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The Quadlobite Medallion that Thorrin found after Ali Awkshun Vree's attack on Ankh-Morpork.
A detail of my Discworld fanfiction, Necromancer: Necromancer 2: At the UDivan Jerichotree, 6th level wizard of Discworld magic, Head of the Midnight Order of wizards at the Unseen University, as well as Lecturer on Bodily Decomposition (And Ways to Hide It), looked up at the knock on his office door. It wasn’t a knock requesting entry so much as announcing it. The permission it ostensibly sought was, in the mind of Mustrum Ridcully, a foregone conclusion. The Archchancellor of Unseen University hardly imagined anyone with the poor taste to not want to see him, as well as the unmitigated gall to deny him. He had noticed that he caught a lot of people just on their way out, but never reflected on his contribution to sudden needs to go through a door, down a ladder, or out a window. “Need a necromancer,” he bellowed. “You’re the best, right?” This created a spot of difficulty for Divan. He was the head of the Order of wizards that most often attracted necromancers. And the common understanding of the Orders was that the most powerful led them. One studied, and chose a specialty (or it was chosen for one), graduated, then either got a job somewhere, or remained in University. There, one played games of popularity, diplomacy, and straight-up longevity, until enough higher-level wizards had ‘left’ the Order and it was your time to be Head. The necromancers, though, were a bit different. They were often the personalities that, on other worlds, would become Mad Scientists, Super Villains, Evil Doctors, or Libertarians. The sort of people who uttered ‘Bah!’ as punctuation, ‘Imbecile!’ as a greeting, and ‘Fools!’ as a way of announcing they had a contribution to the discussion. They saw themselves as the only person in any room that truly understood what ‘It’ was all about. Such people do not typically do well in a ‘wait your turn’ environment. It was rather expected that more than half of each graduating class in The Midnight Order would leave. They’d deliver a short speech about the failings of University staff, rules, facilities, and the availability of a decent meal at 3 o’clock in the morning. After that, and after depositing the speech transcript with the Order’s Secretary, they’d choose a colorful cognomen and storm out. Thus began the career of (Name) The Black, or The Evil, The Slayer, The Undying, or the whatever. The Order would dutifully file the speech, update the school roster, and alert the Adventurer’s Guild of another unsanctioned practitioner of the Unhallowed Arts. Thus (usually) ended the career of The Black, or the Evil, or the whatever. So, Lecturer Jerichotree was the ranking necromancer AVAILABLE, since Tomwix the Disembowler’s departure. But he was probably not in the top ten of surviving necromancers in the world. Just the top one willing to put up with hidebound tradition, a dearth of creativity, and slim pickings before dawn.It was really a rare coincidence if the senior member of Midnight was one of the 8 senior wizards at Unseen University.The Archchancellor should have known all this, but details of other people’s jobs were literally things for other people to think about. Divan tried to frame a careful response, but a second of silence was taken as agreement.“Good,” Ridcully went on. “The Patrician needs a rundown of yesterday’s excitement at Onion Gate. And an explanation of some of the remarks made by the wizard at the scene.”“What… Remarks?” Divan forced out past his sudden panic.“I’m sure we’ll find out when he asks them again,” Ridcully shrugged. “We’ll take a carriage to his palace. Be at the front gate at 9 sharp.”“Tonight?” Divan asked, glancing at the clock above his desk. It showed ‘something like 8-ish.” University staff responsible for keeping the clocks wound and precise didn’t come to this office with any regularity.[1]“Tomorrow, man! Who does official work at 9 at night?”“Our entire order,” Divan explained. He gestured at the clock on the wall, his desk full of projects he was grading, and the fluids draining from his desk to the grate in the floor.“Well, the rest of us work in daylight,” Mustrum harrumphed. He turned to leave.“Should I bring Thorrin?” Divan asked desperately.“Who?”“The wizard who was at the zombie uprising!”“What zombie uprising?”“Was there ANOTHER bit of excitement at Onion Gate yesterday?” Divan asked hopefully. Maybe a different wizard would be required to attend.“The Patrician’s note didn’t say anything about zombies,” Mustrum mused. “What do you know about zombies?”“Everything,” Divan said proudly.“Then you can answer all the Patrician’s question,” Ridcully said with a firm nod.“Oh, no, no, I didn’t mean I know about this zombie EVENT. I know about zombies as a discipline.” He waved to the corner of his office and his combination coat rack, pipe rest, clothes horse, and nut cracker.[2] All these functions were performed by a very well-preserved post-mortem man.[3]Ridcully, whose mind was already three offices down the hallway, on to his next task, nodded absently to the body draped with spare robes, work boots, a tobacco bag, and extra gloves. He mumbed, “Charmed, I’m sure,” and departed.Divan sighed, removed his gloves, and went looking for Thorrin.He found the wizard in the instructor’s lounge, passed out on a couch. Members of the Watch had brought him by on a stretcher and gently placed him there. He was sleeping off the exertions of the battle.It wasn’t the first time the Watch had delivered unconscious wizards to the University, but it was the most respectful delivery Divan could remember ever seeing.Of course, the other occasions had involved alcohol and fireballs, not defending the city.He tapped the sleeping form on the shoulder firmly and said, “Thorrin, wake up and explain last night to me.” Thorrin slept on.“THORRIN! Wake up!” There was no response. Divan proceeded to emergency measures.“What do you mean, there’s no dessert?” he said loudly. This also proved ineffective. After a few more attempts in this nature, Divan finally went to the most horrendous threat he knew of.He walked around behind the couch and leaned over the back. In a conversational voice, he asked, “Why is Rincewind running away?”Thorrin was on his feet in an instant, groping around for his staff, casting his gaze back and forth in alarm. "What direction?” he pleaded. “Can we catch up to him? Did he scream anything?”About the time Divan was reassuring him that nothing was about to explode, implode, or charge them a lot of money, Thorrin realized where he was. He looked at his superior accusingly.“What?” he asked suspiciously. “The Patrician wants us to see him at nine. Tomorrow,” he added. They both glanced up at the clock over the fireplace. It suggested that the time was in the reach of 7 o’clock. Give or take.“He’s an old man,” Thorrin mused. “Will he still be up at 9?” ----- The two Midnight wizards had a short breakfast of only five courses, then hurried out to the gate. By the clock outside the dining room,[4] they got there by 8:30.“You’re LATE!” Mustrum accused, standing beside the waiting carriage.“You said we’d leave at 9!” Divan protested.“When I SAY leave at 9, I MEAN we should be arriving at the Palace BY 9. That means departing at 8!”“You should have said.”