’em off people and that led to fightin’.’

Beside Glenda, Nutt was still counting…

‘An’ now we’ve got what we call a ball,’ Trev continued, as his tin can rolled and climbed around him, ‘but it ain’t all that, ’cos it’s a lump of firewood. You can’t kick it ’less you’ve got big heavy boots on. It’s slow. It’s heavy. It don’t live, gentlemen, and football should live… ’

The doors at the other end of the Hall opened and Bengo Macarona trotted in, bouncing the new football. Its gloing, gloing echoed around the Hall. Some of the football captains had got to their feet, craning for a better view.

‘And with the old football, you couldn’t do this,’ said Trev, and dived for the floor as Macarona spun in one balletic movement and sent the ball screaming up the aisle like an angry hornet.

Some scenes are only ever a memory rather than an experience, because they happen too fast for immediate comprehension, and Glenda watched the subsequent events on the internal screen of horrified recollection. There were the two Archmages and the Tyrant of the city, watching with frozen interest as the spinning globe hummed towards them, dragging terrible consequences in its wake, and then there was the Librarian rising out of nowhere, stopping it dead in mid air with a hand like a shovel.

‘That’s us, gentlemen. And we’ll take on the first team that joins us on the Hippo on Saturday at one o’clock. We’ll be training all around the city. You can join in if you like. And don’t worry if you don’t have the balls! We’ll give you some!’ The candle flames went out, which was just as well because it is hard to riot in the dark. When the flames rose again in their eerie way, shouting, arguments, laughter and even discussion were taking place on every table. Quietly, too, the servants went to and fro with their flagons. There always seemed to be another one, Glenda noticed.