The Wit & Wisdom of Discworld - By Terry Pratchett Page 0,67
the class doing algebra, and they get restless when they’ve finished.’
‘Algebra?’ said Madam Frout, perforce staring at her own bosom, which no one else had ever done. ‘But that’s far too difficult for seven-year-olds!’
‘Yes, but I didn’t tell them that and so far they haven’t found out,’ said Susan.
The class had built a full-size white horse out of cardboard boxes,
during which time they’d learned a lot about horses and Susan learned about Jason’s remarkably accurate powers of observation. She’d had to take the cardboard tube away from him and explain that this was a polite horse.
The Stationery Cupboard! That was one of the great battlegrounds of classroom history, that and the playhouse. But the ownership of the playhouse usually sorted itself out without Susan’s intervention, so that all she had to do was be ready with ointment, a nose-blow and mild sympathy for the losers, whereas the Stationery Cupboard was a war of attrition. It contained pots of powder paint and reams of paper and boxes of crayons and more idiosyncratic items like a spare pair of pants for Billy, who did his best. It also contained The Scissors, which under classroom rules were treated as some kind of Doomsday Machine, and, of course, the boxes of stars. The only people allowed in the cupboard were Susan and, usually, Vincent. Despite everything Susan had tried, short of actual deception, he was always the official ‘best at everything’ and won the coveted honour every day, which was to go into the Stationery Cupboard and fetch the pencils and hand them out. For the rest of the class, and especially Jason, the Stationery Cupboard was some mystic magic realm to be entered whenever possible.
Honestly, thought Susan, once you learn the arts of defending the Stationery Cupboard, outwitting Jason and keeping the class pet alive until the end of term, you’ve mastered at least half of teaching.
*
According to the Second Scroll of Wen the Eternally Surprised, Wen the Eternally Surprised sawed the first Procrastinator from the trunk of a wamwam tree, carved certain symbols on it, fitted it with a bronze spindle and summoned the apprentice, Clodpool.
‘Ah. Very nice, master,’ said Clodpool. ‘A prayer wheel, yes?’
‘No, this is nothing like as complex,’ said Wen. ‘It merely stores and moves time.’
‘That simple, eh?’
‘And now I shall test it,’ said Wen. He gave it a half-turn with his hand.
‘Ah. Very nice, master,’ said Clodpool. ‘A prayer wheel, yes?’
‘No, this is nothing like as complex,’ said Wen. ‘It merely stores and moves time.’
‘That simple, eh?’
‘And now I shall test it,’ said Wen. He moved it a little less this time.
‘That simple, eh?’
‘And now I shall test it,’ said Wen.
*
Lu-Tze bent down, picked up a fallen cork helmet, and solemnly handed it to Lobsang.
‘Health and safety at work,’ he said. ‘Very important.’
‘Will it protect me?’ said Lobsang, putting it on.
‘Not really. But when they find your head, it may be recognizable.’
*
‘All roads lead to Ankh-Morpork.’
‘I thought all roads led away from Ankh-Morpork.’
‘Not the way we’re going.’
*
Now the cold crept in, slowly, like a sadist’s knife.
Lu-Tze strode on ahead, seemingly oblivious of it.
Lu-Tze, it was said, would walk for miles during weather when the clouds themselves would freeze and crash out of the sky. Cold did not affect him, they said.
‘Sweeper!’
Lu-Tze stopped and turned. ‘Yes, lad?’
‘I don’t know how you can stand this cold!’
‘Ah, you don’t know the secret?’
‘Is it the Way of Mrs Cosmopilite that gives you such power?’
Lu-Tze hitched up his robe and did a little dance in the snow, revealing skinny legs encased in thick, yellowing tubes.
‘Very good, very good,’ he said. ‘She still sends me these double-knit combinations, silk on the inside, then three layers of wool, reinforced gussets and a couple of handy trapdoors. Very reasonably priced at six dollars a pair because I’m an old customer. For it is written, “Wrap up warm or you’ll catch your death.”’
*
The Auditors hated questions. They hated them almost as much as they hated decisions, and they hated decisions almost as much as they hated the idea of the individual personality. But what they hated most was things moving around randomly.
*
The apprentice Clodpool, in a rebellious mood, approached Wen and spake thusly:
‘Master, what is the difference between a humanistic, monastic system of belief in which wisdom is sought by means of an apparently nonsensical system of questions and answers, and a lot of mystic gibberish made up on the spur of the moment?’
Wen considered this for some time, and at last said: ‘A fish!’