2. This, That & the Other
Uh oh. A dark and cloaked figure was descending the spiral staircase of the tower. This was never a good sign.
"Who is our guest, Igor?"
"Runt."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Runt Thunderbelch. That's my name," said the dwarf.
"Hmmm. It's a splendid name, to be sure. I am Doctor Q.E.D. Ipsofacto, and this, of course is Igor."
Igor grinned, showing a set of teeth that reminded one of a panorama of gravestones lit by moonlight. "Mathter, he cometh bearing naught holeth."
Dr. Ipsofacto's step hesitated. "Er, naught holes? Really?"
"Yes, due to a curious set of circumstances I find myself with an excess of naught holes and a great need of gold." He pulled one of the naught holes out of his treasure bag and held it up. "I'm looking to make a trade."
"Naught holes for gold?"
The dwarf nodded expectedly.
"Why of course. That's no problem at all."
Igor's eyes opened in surprise, and one even fell out. He caught the eyeball on the way down and put it back in before anyone noticed."
"Say uh, you're a dwarf aren't you?"
Runt glanced down at his flowing beard, studded armor and proximity to the floor. "And if I am?"
"Then you have no magical powers whatsoever, do you?"
"Thertainly not, Mathter," blurted Igor. "A dwarf ith ath non-magical ath any creature can be. Not affected by magic and completely unable to catht any magical thpellth."
"Hmmmmmm."
Runt squirmed. "Why are you 'Hmmmmmming' at me?"
"Tell me, Runt. Are you . . . looking for a job?"
"No. Of course not. Well, maybe. Does it pay? In gold?"
Dr. Ipsofacto smiled a crocodile smile. "Why, of course."
Igor raised a dubious eyebrow. It got stuck there, and he hammered on it until it released.
"How much?"
"Oh well," Dr. Ipsofacto did some mental calculations. "Let's say for the naught holes and for your first week's wages . . . oh . . . five Anhk-Morpork dollars? In gold, of course."
Igor's heart stopped, but his back-up heart kicked in.
"Fi-fi-fi-five dollars?" gasped Runt. "Well, yes, that will do. That will do nicely. Quite nicely indeed. Five? As in one-more-than-four? Five?"
"So tell me, uh, Runt. What do you think of dragons?"
"Dragons? Cute little beasties," the dwarf replied. "Of course, they're not as tasty as rats."
"No, no, no, no!" Dr. Q.E.D. Ipsofacto snapped. "Not swamp dragons. The . . . uh . . . other kind."
"Other kind?"
"You know." He wiggled his single, impossibly long, thick, hairy eyebrow. "The other kind."
"Uh, the only 'other kind' are the noble dragons, and they don't really exist now, do they?"
His insane eyes gazed deeply into Runt's. "Don't they?"
Lightning split the darkening sky outside. Thunder echoed. Rain began to pelt the tower wall. Runt swallowed hard. What had he gotten himself into?
Dr. Ipsofacto's head popped up. "Lightning! Quick follow me!" He charged up the spiral staircase of the tower to the highest room with Igor and the dwarf following.
Igor hurried to the window where a kite sat. He prepared to launch a kite out into the thunderstorm.
"What are you waiting for, Igor? Now. Now! NOW!"
Igor hung the kite out of one of the windows and let the howling wind sweep it away.
Runt was looking at his new employer for an explanation.
"I have a theory," pontificated Dr. Ipsofacto, "that lightning is a form of electricity. With this experiment, I intend to prove it."
Igor whispered quietly to Runt. "I know it'th electrithity and you know it'th electrithity, but geniuth over here ithn't too thure. Tomorrow, maybe we'll prove that water ith wet."
The scientist continued, "Igor is flying a kite up into the thunderclouds. As the kite string becomes wet, it becomes capable of conducting electricity. When a lightning bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the string to that key tied near Igor's hand. Now, observe this carefully."
