Teatime had never learned anything about frogs, other than that they existed and made an awful lot of noise around ponds. It was an oversight, however small, and on some level he could appreciate the crash course.

The first lesson was that a single slit of a pupil on a frog was roughly as useful as a tiny dot for a human. The second was that frogs very, very much depended on their eyesight.

This was made all the more problematic in a University that bred crows, and attracted snakes and cats and a whole score of predators who'd eat a frog if they ever found one. The third lesson was that this could describe any animal that had managed to survive in Ankh-Morpork.

Teatime managed to find himself a low-hanging bush, and settled into the mud under it. That would do until the spell wore off, which couldn't be terribly long. He hoped.


The sound of ants rushing through the glass tubing was an oddly comforting one. It got better when it was joined by a steady scratch of a quill, and the faint hum from the room full of bees. It meant that everything was working properly.

Ponder focused on that as he steadily sorted the bits of text that Hex had printed out. It was certainly better than thinking about how he'd sent Death off with one man, especially when she was pointedly looking for another. This was a Granddaughter, though, whatever that was worth. Jonathan had been incredibly insistent that he be allowed to go.

It was the first time he'd ever felt trapped in the HEM. And while it seemed terribly important that he stay exactly where he was, for safety and privacy reasons, he couldn't being himself to accept that it actually was the right thing to have done.

When Hex took one of its regular breaks, so it wouldn't overheat from the complicated spellwork, Ponder grabbed the ear trumpet.

"Hex, give me all the information you have on Death. The er... The entity."

Ponder waited as Hex whirred about, and then read what the quill began to write. His brow pulled down, and he grabbed the trumpet again.

"Hex, I said Death, not Hogfather." He sighed. Hex had certainly become more bizarre with garbage readouts. But, at the same time, those words sounded nothing alike. Perhaps he'd do another diagnostic on the input. "Cancel. Give me all the information you can find on Death's granddaughter. Name: Susan."

Hex began to whir again.


Ridcully's attention span was notoriously terrible, but Susan was well versed in working around things like that. She guided, and occasionally forced, him through the period between her Grandfather showing up dressed as the Hogfather and the actual Hogfather's regeneration. And then, briefly, she outlined the tribulation associated with fetching the sword.

His comprehension seemed to ebb and flow, unless the story distinctly brought up Teatime. In particular, he seemed fascinated with the fact that she couldn't track him.

Susan readjusted at the newly contemplative look. "Do you have a theory?" She asked.

"Hm... Maybe. Anyway, go on."

"That's about all there is to tell," she admitted. "Not that it might matter at all, really. Everything's been put back to normal, and he's probably long gone by now."

"I have a feeling he may be sticking around for a while," Ridcully said, thoughtfully.

"Are you sure? He seemed rather adamant..."

"Things change," he told her. "Now, about when you met him before. How did he act? Erratic?"

"That's a word for it... Illogical more, I would think. He bounced about a lot, his affect was wrong, and, when he was hanging off me... I don't think he bothered to understand that he was going to fall even when he was falling."

"And now?"

"He could certainly stay still longer than he managed in the tower. And the affect fit. So I suppose... better?" She frowned, heavily. "Still a pest of a man, though."

Ridcully stroked his beard for a moment as he thought.

A pouch, containing a rather prominent lump, began to move across the desk. Ridcully slammed a hand down on it and stuffed it into a drawer.

"That sounds about right," he finally muttered to himself. He looked back at her. "You only needed the sword, then?"

Susan nodded, hesitantly. "Yes," She agreed. "Is... Mr Teatime is a very dangerous person, whatever he's made you think. Even the Assassins seem to think so. He really does need to be contained."

"Don't worry about that," he said, as he handed her the sword and stood to usher her out. "I'll have someone walk you to the front gate. We're going to have some visitors that I'm sure are planning to come in the back."


When light began to stream in the windows, Ponder decided that he'd waited quite long enough for a five minute conversation to be done. He gave the dozing Bob a scratch, and left the building.