“I DID,” the Archchancellor insisted. Thorrin was quiet through the whole exchange, not having the rank to give an 8th level wizard any backtalk.Technically, neither did Divan, but he took his position in the Order as granting him certain privileges. Thorrin rode silently in his corner of the carriage while Mustrum and Divan discussed the coming meeting.Mostly a list of things they were not to say in front of the Patrician. The Patrician had met wizards a few times and the University didn’t want to repeat any of that.“Don’t admit to breaking any laws.” “Of course not, Archchancellor.”“Don’t commit to anything that’ll cost time, money, the rarer spell components, or the University’s prestige.”“Certainly, sir.”“Don’t confuse him. He dislikes being confused.”Privately, Thorrin doubted that either of the two had the sort of mind that could actually confuse Lord Vetinari. Delay him, maybe. But the man had a mind like a steel trap: something he used to control lesser beings and prevent them eating the stuff in the pantry.The only thing asked of Thorrin was that he not say anything at all in front of the Patrician ever for any reason.As it turned out, the meeting that took place in the Patrician’s office also included the High Priest of Blind Io, the ranking cleric in the city; Duke Vimes, the ranking cop; and Rufus Drumknott, who was probably the ranking clerk in Ankh-Morpork, did anyone ever notice such people.They all sat through Vimes’ recounting of the events of the attack. He glanced over at Thorrin from time to time to see if he’d misremembered anything. Luckily, Thorrin found no discrepancies in the record, as he hadn’t quite figured out how to address them without violating Ridcully’s direction to remain silent.When Vimes finished, and no one had any questions or additions, Vetinari turned to the wizards. “I was struck by the line, ‘The spells to prevent this… Your Grace, I didn’t know there was anyone in the world capable of doing this.’Thorrin might have been the only person to notice that this wasn’t an exactly what Vimes’ recount had mentioned. But it was a very precise quote of what he’d actually said three days ago. He idly wondered if Vimes’ written report had been more accurate, or if the Patrician had used alternate sources of information.[5]Either way, he sat quietly while his superiors responded.“Yes,” Ridcully started. “There are, of course spells to protect the city from invasion, even by our own forces.”Vetinari gestured and Drumknott picked a parchment out of his file. He scanned it, then shook his head. “It seems that no zombie-prevention magic is listed on the official file of spells cast upon the city.”Helplessly ignorant, Ridcully turned to his head necromancer and raised his eyebrows. Divan cleared his throat, then said, “Well, not cast upon the CITY, exactly, but upon the cemetary.”“Ah,” Vetinari nodded. “And these spells are…?”Divan turned a desperate look upon Thorrin. But Thorrin was staring fixedly at Vimes. In the carriage, the senior wizards had all but explicitly stated that they didn’t trust Thorrin in front of any authority. So they’d need to explicitly give him permission to talk before he’d help them out of the hole they were digging.Vimes had figured out at least the shape of what was happening, if not the full transcript, and smirked back at his new consultant. Vetinari, also clear on what was going on, was staring at the Archchancellor, waiting for him to resolve the issue of retaining authority while admitting to ignorance.“You know,” he finally attempted, “it’s more of a necromancer topic than my specialty.” Vetinari’s gaze swung like cannon’s barrel upon Jerichotree. “It’s actually from before my time,” that worthy said in his own defense. “It’s a relic of the time this city was ruled by a king,” Vetinari drawled. “It’s before all our time. Even Master Thorrin’s, and yet he knew enough to mention it.”“Yes, well, um. Thorrin, perhaps you should explain what you meant by your remarks the other day?” Ridcully pleaded.Vimes winked as Thorrin leaned forward in his chair. “The prayer that Army chaplains speak over grave sites is actually a spell.”“Is that so?” Vetinari asked, glancing at The High Priest.Hughnon Ridcully, High Priest and the Archchandellor’s brother, was jolted out of a perfectly comfortable viewing of Musttrum in difficulty. “I, um, well, I’ve never served, actually. I suppose it’s possible.” He trailed off, realizing now HE was on the spot, and failing to stand up under scrutiny.Vetinari gestured and Drumknott passed him another parchment. “As all ye gathered here-by are witness,” he quoted from the beginning. “This is a spell?”“A very specific spell, sir,” Thorrin replied. “It ties all the graves together.”“Towards what end?” Vetinari asked.Thorrin took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Imagine a cemetery as a harbor full of fishing boats. If a necromancer wants to take one of the boats out of the harbor, he raises enough magical power to lift that boat’s anchor.”“The longer they’ve been dead, the deeper in the mud the anchor rests,” Divan added, to show he had something to contribute.“I don’t really care about the details of normal necromancy,” Vetinari said. “What’s different about a military harbor?”“The burial service welds all the anchors together. To release one boat requires raising all the anchors in the harbor.”“Why do they do that?” High Priest Ridcully asked.“A large number of young men dying by violence, perhaps betrayal, maybe wasted by incompetent commanders,” Vetinari mused, “seems like a situation tailor-made for revenants, ghouls, wights, and ghosts. Even without a wizard coming along to take specific advantage of them.”“Exactly,” Thorrin nodded. “No one wants to win a battle, then face an undead monster in their tent the next night. Therefore, the military buries them with extreme prejudice.”“And someone defeated this safety measure.” Vetinari’s comment wasn’t a question.“Yes, sir. Considering the size of the units buried out there, the amount of power that requires is almost beyond imagining,” Thorrin replied.“Could you do it?” Everyone in the room tensed. Though his voice was calm, even encouraging, it might not be a career enhancing response to admit to posing a direct threat to the city.“Last week,” Thorrin said with a smile, “I would have had to drive about 600 cattle into the cabbage field, get them all within a protective circle, and slaughter each and every one inside of about ten minutes.”“Last week,” Vetinari said. This was a question.“Well, after the battle, many of the dead have moved to family plots in the city’s cemeteries. And some of the dead among the Defending Dead are prostitutes that followed them home, as it were. Raising those units would require knowing all the prostitutes’ names, and simultaneously performing the ritual in every private plot throughout the city.” People stared at the young wizard, just starting to understand why HE had been so amazed at the event. Vimes, on the other hand, had a mind for practical matters. He really, really wanted to ask if the 600 cattle could have been slaughtered by sany ix hundred wizards, or if they needed six hundred necromancers specifically. More importantly, though, he didn’t want to even know the answer to the question. And even more desperately, he didn’t want to speak the question out loud in front of his boss.“But…But…” the Archchancellor stammered, there weren’t 600 cattle found on the field! There was no sign of ANY sacrifice!”“Maybe could have been done with 48 elephants,” Divan mused, scratching numbers on a scrap of paper he’d had in his pocket. “But it’d drop down to a five-minute window.“Someone would have stopped the ritual killing of 48 elephants,” Vetinari said.