Blinding lightning flashed. Dr. Ipsofacto was flung in one direction while Runt flew off in the opposite direction. Igor was propelled backwards across the room, bounced off the wall by the spiral staircase, screamed, and went tumbling head-over-heels-over-elbows-over-hips-etcetera down the staircase.
Dr. Ipsofacto and Runt clambered back up to their feet and staggered over to the stairs.
"Yieee!" Thump, thump, bump. "Oh no!" Crash, thud. "Awk!" Bamm, wham, crunch. "Oooooh." Bumpbumpbumpbump. "Uuuuh!" echoed up from below.
"Igor? Are you all right?"
"Oh yeth, Mathter," replied Igor's voice. "Right ath rain. Only thum third-degree burnth, a dithlocated thhoulder, a few compound fractureth, a punctured lung, a ruptured thpleen, a concuthion, and an annoying thubdural hematoma. Don't worry about a thing. I'll have mythelf fithed up in a few minuteth."
"So lightning's electrical then?"
"Oh you have my word on that, Mathter. It'th ath electrical as electrical can be! Alwayth hath been; alwayth will be. Maybe ath much ath a billion voltth."
"Wonderful!" Dr. Ipsofacto beamed. "Splendid fellow. Say Runt, Igor will probably need a little help getting himself onto the operating table, so give him a hand, won't you? Meanwhile, I have an errand or two to run."
̼
A few moments later, Ipse Dixit Ipsofacto heard the sound of grunting behind her. She turned to see her older brother squirming out of a wooden ring. "Where did you come from?"
Once he'd totally emerged, Dr. Ipsofacto stood and said, "Oh hello, Ipse."
"How did you get in here?"
He hid the ring behind his back. Oh, uh, just walked in through the front door."
She cocked an eyebrow. "Really?" She tried to peer around him at the ring. "That wooden ring doesn't have anything to do with quantum, does it?"
"Quantum? Don't know what you're talking about."
"When are you going to give up all that pseudoscientific nonsense and come back to work here at the Alchemists' Guild?"
"What? Making gold? Silly girl, alchemist know nothing about how to turn base metals into gold."
"Oh? Then what are they all doing here?"
"If they know about making gold, then why, in all the history of the guild, has gold only been made one time?"
"One time, yes! That shows that it can be done! All we have to do is to figure out how it was done before, and we'll be able to do it again, and again, and again!"
"Let me show you something," snorted Dr. Ipsofacto, and he turned on his heel and marched out of the room. What could his sister do but follow him? He led the way through the explosion-scorched corridors into the main lobby. He pointed at the display case. "There."
"There what?"
"Why do you think that the one piece of gold which this guild has ever produced is egg shaped?"
"That's part of the conundrum," said Ipse.
"Gold is . . . the 'noble metal', is it not?"
"You know that's what it's called."
"So has it ever occurred to anyone that the noble metal may have something to do with draco nobilis, the noble dragons?"
"What are you getting at?"
"That the missing key ingredient which the Alchemists' Guild has always overlooked is dragons!"
"Dragons? Are you crazy?"
"Who told you that? Who? Who? Oh, oh yes. Never mind. Yes, the one reason why the only piece of gold ever produced by the Alchemists' Guild is egg shaped is because it IS an egg . . . a dragon's egg!"
"Think about what you're saying," his sister admonished him. "If a dragon is indeed needed to turn base metals into gold, then the Alchemists' Guild is out of business. The draco nobilis is a magical creature. It feeds on magic. It flies using magic. So if a dragon is truly needed, then a wizard is needed because the wizards are not about to let anyone else go dabbling about in magic."
"Do-dee-do-dee-do," Dr. Ipsofacto hummed happily. "Magic is not needed."
"Q.E.D., do you know something I don't?"
Dr. Ipsofacto giggled as he nodded his head rapidly. He leaned forward and whispered, "Any sufficiently advanced pseudoscience is indistinguishable from magic."
"What's that?"
"I can do with pseudoscience what wizards can do with magic."
"You can summon a dragon?"
Dr. Ipsofacto giggled again. "I can."
"And use the dragon to produce gold?
Again he nodded. "I can."
