II. Changed, Sort Of
Three years had passed since Mort and Ysabell's wedding; it was also five years into the reign of Queen Keli of Sto Lat, and on the whole, Igneous Cutwell was doing very well for himself. He had lost weight, cleaned his house and hired a speech therapist for his doorknocker. He had also become famous for potions throughout the city; word had spread to Sto Helit and even over the Sto Plains to Ankh-Morpork.
Cutwell was also Grand Vizier to the Queen, but refrained from staying over at the Palace to avoid her - he had a living to make, after all. The trouble was that he was notoriously slow when it came to potion making.
All right, think about this: a doctor is trying to find a cure for acne, but isn't allowed to think about spots. Imagine poor Cutwell making ... preventative ... potions without being allowed to think about the cause ofwhat he was preventing. But all in all, life was good, thought Cutwell.
"So, is there anything we do?" demanded Keli, slicing through fuzzy philosophy. "Something strong."
"Er, we should evict the tenant and put him to work in the cabbage fields," said Cutwell.
"You realise," she giggled, "that I was talking about baby Susan's bowel problem."
"Yes, of course! I simply meant that we need a new sewer, running straight into the Plain. It would... naturally fertilise the plants and increase Sto Lat's exports tenfold!"
Keli peered at him contemplatively. "Yuck. Although," she said, "that's not actually abad idea for waffle. But back to the baby - Ysabell needs a potion that'll clear up her diarrhoea. "
"Oh. She's probably just teething. Tell Bella - I mean the Duchess - to just put up with it."
"Right." Keli looked into her lap for a moment. "You know, if you're that bored, you can go."
"Thank you, Majesty," he gushed.
Cutwell scurried out of the throne room. Keli watched him go and remembered the tubby wizard who had saved her life several times. What a different man he was now. The six lost stone made him seem a little taller, though that might have been to do with the hat, which could easily have housed a good-sized toddler.
Cutwell flopped into his chair with a loud squishy sound, rather like when you sit down after not-having-made-it-to-the-toilet-in-time. He groaned, pulling a half-eaten jelly out from under himself.
He HAD cleaned his house - a Spring Cleaning as they said in Ankh-Morpork - but it was early autumn now and his sleeve was currently glued to the chair by last week's honey.
Giving the table a wipe, Cutwell whipped out a steel wool scrubber and began digging deep trenches in the solid filth atop his table. He stood back, amazed. His table was actually made of polished Blue Bloogletree wood, not oak. Excellent. Went with the floor ... assuming that the floor wasn't ebony after all. Then he started chipping away the dirt on the other half of the table. Just then, someone knocked on the door.
"... yes, yes - new man altogether. Well, nearly-new, anyway."
"Lisp's gone, I notice-"
Cutwell opened the door. "Igneous!" cried a person Cutwell had never seen before in his life. "Just here to invite you to the Unseen University's quad-annual regraduation next week!"
"Er-what?"
"You don't know?" The stranger looked shocked when Cutwell shook his head."They did send out messengers a month ago... you never know, out here in the stalks.†"
"It's the second-largest city on the plains," said Cutwell in an injured tone of voice.
"Yes, I know." The messenger shuddered. "What's it like, being so far from civilisation?"
"It's only twenty-" Cutwell gave up. Now he remembered why he'd left Ankh-Morpork. It began with an I. "Terrible."
"Well then, I suppose I'd better tell you. You came sixth in your class, so you're supposed to return once every six years. Replenish the knowledge - you know."
"Gods help old Peter Winger!" laughed Cutwell.
"Indeed," said the visitor seriously. "He's not allowed to come back for another ... let's see ... 94 years. He won't be able to burn his way out of a paper bag by then. Literally."
"94 years!" exclaimed the wizard. "But there were only 15 in our class."
"Don't ask me. Are you coming or not?"
"I suppose so," Cutwell shrugged.
"Fantastic! Must be off."
Before Cutwell could even say 'goodbye', there was a twister of purple smoke and Cutwell could just see the stranger sprint round the corner. If the regraduation were next week, he would have to leave in two days.
Until then...
"Gods above! I didn't know that fork was metal!"
†Like the sticks, but with more cabbages.
"No, I can't take any orders, I'm afraid. Going away for a week."
"When'll you be back?" asked the young man desperately. "My girlfriend- "
"I'm sure that if she's waited 17 years, she can wait another two weeks," smiled Cutwell sagely.
"Two? But you said-"
"You don't understand," said Cutwell, shaking his head. "To make that particular draught ... it's a wizard thing."
"Oh," the teenager glanced down. He leered. "I get it. Oi! Where are you going?"
By then, Cutwell was on the other side of the Palace Gates. "I work here," he said. "And gods help me when I have to tell her," he added in a mutter.
†Like the sticks, but with more cabbages.