“Starting with the elephants,” Vimes snorted.“It is a mystery,” Thorrin said with a shake of his head.“I would rather prefer it remained a mystery,” Vetinari said. Any attempt to soften his town was gone, this was an announcement etched in steel.“Oh, yes, of course,” both Ridcullys agreed. “If there’s anything that qualifies as forbidden knowledge,” Hughnon went on, “something that’s worth 40 elephants of power but fits in a pocket…““Um, 48 elephants,” Divan couldn’t resist correcting.“Not the most salient detail,” Mustrum hissed. Divan crumpled up the scratch paper.-----So, it was decided and agreed that no one would attempt to identify the means whereby the as-yet-unidentified enemy of the city-state gained such phenomenal power.Predictably, by the time Thorrin returned to Onion Gate, there were about 80 wizards and priests scouring the area of the military cemetery. If anyone asked, they were verifying that no ‘dead bits’ were still above ground. For the benefit of the farmers, of course.No one asked.The only person Thorrin saw that was not clearly possessed of magical power was Corporal Nobbs. He was walking through the field where the battle had been fought, occasionally bending down to tap a cabbage.Thorrin walked over to him. “Looking for something, Corporal?”“Huh? Oh! Master Thorrin! Good day to you.” He stood and rested his hands on his hips. “Trying to recover the ammunition I expended in the military operation.” He gestured. Thorrin looked to see the ammunition cart for the man-portable siege engine and deconstruction tool. It looked about half-full.“Ah! Well, let me give you a hand.” He started down the next row over, looking at the cabbages with a suspicious eye. Nobbs looked at him. “You’re not searching the cemetery, sir?”“Not interested,” Thorrin said. It wasn’t QUITE a lie. No wizard would ever turn down power or at least the knowledge of how to gain some. Anyone who didn’t prioritize personal power wouldn’t last long in their wizardly studies. Each course started with a lecture on all the ways this spell could go wrong, and what happened to the wizards that had learned these ways.On the other hand, Thorrin wasn’t at all interested in a power source that everyone knew he had.“I was just curious about how many people were seeking possibly dangerous knowledge.” He found a stone ball and started to carry it back to the wagon. Nobbs paced him with another stone.“You’re not the only curious one, Master Thorrin.”“Are you tracking the searchers?”“Our orders are to let anyone wants to out of the city to comb the fields.” He nodded his head towards the gate. Thorrin realized there were half a dozen gargoyles roosting on the clacks tower. “We’re just track them to see who suddenly acts all furitive-like.” Another nod brought Thorrin’s attention to two senior wizards and three priests lounging just outside of the gate. “And checking anyone for magical contraband as they come back.”Thorrin nodded. “Seems like a good idea. Rather than cordon off the area with gods-only-know what resting there.”“Yep,” Nobbs agreed. “Get it searched, then search the searchers.” Thorrin continued helping retrieve ammo. At one point he was picking up pieces of a shattered stone, moving them out of the farmer’s way, and dumping them by the roadside.Then he noticed the amulet under the largest piece of the stone ball. He picked it up and looked it over. It was a flat rock on a silver chain. The chain was horribly deformed. Links were stretched, some torn completely away. But the stone was pristine. It contained a fossil. Thorrin recognized the quadlobite, an early arthropod. It was a common find in the hills of Far Uberwald. Known throughout academia as one of the oldest lifeforms on the Disc.[6]The wizard glanced around and estimated his position. Near as he could tell, he was down range from where the attacking wizard had been disintegrated by Detritus’ crossbow horror weapon. That would certainly explain the condition of the chain. It could only be magic that had protected the stone itself.But when he focused his wizardly powers on it, he found a magical null. Even a magical sinkhole. Not just a lack of magic, it seemed to swallow anything cast upon it.“Wonder why the megalomaniac carried this around?” he mused aloud. Maybe he was from Far Uberwald? But mad necromancers were rarely the sentimental type. If an item wasn’t a component of their world-conquering plan, they most likely cast it aside. This included souvenirs, graduation gifts, wives, and evil minions.Still, he pocketed it, hoping it might help identify the man (or woman?) he’d helped defeat. A short time later, all the stone balls were accounted for. Nobbs thanked him and started wheeling the wagon through the gate.The guardians at the gate glanced at the pair of them briefly with wizardsight or divine discernment, saw nothing magical beyond the wizard’s staff, and waved them on through.------- The next day, Thorrin was deep in the Order’s records, trying to see if anything like the fossil amulet showed up in an alumni’s heraldry, manifesto, sigil, or stationary.As he was discovering, while the imagery of necromancers included plenty of skulls, skeletons, dripping hearts, and blood-covered knives, there were very few fossils.As he sighed and returned the 18th ledger to the shelf, Divan came into the Order’s library. “What’s up, Thorrin?” Thorrin explained his self-imposed task. Divan examined the amulet on its new lanyard. “Doesn’t ring a death knell,” he finally said, handing it back. After a moment, he asked, “Hos did you know about the military burial spell?”The junior wizard stood and stretched. “Professor Hartchase took us on a field trip out there one day.”“Hartchase?” Divan replied, incredulous. “When did he ever spend time with students?” “Do you remember when he left?”“I grammar-checked his manifesto,” Divan nodded. Then he shook his head. “Wish he’d asked me about the title.”“Yeah, Hartchase the Haggis doesn’t really inspire terror, does it?”“Not unless you’re a chef. Anyway, what about it?”Thorrin moved his chair to the next bookcase. “He actually wanted to leave a month before that. But Borcott the Butcher made HIS exit speech the day before Hartchase was going to…”“And no one wants to look like a copycorpse," Divan nodded."Exactly. He had to spend another month at University but he didn’t want to assign actual work. So, we got a lot of field trips.” He took down the 19th book. “Huh.” Divan scratched his beard. “Think you could write down anything he taught you during those trips? Seems to be a lack of continuity in the tribal knowledge base.”“Sure,” Thorrin agreed. He opened the book and waited for the dust cloud to settle. Divan nodded and turned to leave. At the door, he turned back as if just thinking of something. “Hey, could you cover my Introductory Presentation on the Grisly Arts this afternoon? That’s when the Archchancellor wants to discuss the students that were out in the cabbage fields.”“To punish them?” Thorrin asked, alarmed.“No, to see if any need their majors changed. So, you’ll cover for me?”“Sure,” Thorrin said. He checked the dates on the ledger he held. The contents concerned students that graduated between 1,908 and 2,013 years previous. “Starting to waste my time here, I think.”