"Unlimited amounts of gold?"
"Yes!"
"We're talking about wealth here, Q.E.D. Unlimited wealth. More money that we can ever imagine!"
Her brother nodded his head enthusiastically.
Ipse Dixit Ipsofacto thought about this for a long time. "Then what do you need me for?"
"Oh, uh, em, can you loan me five dollars?"
̼
Locust Lane was not located in the Shades . . . not quite. When Gaspode realized where the guard was going, he quietly put his stub of a tail between his legs and slunk off to a better part of town1.
"Ah!" exclaimed Carrot coming to a weather-cracked doorway next to a spectacularly dirty window. "Here we are." If a person managed to peer through the smears of grime and grit, he could just make out the words:
College of Certitude
Ejjucashun While U Wait
C.M.O.T. Dibbler, Ph.D., ChancyLure
Angua's jaw dropped. "Dibbler, running a college? Oh this I have to see." Carrot opened the door, and she trotted in.
̼
Runt found Igor laying in a bloody mess at the bottom of the spiral staircase. Luckily, there was one of Igor's gurney parked nearby. With a great deal of grunting, groaning, bleeding, screaming and swearing, Runt hoisted Igor onto the gurney and began wheeling him towards Igor's section of the tower where the surgery was located.
"Uh Igor, can I ask you something?"
"You jutht did."
"Is the Master, uh, crazy?"
"Oh, ath a bedbug. Oh yeth, pretty thoon you'll be theeing villagerth with pitchforkth and torchth gathering outthide. It won't be pretty."
"What do you think I should do?"
"Thuit yourthelf."
"Shoot myself!"
"No, no, no. Not 'thuit yourthelf.' Igor said, 'Thuit yourthelf'."}
"Oh, oh, oh! 'Suit myself'!"
"If you're having trouble with your ear'th, I can change them out before I leave."
"Wait. You're leaving? Why?"
Igor turned a morose eye upon Runt. "What part of 'pitchforkth and torchth' didn't you underthtand?"
"Do you have any idea what the Master's working on?"
"Thumthing to do with dragonth. No, not that kind. The other kind."
"But only magic can summon a noble dragon. And he's not a wizard; he's a mad scientist."
"What'th your point?"
"He'd have to be mad to think he can summon dragons!"
"Kinda putth the 'mad' in 'mad thientitht', doethn't it?"
̼
When Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler heard the friendly tinkle of the little bell over the door, he leapt to his feet with a mile-wide grin on his face. When he saw who it was who had entered, his expression changed from expectant entrepreneur to a cornered thief and then to an overly smarmy smile. "Well, if it isn't my two favorite guardsmen [he looked at Angua], er guards-persons [he looked at Angua again], er guards-humanoid-entities. Welcome!"
"Good afternoon, Mr. Dibbler," began Carrot.
"Ah-ah-ah, Doctor Dibbler now. I have a Ph.D."
"Which stands for . . ?"
"Plutocratis hynosium Dibbler."
Angua's eyes squinted with wolf-like suspicion. "Doesn't that mean Dibbler is fixated on making money?" she asked.
He held up his palm. "This is an institution of higher learning but, sorry, no free samples."
Captain Carrot sat casually on Dibbler's desk. "We're carrying out an official investigation. Of course, it has nothing to do with an honest citizen such as yourself. But as an honest citizen, I'm sure you want to help us out."
"Well I, uh, em, er . . ."
"If not, Lance Constable Detritus can be down here shortly with a search warrant. But don't worry. I'll tell him to be extra gentle with your establishment."
Dibbler blanched. "You wouldn't! You couldn't. Please?"
"I'll ask some questions, and you answer them. Okay?"
"Ah!" nodded Dibbler. "I see. The Pseudocratic method."
"You have a graduate named Q.E.D. Ipsofacto."
"Um, er, ah, well I'm not sure. I'll have to check our records. I can't remember every student who comes through here."
"No, no. Mine was a statement, not a question. Now, what is Mr. Ipsofacto's address?"
