Theory of Narrativity

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Shite all.

Authors Notes: I recently came across a well written and thought provoking fan-work on the Lancre time jump and its effect on Eskarina. Going outside time for 15 years can cause alienation problems, so… well, something got out before they went to warp, as it were.

And we may yet discover what happened to the former Mayor of Sto Lat as mentioned in Going Postal.

According to this particular universe, THE LAST HERO happened in AM 1990, summer (I.E. a month or so ago).

Description: Grand Entrances, explanations and reunions. And also what may be either Unseen Universities worst kept secret or its biggest non-issue. And just when all is going well… something strange happens.

Lancre Town, Lancre, Dawn, Grune 23rd AM 2000

Lancre, as it is well known, is the Disc's most famous hub (1) of witches and witch-magic. Witch-Magic, at its core, is magic in its natural element: a practical, near shamanistic use of thaumalogy that hasn't changed much in the last few thousand years. It doesn't delve into the mysteries of the Thaum like Wizardry does, and is very sparse on the occult rituals and ceremony: You hang a horseshoe up in case an elf comes knocking, not because The Lady has any sort of Equestrian leanings.

That doesn't mean that a witch doesn't know the value of an image: what good is knowing all the old stuff and being able to do it if people don't see you as a witch with a pointy hat, black wardrobe and a good broomstick?

But even Lancre, a place where Magic is so thick that the resident Headless Horseman now works as a message runner for the Clacks, had never seen anything like what was about to happen.

Out of the Rimwards sky came a dot, tiny at first but growing rapidly. Following it came the distant, bellowing roar of a large-lunged, healthy man screaming in exhilaration and/or fear. Getting nearer, the dot took on a recognizable colour: dark red with a spot of grey near the top. In short order, the dot became a blur: a bellowing red projectile of fabric, flesh and wood sailed low over the square, skidded on what looked like a pair of blurry boots into an narrow alley between two buildings and crashed in a cacophony of snapping branches and tearing bramble in the forest behind.

Being that the town was both rather small (a village by plains standards) and hosting most of the countries manual labour, this arrival quickly turned the deceivingly silent inn into a source of considerable noise and activity, sending several people out into the street. These included Jason Ogg, national blacksmith; Shawn Ogg, who was most of the Castle staff; and lastly one young woman who was looking around… in a suspiciously expectant way.

Her appearance, in a less agriculturally dependent society, would have probably been perceived as near the commonly inflated standard for female attractiveness. Sand-Blond hair, a sculpted face and a slim, tall figure would most likely made her desirable by young men from the city (2).

These things would have, in other dimensions, also pegged her for many undesirable traits: being a cheerleader for example, which is described in some universes as one of the lower hominid life forms (Being higher than only professional wrestling announcers, male cheerleaders, Mary-Sues and, arguably, Corporal Nobbs). A general snootiness would have followed, consisting of a curious mixture of vanity and arrogance caused by the ability to net the courteous-but-not-so-bright Captain of the Rugby team. This would have caused a great many other females to despise her in varying degrees of secrecy. In the end, the only place where such a gel might find a meaningful lives work is as a part of the Guild Of Seamstresses (Not your Grandmothers thimble). They also tend to die early in high-school horror movies.

This would have probably described this girl not but five years ago. Emphasis on 'would'. The past few years had seen a transformation in Lucy Tockley that was nothing if not inspired. That callow girl of 17, who had almost gotten herself killed by consorting with homicidal Fae, was but a memory.

In place of a floppy black hat and veil, her hair had become two long braids wrapped around the circumference of her head (to hold pencils, or so she says). In lieu of the fashionable black dress was a hardwearing gown of thick, plain cotton with a heavy leather apron (littered with pockets) worn in the front. Fingernails that had once been painted black now were plain, utilitarian things hidden beneath gloves (which were leather and had all of their fingers attached). A single thaumic instrument on a string around her neck had replaced the Magrat-esqe occult baubles. And… she was humble. Gone too was the stupid hubris of youth, replaced with something approaching common sense.

Of course, getting attracted to a Wizard, even a junior one, isn't widely considered to be very sensible. Nor is being especially curious when working with said wizard.

Miss Tockley turned her head as she heard something shake itself loose from the bramble between the houses and exit the alley. She was slightly disappointed to recognize the figure as Archchancellor Ridcully, stiff from a night of riding a broom at high speed, instead of the Projects usual leader. "Good Morning, Archchancellor… where is Professor Stibbons? He was supposed to supervise the final preparations." Asked the girl once she was through with the practiced curtsy.