----- The Introductory Presentation on the Grisly Arts was one of a series of lectures given to the First Year students at the end of their first year. All wizards learned the same basics. The basics consisted largely of common sense steps taken to help one survive the lessons of Second Year, whatever direction that might take.Most Midnight Order wizards, necromancers or not, could give the Presentation their sleep. Students expressing an interest in the Very Dark Arts all had the same stupid questions based on the same dumb assumptions. “No, there’s no such things as ‘death magic,’ really,” Thorrin repeated. “Necromancy is powered by life energy.”“Then why’s it called ‘necro’?” another First Year asked.“Because of the circumstances. Look, you all know to imagine magic as a river, right?”“Different magical sources act as running rivers for a wizard's use,” one student recited.“We can take a bucket of water from some bodies of water/magic,” another student continued by rote, “and apply it to our use.”“Or we can apply the force of the magic like a current powering a waterwheel,” yet another one continued.“Or the magic itself can float us along,” a student finished.“Yes,” Thorrin nodded. “Most magic that is based upon the life force uses it in those ways. Hauling some magic, diverting it, floating a barge downstream, submerging something in the water… The analogies go on and on.”Some of the students looked out the window at the Ankh, flowing sluggishly through the city. Even ‘flow’ might be a of a misterm for the river’s movement at this point. Hereabouts, the river was full of silt, trash, and other wastes from farms, craftsmen, slaughterhouses, and talkative criminals.Perhaps it was better viewed as ‘land you really didn’t want to step in.’ [7]“But necromancy is more like using a high-altitude body of water. Imagine a mountain lake that’s released when an earthquake cracks the mountain beneath it.”Students’ brows furrowed as they gazed inwards. “So…it’d be a really DEEP river?” one guessed.“A really fast river,” another tried.“A flood,” one muttered.“Exactly!” Thorrin told the last one. “All that life energy coming into a spell at once! Trying to cast a typical magic spell in those conditions…?”“It’d be like skiing down an avalanche,” said the student from the Ramtops. Thorrin nodded, gestured for other examples.“Or fishing for whales,” said the one from The Brown Islands. Another nod was earned.“Or lighting a cigarette with a fireball,” said the son of a local barkeep, who had seen that exact action take place, luckily from a distance. Thorrin, who’d been part of the effort to clean up the results shuddered, but couldn’t argue.“Or like weaving a handbasket out of eels,” said the student from Djelibeybi. Thorrin wondered if it was a translation problem or if the boy was a complete idiot. But, unless and until he chose to join the Order, it was someone else’s problem.“You see,” he summed up, “necromancy is using the magic of life but in the quantities released at death.” They nodded as if this made everything clear in their heads.“But where do the eels come in?” asked the student from Pseudopolis. “And that’s all we have time for,” Thorrin finished, glancing at the clock and chivying them out the door.-----After the class, Thorrin stood in the hallway between his office and the lounge. He weighed the fossil in his hand and considered options. He could continue in the Order’s files. Or he might go to the University’s Library and see if anything might be found in the other seven Orders.But something from the last half-hour was echoing in his head. Nothing a student had said, of course, no member of the faculty gave such things much consideration. No, it was something HE had said. ‘No, there’s no such things as death magic, really,’ Thorrin heard himself repeating in his own head.What if there was, he asked himself. He dropped straight to the ground to consider this. Most necromancy dealt with immediate death. The closer you got to the ritual sacrifice, the more efficiently you could harness the energy released. No one ever LOOKED for lasting effects of death.And even if they did, if there was a persistent energy created, and anti-life, as it were, it would be minimal at the time of death, anyway. Classes changed and the students passed around him in the hall. No one gave a second glance to a wizard staring fixedly at a rock. Neither rock, wizard, nor his staff were on fire, so it wasn’t a noteworthy event.But Thorrin thought he might have just completely overhauled necromancy.-----He secured a lab. The scholastic year had just broken for summer, so there were plenty available.He assembled his fossil, a polished horn pipe that had belonged to a member of the Midnight Order (who’d lived six hundred years before,) a very mummified cat (which had been used for sixty years to demonstrate the importance of enunciating in spell casting[8]), and a chicken (taken off the rotisserie an hour before).By dint of careful effort, hoarded knowledge, strategic wild-ass guesses[9], and precise measurements, he came to understand that dead things built up an amount of magic just from being dead. He still wasn’t sure how to access it, but he knew it was there.Which meant that someone else had known about it, and how to use it.Which further meant that there might be someone else out there, somewhere, who had taught it to, or learned it from, the individual currently fertilizing a LOT of cabbages in very small increments.A hero would have thought, I must protect the city from the very real threat this hypothetical second wizard poses.A thief would have thought, I can try unknown years to reproduce this knowledge, or I can take it from the wizard who may be currently holding it.Thorrin, who’d seen that some research ended up resembling the worktable of a nervous alchemist who was poor at suppressing sneezes, thought, even fighting another wizard to the death in a magic duel is safer than poking around in an unknown that’s this powerful.He began making plans to leave the Unseen University. But on better terms than those that involved his portrait being hung in the Hero’s Hall at the Adventurer’s Guild. [1] Or ever. [2] Divan liked snacking on walnuts, but hardly ever wanted to handle food with his working hands. Washing up for supper took about an hour each day. Two hours at midterms. [3] It was his fourth dead man in the office. Students will be students and pranks occurred with regularity. Which was part of why the staff would not enter ANY of the classrooms in this part of the campus. [4] This was the kitchen staff’s idea. Wizards with accurate timepieces could accuse that the fourth course was two entire minutes late. Without a handy reference, the servers could assure them that everything was on time. [5] Since Vimes’ official report was ‘Shit happened, you probably already know all about it,’ this was an astute suspicion. [6] It was actually two lifeforms. The ancient bilobites had been an incredibly successful and long-lived life form, and rarely died in conditions that left fossils. There was a small hitch in their evolution, though, that left them quite vulnerable while mating. Scholars only ever found paired bilobites, and interpreted the fossil as an individual. A small, four-lobed, weird-looking beast. It was really smaller and weirder than most would ever know. [7] Which just shows that any analogy has limitations like a handbasket made of eels. [8] The attempted spell was supposed to make the cat fly by making it ‘airy.’ Instead, the wizard got ‘arid.’ [9] The basic unit of engineering is ‘a certainty.’ Knowing something can be done is the first step in accomplishing it. The basic unit of research is ‘What the hell just happened?’ If it wasn’t fatal, you’ve advanced your knowledge. If it was fatal, hopefully you kept good notes and advanced the next guy’s knowledge....