"His address? Well he's, that is, he's . . . He moved back home after graduation!"
"And where is that?"
"Far away."
"A little more precision if you please. Or we could have Lance Corporal Detritus—"
"A dark tower! By a river! Near the based on the Little Big Tiny Mountains! That's all I know!"
Angua glided forward. "What did Mr. Ipsofacto study while he was here?"
"Study? Why, uh, pseudoscience of course."
Carrot held up a finger. "More precision, please."
"What do you mean?"
Angua hissed, "Quantum theory? Quantum mechanics?"
"Oh yes. To be sure."
"And why precisely? What did he hope to use quantum for?"
Dibbler shrugged. "You got me there. I just teach quantum. I don't pretend to understand it."
̼
"I, I, I, I, I," stammered the bank teller. "I don't understand."
"It's all very simple," explained Dr. Q.E.D. Ipsofacto calmly. "I would like to exchange this $5 bill for $5 in gold."
"I, I, I, I, I, I don't understand."
"Paper money in; gold out."
"I, I, I, I, I, I don't think we do that."
"This is a bank, yes?"
"Well, y-y-y-y-y-yes."
"Good. Then you do do that. Oh yes, you do."
"Take paper money and give gold in exchange?"
"Yes!"
"Oh dear." The teller was turning green. And pale. She was turning pale green. Weakly, she signaled for the senior teller.
"Yes, may I help you?" asked the senior teller, grinning like a sun-bleached skull on one of the Patrician's spikes.
"I would like to exchange a $5 bill for $5 in gold."
"Oh. We don't do that."
"You're a bank?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You handle money?"
"Well of course we handle money!"
"Is this money?" asked Dr. Ipsofacto, holding out the five dollars his sister had lent him.
"Um yes, it appears to be."
"Is gold money?"
"Gold?"
"Yes. Is gold money?"
The senior teller looked around helpless. "I'll have to check."
"Gold is not money?"
"Um," squirmed the senior teller. She signaled for help.
A junior assistant managers slipped in. "Good afternoon, sir. What seems to be the trouble?"
"The trouble is, I'd like to exchange this $5 bill, which this bank issued, for $5 in gold, which this bill says I can do. It says it right here. See that?" He pointed to printing on the back of the bill.
The junior assistant teller chuckled. "But nobody really does that, now do they?"
Dr. Ipsofacto gave him a stern look. "I would like to exchange this $5 bill for $5 in gold. Please."
"What seems to be the trouble?" harrumphed the senior assistant manager butting in.
"I would like to exchange this $5 bill for $5 in gold," repeated Dr. Ipsofacto.
The senior assistant manager gave him a cold stare. "Do you have an appointment?"
"For a five-dollar transaction? What kind of bank is this?"
"The best bank is Ankh-Morpork, voted No. 1 in customer satisfaction."
"Ah ha!" gloated the manager bellying up to the counter. "Another happy customer, I see." He beamed with delight.
"No really, sir, no. You see, I'm trying to exchange this $5 bill for $5 in gold—"
"Are we allowed to do that?"
"No sir," replied the junior assistant manager.
"It says I can," hissed Dr. Ipsofacto, "right here on the note that your bank issued."
"We issued?" The manager took the bill and peered at it. "Mr. Ferris-Pyrite, how do you explain this?" He handed the bill to the senior assistant manager.
The man looked disdainfully at it. "Obviously a printing error, sir."
"Ah, there you go!" The manager handed the bill back to Dr. Ipsofacto. "Simple printing error is all. Sorry for the confusion."
Dr. Ipsofacto bristled. "You're not going to exchange the note?"
"Well, we can't. It was a printing error." The manager shrugged helplessly.
"Your $5 bill isn't worth $5 in gold?"
"Now sir, I never said that."
"Good afternoon, all. What's going on?"
"Oh, good afternoon, sir. This, uh, gentleman is insisting we take back one of our $5 bills and give him $5 in gold. I've tried explaining to him that—"
"Oh, is that all?" Moist von Lipwig dug in his pocket and came out with a $5 gold coin. He handed it to Dr. Ipsofacto, took the $5 bill and shoved it into his own pocket. "Everyone happy?"