"Ah, well…" Began Mustrum, as he lifted the makeshift goggles from his eyes and hoisted onto his shoulder the broom he had rode in on. "Professor Stibbons has been reassigned to a very important project in the new Department of Thaumic Hygiene (3) and will be away for extended periods on fieldwork." He saw an acceptably hidden look of disappointment cross her face. "Don't worry," he said jovially. "Stibbons will be back here for research. And I must say that your letter was quite well written!"

The young woman's face lit up in a surprised blush "You… read the letter?"

"And may I say that both you and Mr. Stibbons are lucky that I returned to the University when I did! The other senior staff had their hands on it, and would have opened it if I hadn't taken it. I'm sure they didn't overhear anything incriminating." Mustrum prepared to enter Sensitive Territory. "By the way… I know that this is really none of my business, but why Stibbons? As far as I can tell, he isn't the flashiest prize at the fair, and I don't know if he has ever…"

"If there is anything I've learned from Mistress Weatherwax, it is that looks are not everything." Lucy interjected. "Ponder is a man of learning, though. I've learned a lot by being in his company. Besides, he needed an assistant who knew the area around the Dancers and what risks the area held. Mrs. Ogg recommended me because I wasn't going to be allured by that green-blooded bitch again. Mistress Weatherwax approved: she said that I could 'do with a bit of playing second fiddle'. It's done both of us quite well, now to think of it."

"Yes… Esmerelda is quite clever like that…" Commented the grinning wizard, stepping once again out onto the wistful dreamscape of memory lane. But he soon shook himself out of it when he spied a humoured smile on the girls face, directed at him. "And may I ask what is so funny?" He asked her gruffly.

"Oh, nothing, nothing." She said, as if it had been nothing. "As to your inevitable question, 'Granny' went up to the stones with the carpenters and coppersmiths late last night; they had an Igor with them."

"Good. But I would like to point out that my next question was to inquire as to the location of Mrs. Ogg; I have to clear some things with her first." Mustrum felt as if he had inadvertently entered a contest of one-upmanship… or one-upwomanship, or possibly uppersonship or… something.

"Sure you were. Well, she's in the Inn anyway. Shawn doesn't have to show you where it is, does he?" Mustrum hadn't heard this sort of competitive banter since the last staff meeting, and to hear it from a girl…

"No, I do not. Now, if you will excuse me." He turned abruptly toward the Inn, nodding to the eldest and youngest Ogg sons as he passed them by.

When he entered the building, a giant cheer erupted: the Wizard was here (and sod it all if he wasn't a lot older) and the 'festivities' could begin. But first… breakfast was in order.

As he sat down on a stool and leaned the broom on the counter, the Archchancellor bellowed for a mug of beer. Beside him sat, already holding a mug, Gytha Ogg; her thatch of white curls supporting a willow-strutted black hat and her giant, feral monster of a cat, Greebo, hanging around her shoulders, surveying everything with a look of easy-going malice.

"I got those Iconographs you asked for, Mrs Ogg." Said Mustrum conversationally as he removed the strap of a bag from his shoulder and produced said pictures. "As well as a gift for Esmerelda." He motioned to the broom.

He handed Gytha the series of card squares. Shuffling through them happily, she eventually came to one of a baby who was maybe days old. "And what did they name this little cutie, now? Did they take any of my suggestions?" asked Gytha in the tone that baby-picture aficionados have down pat.

"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Ogg. They said that 'Neville' was too hard to turn into a girls name and any form of 'Zachary' would get her teased at school. Simon was very firm about that. They named her Eglantine." The baby described was the third child and first daughter of Eskarina Smith and her partner, Simon Midgecreek, the other pictures being mostly Eglantine from different angles. He was only her partner because no priest or religion in the city had consented to marrying two graduates of Unseen University, lest they get blamed when another Sourcerer appeared.

Their graduation wasn't very widely known outside University circles: they never wore any of the usual wizard regalia, and never wore their bronze octagrams in public (or anywhere,as they were still sitting in their felt-lined boxes). Eskarina worked as a maths teacher at the Alchemist Guild charity school (that being her degree) while Simon had taken up the quite unique practice of using magic to create beautiful flowers that would disappear exactly 20 hours after being bought. If you needed disposable flowers quickly, their storefront off Welcome Soap was the place to go.