Description
The Quadlobite Medallion that Thorrin found after Ali Awkshun Vree's attack on Ankh-Morpork.
A detail of my Discworld fanfiction, Necromancer: Necromancer 2: At the UDivan Jerichotree, 6th level wizard of Discworld magic, Head of the Midnight Order of wizards at the Unseen University, as well as Lecturer on Bodily Decomposition (And Ways to Hide It), looked up at the knock on his office door. It wasn’t a knock requesting entry so much as announcing it. The permission it ostensibly sought was, in the mind of Mustrum Ridcully, a foregone conclusion. The Archchancellor of Unseen University hardly imagined anyone with the poor taste to not want to see him, as well as the unmitigated gall to deny him. He had noticed that he caught a lot of people just on their way out, but never reflected on his contribution to sudden needs to go through a door, down a ladder, or out a window. “Need a necromancer,” he bellowed. “You’re the best, right?” This created a spot of difficulty for Divan. He was the head of the Order of wizards that most often attracted necromancers. And the common understanding of the Orders was that the most powerful led them. One studied, and chose a specialty (or it was chosen for one), graduated, then either got a job somewhere, or remained in University. There, one played games of popularity, diplomacy, and straight-up longevity, until enough higher-level wizards had ‘left’ the Order and it was your time to be Head. The necromancers, though, were a bit different. They were often the personalities that, on other worlds, would become Mad Scientists, Super Villains, Evil Doctors, or Libertarians. The sort of people who uttered ‘Bah!’ as punctuation, ‘Imbecile!’ as a greeting, and ‘Fools!’ as a way of announcing they had a contribution to the discussion. They saw themselves as the only person in any room that truly understood what ‘It’ was all about. Such people do not typically do well in a ‘wait your turn’ environment. It was rather expected that more than half of each graduating class in The Midnight Order would leave. They’d deliver a short speech about the failings of University staff, rules, facilities, and the availability of a decent meal at 3 o’clock in the morning. After that, and after depositing the speech transcript with the Order’s Secretary, they’d choose a colorful cognomen and storm out. Thus began the career of (Name) The Black, or The Evil, The Slayer, The Undying, or the whatever. The Order would dutifully file the speech, update the school roster, and alert the Adventurer’s Guild of another unsanctioned practitioner of the Unhallowed Arts. Thus (usually) ended the career of The Black, or the Evil, or the whatever. So, Lecturer Jerichotree was the ranking necromancer AVAILABLE, since Tomwix the Disembowler’s departure. But he was probably not in the top ten of surviving necromancers in the world. Just the top one willing to put up with hidebound tradition, a dearth of creativity, and slim pickings before dawn.It was really a rare coincidence if the senior member of Midnight was one of the 8 senior wizards at Unseen University.The Archchancellor should have known all this, but details of other people’s jobs were literally things for other people to think about. Divan tried to frame a careful response, but a second of silence was taken as agreement.“Good,” Ridcully went on. “The Patrician needs a rundown of yesterday’s excitement at Onion Gate. And an explanation of some of the remarks made by the wizard at the scene.”“What… Remarks?” Divan forced out past his sudden panic.“I’m sure we’ll find out when he asks them again,” Ridcully shrugged. “We’ll take a carriage to his palace. Be at the front gate at 9 sharp.”“Tonight?” Divan asked, glancing at the clock above his desk. It showed ‘something like 8-ish.” University staff responsible for keeping the clocks wound and precise didn’t come to this office with any regularity.[1]“Tomorrow, man! Who does official work at 9 at night?”“Our entire order,” Divan explained. He gestured at the clock on the wall, his desk full of projects he was grading, and the fluids draining from his desk to the grate in the floor.“Well, the rest of us work in daylight,” Mustrum harrumphed. He turned to leave.“Should I bring Thorrin?” Divan asked desperately.“Who?”“The wizard who was at the zombie uprising!”“What zombie uprising?”“Was there ANOTHER bit of excitement at Onion Gate yesterday?” Divan asked hopefully. Maybe a different wizard would be required to attend.“The Patrician’s note didn’t say anything about zombies,” Mustrum mused. “What do you know about zombies?”“Everything,” Divan said proudly.“Then you can answer all the Patrician’s question,” Ridcully said with a firm nod.“Oh, no, no, I didn’t mean I know about this zombie EVENT. I know about zombies as a discipline.” He waved to the corner of his office and his combination coat rack, pipe rest, clothes horse, and nut cracker.[2] All these functions were performed by a very well-preserved post-mortem man.[3]Ridcully, whose mind was already three offices down the hallway, on to his next task, nodded absently to the body draped with spare robes, work boots, a tobacco bag, and extra gloves. He mumbed, “Charmed, I’m sure,” and departed.Divan sighed, removed his gloves, and went looking for Thorrin.He found the wizard in the instructor’s lounge, passed out on a couch. Members of the Watch had brought him by on a stretcher and gently placed him there. He was sleeping off the exertions of the battle.It wasn’t the first time the Watch had delivered unconscious wizards to the University, but it was the most respectful delivery Divan could remember ever seeing.Of course, the other occasions had involved alcohol and fireballs, not defending the city.He tapped the sleeping form on the shoulder firmly and said, “Thorrin, wake up and explain last night to me.” Thorrin slept on.“THORRIN! Wake up!” There was no response. Divan proceeded to emergency measures.“What do you mean, there’s no dessert?” he said loudly. This also proved ineffective. After a few more attempts in this nature, Divan finally went to the most horrendous threat he knew of.He walked around behind the couch and leaned over the back. In a conversational voice, he asked, “Why is Rincewind running away?”Thorrin was on his feet in an instant, groping around for his staff, casting his gaze back and forth in alarm. "What direction?” he pleaded. “Can we catch up to him? Did he scream anything?”About the time Divan was reassuring him that nothing was about to explode, implode, or charge them a lot of money, Thorrin realized where he was. He looked at his superior accusingly.“What?” he asked suspiciously. “The Patrician wants us to see him at nine. Tomorrow,” he added. They both glanced up at the clock over the fireplace. It suggested that the time was in the reach of 7 o’clock. Give or take.“He’s an old man,” Thorrin mused. “Will he still be up at 9?” ----- The two Midnight wizards had a short breakfast of only five courses, then hurried out to the gate. By the clock outside the dining room,[4] they got there by 8:30.“You’re LATE!” Mustrum accused, standing beside the waiting carriage.“You said we’d leave at 9!” Divan protested.“When I SAY leave at 9, I MEAN we should be arriving at the Palace BY 9. That means departing at 8!”“You should have said.”