He checked Teatime's room which was, in the most generous of senses, on his way to breakfast. Aside from a messenger bag full of clothes, spare weaponry, and a money pouch, the room was empty. He couldn't have left without that, so he was at least still in town. Most likely still on the UU grounds.

At the Library, which was also generously on the way, the Librarian shruggingly insisted that he hadn't seen him. Back past the empty out-buildings, once more in the HEM, and finally he entered the Great Hall. With the menu the Archhancler picked, the Great Hall at breakfast was normally the longest shot to find someone. But Teatime hadn't been around long enough to know that yet, so Ponder felt justified in being annoyed he wasn't there either.

He settled in with a bowl of porridge to pour over Hex's output and think. According to the readings, Susan didn't look right for being... being what she could be. It seemed rather questionable that she could collect his soul at this point without the help of the sword.

It made him shudder a little to think of how casually he'd handled it. Of course, at the time he'd thought he'd been incredibly cautious. But, reading what it could do...

Jonathan had clearly known all about that. But, moreover, he was so stubborn. He wouldn't have just handed it over, even if it was just a regular weapon. But, there, it said that she had a VOICE (in capitals, for whatever reason) that made people do as she said. So maybe...

Or would she have used a scythe? Did she even have one? He hadn't see it, and he'd certainly looked. But maybe it could shrink for easy transport? Could she do that?

"Good morning," Ponder said, absently, as he continued to read.

"Is that boy not back yet?" The Lecturer in Recent Runes asked as he sat down with his own bowl.

"No, that's what I'm..." Ponder looked up. "What do you mean 'back'?"

"Archchancellor turned him into a frog to calm him down hours ago," he explained, in the matter-of-factness wizards reserved specifically for something as mundane as transforming someone into a frog. "Usually wears off within a half hour. And they're absolutely starving because they refuse to eat flies." He began to stir honey into his porridge. "He'd best work at changing back soon, though. The crows will be up by now."

When he looked up from his bowl, Ponder was already gone.


Lesson... was it eighteen, at this point?

Lesson whatever-it-was was that crows were absolute bastards.

Lesson six and seven, respectively, had been that frogs needed to keep their skin moist which somehow connected to how well they were able to breathe. The mud helped some, but what he really needed was to get into the pond.

Only between that and him were a batch of crows who chattered (actually chattered, unless he was hallucinating) incessantly about finding a frog to eat. Frog eyes in particular. And, even if his remaining one was rather useless, he had no intention of letting them take it.

His skin had started to become painfully dry, and his breathing came out more labored.

Suddenly, the crows flew off in an irritably panicked mass, and Jonathan made a break for it. The few hops between the bush and pond seemed like a marathon, but the relief upon hitting the water was instant and amazing.

There was more when he surfaced to see a green-grey blob that searched about the bushes. When he hopped out, and croaked at it expectantly, it scooped him up with a far more delicate grip than had previously been used.

"There you are! I was worried, with the crows and..." Ponder pushed Teatime's head down by the nose to look at the symbol. "Oooh... no wonder you can't change back."

Teatime croaked, irritably.

"Er... He's put a blocking rune on you. And since you're so weak in this form, you won't be able to break out of it."

Another croak of 'why don't you just take it off?'

"See, er, this line here means..."

Ponder's attention turned away, and Teatime was held tighter to the robe. He could hear the vibrations of a racing heartbeat, and Teatime did his best to peek through the fingers.

Black blobs that moved as a disciplined unit. The Assassins had arrived.

"It's safer for you to stay like this for now," Ponder muttered. "Come on, I'll get you some cleaner water at least."

Teatime settled into the hand that kept him tucked against the chest. It was comforting, in a bizarre sort of way, to be shielded like that. But...

Lesson nineteen was that Ponder had most definitely earned himself the right to be considered unwanted collateral damage.

Lesson nineteen, amendment A, was that Susan was never, ever, to be told that she'd been right about that.