Their obvious lack of celibacy, as previously demonstrated by the existence of young masters Robert and Gregory Smith (4), had not set off the University like it had been expected to. Without either Eskarina or Simon actually being wizards (meaning participating in the University functions), a certain protective shield of cognitive dissonance had solidified around the staff as to their relationship.

Stibbons, however…

"Well, Its good to hear from them, and it was quite a bit of thought from Esme regarding that note we sent before the jump. 'Might was well let the gel know what we're doing' she said. And I must say it probably saved us a tongue lashing later on." Gytha shook her head amusedly.

Mustrum chuckled, before looking back toward Ms. Tockley, who was primly sitting at a table, swirling the dregs in a cup of tea as to separate the last bit of drinkable tea out. "Speaking of gels, Esmerelda sure did a number on Mr. Stibbons assistant, didn't she?"

"Well, I let Esme take the credit, but it was a team effort. Every step of stern discipline has to be matched with a little bit of charm: a wink for a curtsy and all that. She got the banter down good from listening to Stibbons up at that shed they built up on the moor." When she saw Mustrum staring at her incredulously, his mouth gaping open, she began laughing in such a way that the roof rattled. "I know, I know what you're thinking, but Esme was very strict about that. She's up with them nearly all the time, then accompanies them back to town: Lucy sleeps at my place and Ponder has a room here."

Gytha settled down as the Wizards beer was brought. "That's all you're having for breakfast?" she queried, looking at the mug.

Mustrum looked at his beer, and then shouted for a bowl of crackers. After he finished he stood up, grasped his lapels… and did the 40-yard dash for the privy.

12 hours on a broomstick will do that to a bladder.

High Turnwise Moors, 11 AM, Grune 23rd, AM 1990

"Are you sure you don't need any help Mr. Igor, what with all those… things?" Ridcully asked the hunched figure who was fiddling with wires at the bottom of a lightning rod. Mustrum was renowned for his one-track mind, so when the impression that Mr. Igor of Igors R Us had been involved in some horrible accident due to all the stitches he sported went into his head, it stuck. As such, he was still trying to offer assistance to the man in a thoroughly patronizing way.

"No need Thir, the manual you brought along ith motht inthructive. Although, I wath ethpecting thomeone a bit… younger." Said the figure, looking up at the wizard though odd levelled eyes.

"It was an emergency reassignment, very hush-hush. I'm just here to make sure nothing blows up." Said Mustrum as he readjusted his grip on the crossbow he was holding. It was large, with a solid iron bolt primed in it. The stock was also plated with hammered iron riveted on, so as to provide a weighted bludgeon in the event that this went wrong. He walked back to the group assembled about 30 feet back. The royal family was there, along with most of the Oggs, Ms. Nitt, Ms. Tockley and, most importantly, two of the countries most senior witches.

Esmerelda Weatherwax stared towards the Hubward mountains. A storm was coming down from the high Ramtops, hard and fast, swelled with lightning and moisture bound for the loam of the plains. That didn't mean that Lancre was completely passed over: it got its share of the rain and the lightning, but a storm system only showed its true potential when it had ridden all the way down to Ankh Morpork or similar. This storm was their best bet at freeing themselves from the Gentry for another few thousand years, and she'd be buggered if she didn't make sure it was done right

Gytha (Nanny) Ogg was also supervising, but it wasn't the experiment. The Ogg daughters and Daughters-in-law had assembled a celebratory picnic at Nanny's urgings, and since she didn't trust anyone not to pinch something, she was watching it like hawk. She also did not want to miss the grand event, so the entire 50 pounds of sandwiches and preserve had been lugged up here. It would probably rain shortly, and the meal moved to the inn, but Nanny Ogg was one of those women who could convince you that anything was worth trying at least once.

"Shouldn't be long now. One lightning bolt and those elves will only exist in a book… that is, if it's written right." Explained Ridcully to King Verence the 2, who was holding an iron crowbar. Queen Magrat of Lancre, nee Garlick, was wielding a skillet commandeered from the castle kitchens, all the time watching her toddling daughter play with the flowers and blades of the regularly cut moor grass. Jason Ogg was wielding a crossbow the same as Ridcully, while Shawn was clad in a mail tunic, an ancient pie-plate helmet and wielding an equally ancient Uberwald bearded axe In fact, most of the men were armed and armoured in some form of iron, be it iron cauldrons and pans or horseshoes tied to leather aprons in a primitive form of mail.