“I DID,” the Archchancellor insisted. Thorrin was quiet through the whole exchange, not having the rank to give an 8th level wizard any backtalk.Technically, neither did Divan, but he took his position in the Order as granting him certain privileges. Thorrin rode silently in his corner of the carriage while Mustrum and Divan discussed the coming meeting.Mostly a list of things they were not to say in front of the Patrician. The Patrician had met wizards a few times and the University didn’t want to repeat any of that.“Don’t admit to breaking any laws.” “Of course not, Archchancellor.”“Don’t commit to anything that’ll cost time, money, the rarer spell components, or the University’s prestige.”“Certainly, sir.”“Don’t confuse him. He dislikes being confused.”Privately, Thorrin doubted that either of the two had the sort of mind that could actually confuse Lord Vetinari. Delay him, maybe. But the man had a mind like a steel trap: something he used to control lesser beings and prevent them eating the stuff in the pantry.The only thing asked of Thorrin was that he not say anything at all in front of the Patrician ever for any reason.As it turned out, the meeting that took place in the Patrician’s office also included the High Priest of Blind Io, the ranking cleric in the city; Duke Vimes, the ranking cop; and Rufus Drumknott, who was probably the ranking clerk in Ankh-Morpork, did anyone ever notice such people.They all sat through Vimes’ recounting of the events of the attack. He glanced over at Thorrin from time to time to see if he’d misremembered anything. Luckily, Thorrin found no discrepancies in the record, as he hadn’t quite figured out how to address them without violating Ridcully’s direction to remain silent.When Vimes finished, and no one had any questions or additions, Vetinari turned to the wizards. “I was struck by the line, ‘The spells to prevent this… Your Grace, I didn’t know there was anyone in the world capable of doing this.’Thorrin might have been the only person to notice that this wasn’t an exactly what Vimes’ recount had mentioned. But it was a very precise quote of what he’d actually said three days ago. He idly wondered if Vimes’ written report had been more accurate, or if the Patrician had used alternate sources of information.[5]Either way, he sat quietly while his superiors responded.“Yes,” Ridcully started. “There are, of course spells to protect the city from invasion, even by our own forces.”Vetinari gestured and Drumknott picked a parchment out of his file. He scanned it, then shook his head. “It seems that no zombie-prevention magic is listed on the official file of spells cast upon the city.”Helplessly ignorant, Ridcully turned to his head necromancer and raised his eyebrows. Divan cleared his throat, then said, “Well, not cast upon the CITY, exactly, but upon the cemetary.”“Ah,” Vetinari nodded. “And these spells are…?”Divan turned a desperate look upon Thorrin. But Thorrin was staring fixedly at Vimes. In the carriage, the senior wizards had all but explicitly stated that they didn’t trust Thorrin in front of any authority. So they’d need to explicitly give him permission to talk before he’d help them out of the hole they were digging.Vimes had figured out at least the shape of what was happening, if not the full transcript, and smirked back at his new consultant. Vetinari, also clear on what was going on, was staring at the Archchancellor, waiting for him to resolve the issue of retaining authority while admitting to ignorance.“You know,” he finally attempted, “it’s more of a necromancer topic than my specialty.” Vetinari’s gaze swung like cannon’s barrel upon Jerichotree. “It’s actually from before my time,” that worthy said in his own defense. “It’s a relic of the time this city was ruled by a king,” Vetinari drawled. “It’s before all our time. Even Master Thorrin’s, and yet he knew enough to mention it.”“Yes, well, um. Thorrin, perhaps you should explain what you meant by your remarks the other day?” Ridcully pleaded.Vimes winked as Thorrin leaned forward in his chair. “The prayer that Army chaplains speak over grave sites is actually a spell.”“Is that so?” Vetinari asked, glancing at The High Priest.Hughnon Ridcully, High Priest and the Archchandellor’s brother, was jolted out of a perfectly comfortable viewing of Musttrum in difficulty. “I, um, well, I’ve never served, actually. I suppose it’s possible.” He trailed off, realizing now HE was on the spot, and failing to stand up under scrutiny.Vetinari gestured and Drumknott passed him another parchment. “As all ye gathered here-by are witness,” he quoted from the beginning. “This is a spell?”“A very specific spell, sir,” Thorrin replied. “It ties all the graves together.”“Towards what end?” Vetinari asked.Thorrin took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Imagine a cemetery as a harbor full of fishing boats. If a necromancer wants to take one of the boats out of the harbor, he raises enough magical power to lift that boat’s anchor.”“The longer they’ve been dead, the deeper in the mud the anchor rests,” Divan added, to show he had something to contribute.“I don’t really care about the details of normal necromancy,” Vetinari said. “What’s different about a military harbor?”“The burial service welds all the anchors together. To release one boat requires raising all the anchors in the harbor.”“Why do they do that?” High Priest Ridcully asked.“A large number of young men dying by violence, perhaps betrayal, maybe wasted by incompetent commanders,” Vetinari mused, “seems like a situation tailor-made for revenants, ghouls, wights, and ghosts. Even without a wizard coming along to take specific advantage of them.”“Exactly,” Thorrin nodded. “No one wants to win a battle, then face an undead monster in their tent the next night. Therefore, the military buries them with extreme prejudice.”“And someone defeated this safety measure.” Vetinari’s comment wasn’t a question.“Yes, sir. Considering the size of the units buried out there, the amount of power that requires is almost beyond imagining,” Thorrin replied.“Could you do it?” Everyone in the room tensed. Though his voice was calm, even encouraging, it might not be a career enhancing response to admit to posing a direct threat to the city.“Last week,” Thorrin said with a smile, “I would have had to drive about 600 cattle into the cabbage field, get them all within a protective circle, and slaughter each and every one inside of about ten minutes.”“Last week,” Vetinari said. This was a question.“Well, after the battle, many of the dead have moved to family plots in the city’s cemeteries. And some of the dead among the Defending Dead are prostitutes that followed them home, as it were. Raising those units would require knowing all the prostitutes’ names, and simultaneously performing the ritual in every private plot throughout the city.” People stared at the young wizard, just starting to understand why HE had been so amazed at the event. Vimes, on the other hand, had a mind for practical matters. He really, really wanted to ask if the 600 cattle could have been slaughtered by sany ix hundred wizards, or if they needed six hundred necromancers specifically. More importantly, though, he didn’t want to even know the answer to the question. And even more desperately, he didn’t want to speak the question out loud in front of his boss.“But…But…” the Archchancellor stammered, there weren’t 600 cattle found on the field! There was no sign of ANY sacrifice!”“Maybe could have been done with 48 elephants,” Divan mused, scratching numbers on a scrap of paper he’d had in his pocket. “But it’d drop down to a five-minute window.“Someone would have stopped the ritual killing of 48 elephants,” Vetinari said.“Starting with the elephants,” Vimes snorted.