"Well uh," stammered the bank manager.
"Yes, thank you," said Dr. Ipsofacto.
"No, it is we here at the bank who thank you, the customer, beamed Moist von Lipwig. "Thank you, sir." The nondescript man bowed and then strolled happily off into the back offices.
̼
Angua, her golden ears laid back along her sleek skull, raced across the vast expanse of the Sto Plains towards the foothills of the Little Big Tiny Mountains.
The freedom to run felt so good, so right. As did the wind whipping through her fur and the endless miles passing beneath her paws.
The most misunderstood fact about werewolves is the belief that they only take wolf form during a full moon. In reality, werewolves can change form whenever they like, albeit during a full moon, the urge to take on wolf form is nigh on irresistible. Wolf form brings the advantages of speed, ferocity, enhanced hearing and acute smell. The disadvantages are decreased vision and the problems with having a human mind crushed into the shape of a wolf's brain. Remaining in that form for too long results in the loss of the ability to change back.
But for now, Angua ran.
̼
The next morning, Runt was summoned to the Master's laboratory. Test tubes were bubbling and steaming. Jacob's ladders were sparking and crackling.
"Congratulations, Runt!"
"Thank you, sir," Runt replied. "Er . . . why, sir?"
"You have been selected to be the first person to travel inter-dimensionally!"
Runt looked around. Other than the Master, he was the only one left in the tower. Igor had hot footed it out of there sometime during the night. "Wonderful, sir. What does that mean, sir?"
"It means you are about to travel between dimensions."
"Uh, so I'll just pack a suitcase then, shall I?"
̼
A fine line separates madness from genius. Sometimes the line isn't so much "fine" as it is, well, "non-existent." The Inter-Dimensional Instrument Of Transport was a splendid example of this. The device was a masterpiece of simplicity and lunacy.
It consisted mainly of a series of mirrors, set in a circle with all mirrors slightly askew. When a beam of light stuck one of the mirrors, it was reflected to one of the neighboring mirrors, and from there to the next mirror, and then to the next mirror, ad infinitum, creating a vortex. Between the circle of askew mirrors and the tightly shuttered window were the naught holes which Dr. Ipsofacto had recently purchased from Runt. Over them as sprinkled the exploding powder which he'd purchased at Boffo's.
When the powder was lit, it would in turn ignite the naught holes. They would issue the thick, black smoke of nothingness. When the smoke began to clear, the shutters to the tower window would be thrown open, light would filter through the ever-thinning nothingness, where it would fall upon one of the mirrors and would begin its infinite trip around the circle of mirrors.
Like all machines based upon the quantum theory, this one operated using smoke and mirrors.
Runt stared at the Inter-Dimensional Instrument Of Transport2 and gulped. "Dr. Ipsofacto, exactly what is going to happen to me?"
"Ah, it's quite simple, my lad. The Instrument will create a vortex of light around you. This vortex, of course, will open a gateway to another dimension."
"Do I dare ask what dimension?"
"Well technically to the Dungeon Dimension, BUT it's not what you think. There is a portion - a very small portion – of the Dungeon Dimension in which the dragons have taken refuge. Dragons, you see, need magic. They feed off magic. They crave magic. They have fled our dimension because we don't have enough magic here to satisfy them. So there they lay, crushed in, side by side like so many beautiful sardines. But once a non-magical creature such as a dwarf is dropped into their midst, they will have no choice but to flee back here. Oh by the way, be sure to grab onto one of them when they begin to fly away, or else you'll be marooned in the Dungeon Dimension for the rest of all eternity."
Runt was agog. "What makes you think that I'd ever agree to do such a crazy thing!"
Dr. Ipsofacto shrugged. "Five dollars."
1 More precisely, Gaspode slunk off to a less worse part of town.
2 I assure you, the acronym I.D.I.O.T. is just an unhappy coincidence.