Eventually, the time was at hand. Igor did some last minute tinkering with the lightning rod connections and then hobbled away toward the crowd. The storm was directly overhead. Sparks flicked off the thick copper wire running, raised on wooden supports, from the base of the tower to a wood and copper construction built around the stone circle. Frameworks of wood supported copper tubes running the circumference, with pieces of mineral iron, identified by Stibbons as being similar to the stones and retrieved from Copperhead, positioned around.

A great spear of lightning suddenly spiked down from the clouds, turning the air blue-hot with the force of a sufficiently peeved intermediate god. It arced onto the tower, its copper plating drawing it down to the wire. From there the scene was a blur, the glow traveling to the structures built around the circle, and an eerie blue aura enveloping the structures before… the wood blew outward and the glow went into the stones.

Ridcully, moving with an unusual caution, began edging toward the stones, a nail form his hats emergency iron stores held out in front at arms length. About 23 feet from the now glowing stones, where charcoal smouldered and puddles of molten copper bubbled; the nail began tugging out of his fingers. He let it go, and it tumbled toward the nearest stone where it landed with a satisfying clink. A cheer erupted, and people began to disembark before the rain hit.

Mustrum strolled, divested of crossbow and hands clenched behind his back, toward Granny Weatherwax, who was staring interestedly at the stones. "Well, thank goodness that it's over with! I couldn't stand any more of that stuff… not like when I was a lad. Mind you, Stibbons has a lot going for him: a good job, big meals, and I shall not forget Ms. Tockley."

A hand rolled a pair of dice from a skull…

Esme snorted. "That's the problem these days. Too many people going too fast, trying to practically re-invent the wheel while treating us folks like idiots for trying to get a word in." She paused. "And you're right about Lucy: once she discovered that the old knowledge was actually worth something, she was coming to me near every week, asking for instruction. Between me, Gytha and your boy, she's become something reasonably polite, cautious for her own sake and willing to listen once in a while. Or, as Gytha put it: 'Fine wifin' material fer that spec'teld wizard o' yourn'."

'And that, precisely, is the problem', thought Mustrum.

And tumbled across oceans and fields, before they stopped at the sharp rise on the board.

He coughed. "By the way, what did you think of the new broom?"

An eye, detached from any sort of body, inspected the die, which had landed with 5 and 4 up.

"New? It's ancient! Black Aliss prob'ly had a broom newer than that." Another pause. "But… it does seem to work well, and it looks like it can get a good speed without any sort of running." One last pause happened before she added, quietly. "Thank you."

"Well now... How convenient: subtracted to the same ages that they were…then." Fate bristled at his obvious cheat, but he could only frown as his eyes, void black, met those of the one that had made the toss. He'd always hated the colour green.

"Don't mention it." He offered his hand to her. After staring at it for about two seconds, she began moving hers toward it, presumably to shake.

The Lady half-smiled "That, dear fellows, is how you play 'Last Chances'."

No one ever saw the second lightning bolt coming. One minute Esmerelda Weatherwax and Mustrum Ridcully were shaking hands, and the next there was a bright flash of Octarine and a large but shallow crater where they had been. Everyone was gaping at the scene, until someone spotted movement and alerted the crowd with the traditional cry of "LOOK!"

Indeed, a dirt-covered arm was groping over the top rim of the crated, and by the bulk of it, it was most likely Ridcully. The crowd raced toward the hole, the men divesting their iron implements on the fly as not to become permanent fixtures. When they reached the crater, they found two bodies coming to their senses. Gytha was first into the smoking morass, and knelled at the side of the slimmer form, who was currently propping herself up oh her elbows.

Some of the men were helping Mustrum to his feet, and finding him much lighter than a wizard of his age aught to be. Gytha was using a sleeve to wipe some dirt off the face of a protesting Esmerelda… and the voice doing the protesting was… well, different. And the face that was revealed when all the dirt was off…

"Oh, dearie." The rain began falling, washing away the dirt that covered them and revealing the reason why Ridcully had gotten the moniker 'the Brown'.

1. No offence meant to our guests up on Cori Celesti.

2. Where, it so happened, she had been schooled.

3. It had been deemed appropriate to name the new department with both a euphemism for the general public in mind and the Archchancellors insistence on hygiene in the first place.

4. Otherwise known as Exhibits A and B, respectively.