“It is a mystery,” Thorrin said with a shake of his head.“I would rather prefer it remained a mystery,” Vetinari said. Any attempt to soften his town was gone, this was an announcement etched in steel.“Oh, yes, of course,” both Ridcullys agreed. “If there’s anything that qualifies as forbidden knowledge,” Hughnon went on, “something that’s worth 40 elephants of power but fits in a pocket…““Um, 48 elephants,” Divan couldn’t resist correcting.“Not the most salient detail,” Mustrum hissed. Divan crumpled up the scratch paper.-----So, it was decided and agreed that no one would attempt to identify the means whereby the as-yet-unidentified enemy of the city-state gained such phenomenal power.Predictably, by the time Thorrin returned to Onion Gate, there were about 80 wizards and priests scouring the area of the military cemetery. If anyone asked, they were verifying that no ‘dead bits’ were still above ground. For the benefit of the farmers, of course.No one asked.The only person Thorrin saw that was not clearly possessed of magical power was Corporal Nobbs. He was walking through the field where the battle had been fought, occasionally bending down to tap a cabbage.Thorrin walked over to him. “Looking for something, Corporal?”“Huh? Oh! Master Thorrin! Good day to you.” He stood and rested his hands on his hips. “Trying to recover the ammunition I expended in the military operation.” He gestured. Thorrin looked to see the ammunition cart for the man-portable siege engine and deconstruction tool. It looked about half-full.“Ah! Well, let me give you a hand.” He started down the next row over, looking at the cabbages with a suspicious eye. Nobbs looked at him. “You’re not searching the cemetery, sir?”“Not interested,” Thorrin said. It wasn’t QUITE a lie. No wizard would ever turn down power or at least the knowledge of how to gain some. Anyone who didn’t prioritize personal power wouldn’t last long in their wizardly studies. Each course started with a lecture on all the ways this spell could go wrong, and what happened to the wizards that had learned these ways.On the other hand, Thorrin wasn’t at all interested in a power source that everyone knew he had.“I was just curious about how many people were seeking possibly dangerous knowledge.” He found a stone ball and started to carry it back to the wagon. Nobbs paced him with another stone.“You’re not the only curious one, Master Thorrin.”“Are you tracking the searchers?”“Our orders are to let anyone wants to out of the city to comb the fields.” He nodded his head towards the gate. Thorrin realized there were half a dozen gargoyles roosting on the clacks tower. “We’re just track them to see who suddenly acts all furitive-like.” Another nod brought Thorrin’s attention to two senior wizards and three priests lounging just outside of the gate. “And checking anyone for magical contraband as they come back.”Thorrin nodded. “Seems like a good idea. Rather than cordon off the area with gods-only-know what resting there.”“Yep,” Nobbs agreed. “Get it searched, then search the searchers.” Thorrin continued helping retrieve ammo. At one point he was picking up pieces of a shattered stone, moving them out of the farmer’s way, and dumping them by the roadside.Then he noticed the amulet under the largest piece of the stone ball. He picked it up and looked it over. It was a flat rock on a silver chain. The chain was horribly deformed. Links were stretched, some torn completely away. But the stone was pristine. It contained a fossil. Thorrin recognized the quadlobite, an early arthropod. It was a common find in the hills of Far Uberwald. Known throughout academia as one of the oldest lifeforms on the Disc.[6]The wizard glanced around and estimated his position. Near as he could tell, he was down range from where the attacking wizard had been disintegrated by Detritus’ crossbow horror weapon. That would certainly explain the condition of the chain. It could only be magic that had protected the stone itself.But when he focused his wizardly powers on it, he found a magical null. Even a magical sinkhole. Not just a lack of magic, it seemed to swallow anything cast upon it.“Wonder why the megalomaniac carried this around?” he mused aloud. Maybe he was from Far Uberwald? But mad necromancers were rarely the sentimental type. If an item wasn’t a component of their world-conquering plan, they most likely cast it aside. This included souvenirs, graduation gifts, wives, and evil minions.Still, he pocketed it, hoping it might help identify the man (or woman?) he’d helped defeat. A short time later, all the stone balls were accounted for. Nobbs thanked him and started wheeling the wagon through the gate.The guardians at the gate glanced at the pair of them briefly with wizardsight or divine discernment, saw nothing magical beyond the wizard’s staff, and waved them on through.------- The next day, Thorrin was deep in the Order’s records, trying to see if anything like the fossil amulet showed up in an alumni’s heraldry, manifesto, sigil, or stationary.As he was discovering, while the imagery of necromancers included plenty of skulls, skeletons, dripping hearts, and blood-covered knives, there were very few fossils.As he sighed and returned the 18th ledger to the shelf, Divan came into the Order’s library. “What’s up, Thorrin?” Thorrin explained his self-imposed task. Divan examined the amulet on its new lanyard. “Doesn’t ring a death knell,” he finally said, handing it back. After a moment, he asked, “Hos did you know about the military burial spell?”The junior wizard stood and stretched. “Professor Hartchase took us on a field trip out there one day.”“Hartchase?” Divan replied, incredulous. “When did he ever spend time with students?” “Do you remember when he left?”“I grammar-checked his manifesto,” Divan nodded. Then he shook his head. “Wish he’d asked me about the title.”“Yeah, Hartchase the Haggis doesn’t really inspire terror, does it?”“Not unless you’re a chef. Anyway, what about it?”Thorrin moved his chair to the next bookcase. “He actually wanted to leave a month before that. But Borcott the Butcher made HIS exit speech the day before Hartchase was going to…”“And no one wants to look like a copycorpse," Divan nodded."Exactly. He had to spend another month at University but he didn’t want to assign actual work. So, we got a lot of field trips.” He took down the 19th book. “Huh.” Divan scratched his beard. “Think you could write down anything he taught you during those trips? Seems to be a lack of continuity in the tribal knowledge base.”“Sure,” Thorrin agreed. He opened the book and waited for the dust cloud to settle. Divan nodded and turned to leave. At the door, he turned back as if just thinking of something. “Hey, could you cover my Introductory Presentation on the Grisly Arts this afternoon? That’s when the Archchancellor wants to discuss the students that were out in the cabbage fields.”“To punish them?” Thorrin asked, alarmed.“No, to see if any need their majors changed. So, you’ll cover for me?”“Sure,” Thorrin said. He checked the dates on the ledger he held. The contents concerned students that graduated between 1,908 and 2,013 years previous. “Starting to waste my time here, I think.”----- The Introductory Presentation on the Grisly Arts was one of a series of lectures given to the First Year students at the end of their first year. All wizards learned the same basics. The basics consisted largely of common sense steps taken to help one survive the lessons of Second Year, whatever direction that might take.Most Midnight Order wizards, necromancers or not, could give the Presentation their sleep. Students expressing an interest in the Very Dark Arts all had the same stupid questions based on the same dumb assumptions. “No, there’s no such things as ‘death magic,’ really,” Thorrin repeated. “Necromancy is powered by life energy.”“Then why’s it called ‘necro’?” another First Year asked.“Because of the circumstances. Look, you all know to imagine magic as a river, right?”“Different magical sources act as running rivers for a wizard's use,” one student recited.“We can take a bucket of water from some bodies of water/magic,” another student continued by rote, “and apply it to our use.”“Or we can apply the force of the magic like a current powering a waterwheel,” yet another one continued.“Or the magic itself can float us along,” a student finished.“Yes,” Thorrin nodded. “Most magic that is based upon the life force uses it in those ways. Hauling some magic, diverting it, floating a barge downstream, submerging something in the water… The analogies go on and on.”Some of the students looked out the window at the Ankh, flowing sluggishly through the city. Even ‘flow’ might be a of a misterm for the river’s movement at this point. Hereabouts, the river was full of silt, trash, and other wastes from farms, craftsmen, slaughterhouses, and talkative criminals.Perhaps it was better viewed as ‘land you really didn’t want to step in.’ [7]“But necromancy is more like using a high-altitude body of water. Imagine a mountain lake that’s released when an earthquake cracks the mountain beneath it.”Students’ brows furrowed as they gazed inwards. “So…it’d be a really DEEP river?” one guessed.“A really fast river,” another tried.“A flood,” one muttered.“Exactly!” Thorrin told the last one. “All that life energy coming into a spell at once! Trying to cast a typical magic spell in those conditions…?”“It’d be like skiing down an avalanche,” said the student from the Ramtops. Thorrin nodded, gestured for other examples.“Or fishing for whales,” said the one from The Brown Islands. Another nod was earned.“Or lighting a cigarette with a fireball,” said the son of a local barkeep, who had seen that exact action take place, luckily from a distance. Thorrin, who’d been part of the effort to clean up the results shuddered, but couldn’t argue.“Or like weaving a handbasket out of eels,” said the student from Djelibeybi. Thorrin wondered if it was a translation problem or if the boy was a complete idiot. But, unless and until he chose to join the Order, it was someone else’s problem.“You see,” he summed up, “necromancy is using the magic of life but in the quantities released at death.” They nodded as if this made everything clear in their heads.“But where do the eels come in?” asked the student from Pseudopolis. “And that’s all we have time for,” Thorrin finished, glancing at the clock and chivying them out the door.-----After the class, Thorrin stood in the hallway between his office and the lounge. He weighed the fossil in his hand and considered options. He could continue in the Order’s files. Or he might go to the University’s Library and see if anything might be found in the other seven Orders.But something from the last half-hour was echoing in his head. Nothing a student had said, of course, no member of the faculty gave such things much consideration. No, it was something HE had said. ‘No, there’s no such things as death magic, really,’ Thorrin heard himself repeating in his own head.What if there was, he asked himself. He dropped straight to the ground to consider this. Most necromancy dealt with immediate death. The closer you got to the ritual sacrifice, the more efficiently you could harness the energy released. No one ever LOOKED for lasting effects of death.And even if they did, if there was a persistent energy created, and anti-life, as it were, it would be minimal at the time of death, anyway. Classes changed and the students passed around him in the hall. No one gave a second glance to a wizard staring fixedly at a rock. Neither rock, wizard, nor his staff were on fire, so it wasn’t a noteworthy event.But Thorrin thought he might have just completely overhauled necromancy.-----He secured a lab. The scholastic year had just broken for summer, so there were plenty available.He assembled his fossil, a polished horn pipe that had belonged to a member of the Midnight Order (who’d lived six hundred years before,) a very mummified cat (which had been used for sixty years to demonstrate the importance of enunciating in spell casting[8]), and a chicken (taken off the rotisserie an hour before).By dint of careful effort, hoarded knowledge, strategic wild-ass guesses[9], and precise measurements, he came to understand that dead things built up an amount of magic just from being dead. He still wasn’t sure how to access it, but he knew it was there.Which meant that someone else had known about it, and how to use it.Which further meant that there might be someone else out there, somewhere, who had taught it to, or learned it from, the individual currently fertilizing a LOT of cabbages in very small increments.A hero would have thought, I must protect the city from the very real threat this hypothetical second wizard poses.A thief would have thought, I can try unknown years to reproduce this knowledge, or I can take it from the wizard who may be currently holding it.Thorrin, who’d seen that some research ended up resembling the worktable of a nervous alchemist who was poor at suppressing sneezes, thought, even fighting another wizard to the death in a magic duel is safer than poking around in an unknown that’s this powerful.He began making plans to leave the Unseen University. But on better terms than those that involved his portrait being hung in the Hero’s Hall at the Adventurer’s Guild. [1] Or ever. [2] Divan liked snacking on walnuts, but hardly ever wanted to handle food with his working hands. Washing up for supper took about an hour each day. Two hours at midterms. [3] It was his fourth dead man in the office. Students will be students and pranks occurred with regularity. Which was part of why the staff would not enter ANY of the classrooms in this part of the campus. [4] This was the kitchen staff’s idea. Wizards with accurate timepieces could accuse that the fourth course was two entire minutes late. Without a handy reference, the servers could assure them that everything was on time. [5] Since Vimes’ official report was ‘Shit happened, you probably already know all about it,’ this was an astute suspicion. [6] It was actually two lifeforms. The ancient bilobites had been an incredibly successful and long-lived life form, and rarely died in conditions that left fossils. There was a small hitch in their evolution, though, that left them quite vulnerable while mating. Scholars only ever found paired bilobites, and interpreted the fossil as an individual. A small, four-lobed, weird-looking beast. It was really smaller and weirder than most would ever know. [7] Which just shows that any analogy has limitations like a handbasket made of eels. [8] The attempted spell was supposed to make the cat fly by making it ‘airy.’ Instead, the wizard got ‘arid.’ [9] The basic unit of engineering is ‘a certainty.’ Knowing something can be done is the first step in accomplishing it. The basic unit of research is ‘What the hell just happened?’ If it wasn’t fatal, you’ve advanced your knowledge. If it was fatal, hopefully you kept good notes and advanced the next guy’s knowledge....