These had been quite difficult.
Food as an aphrodisiac was not a concept that had ever caught on in Lancre, apart from Nanny Ogg's famous Carrot and Oyster Pie[32]. As far as the cook at the Goat and Bush was concerned, food and sex were only linked in certain humorous gestures involving things like cucumbers. He'd never heard of chocolate, banana skins, avocado and ginger, marshmallow and the thousand other foods people had occasionally employed to drive an A-to-B freeway through the rambling pathways of romance. Casanunda had spent a busy ten minutes sketching out a detailed menu, and quite a lot of money had changed hands.
He'd arranged a careful romantic candlelit supper. Casanunda had always believed in the art of seduction.
Many tall women accessible by stepladder across the continent had reflected how odd it was that the dwarfs, a race to whom the aforesaid art of seduction consisted in the main part of tactfully finding out what sex, underneath all that leather and chain-mail, another dwarf was, had generated someone like Casanunda.
It was as if Eskimos had produced a natural expert in the care and attention of rare tropical plants. The great pent up waters of dwarfish sexuality had found a leak at the bottom of the dam-small, but with enough power to drive a dynamo.
Everything that his fellow dwarfs did very occasionally as nature demanded he did all the time, sometimes in the back of a sedan chair and once upside down in a tree — but, and this is important, with care and attention to detail that was typically dwarfish. Dwarfs would spend months working on an exquisite piece of jewellery, and for broadly similar reasons Casanunda was a popular visitor to many courts and palaces, for some strange reason generally while the local lord was away. He also had a dwarfish ability with locks, always a useful talent for those awkward moments sur la boudoir.
And Nanny Ogg was an attractive lady, which is not the same as being beautiful. She fascinated Casanunda. She was an incredibly comfortable person to be around, partly because she had a mind so broad it could accommodate three football fields and a bowling alley.
* * *
'I wish I had my crossbow,' muttered Ridcully. 'With
The unicorn tossed its head and pawed the ground. Steam rose from its flanks.
'I ain't sure that would work,' said Granny. 'You sure you've got no whoosh left in them fingers of yours?'
'I could create an illusion,' said the wizard. 'That's not hard.'
'It wouldn't work. The unicorn is an elvish creature. Magic don't work on 'em. They see through illusions. They ought to, they're good enough at 'em. How about the bank? Reckon you could scramble up it?'
They both glanced at the banks. They were red clay, slippery as priests.
'Let's walk backward,' said Granny. 'Slowly.'
'How about its mind? Can you get in?'
'There's someone in there already. The poor thing's her pet. It obeys only her.'
The unicorn walked after them, trying to watch both of them at the same time.
'What shall we do when we come to the bridge?'
'You can still swim, can't you?'
'The river's a long way down.'
'But there's a deep pool there. Don't you remember? You dived in there once. One moonlit night. . .'
'I was young and foolish then.'
'Well? You're old and foolish now.'
'I thought unicorns were more . . . fluffy.'
'See clear! Don't let the glamour get you! See what's in front of your eyes! It's a damn great horse with a horn on the end!' said Granny.
The unicorn pawed the ground.
Granny's feet scraped the bridge.
'Got here by accident, can't get back,' she said. 'Ifn there'd been one of us it'd be charging by now. We're about halfway across the bridge-'
'Lot of snow runoff in that river,' said Ridcully, doubtfully
'Oh, yes,' said Granny 'See you at the weir.'
And she was gone.
The unicorn, which had been trying to decide between targets, was left with Ridcully.
It could count up to one.
It lowered its head.
Ridcully had never liked horses, animals which seemed to him to have only the weakest possible grip on sanity
As the unicorn charged, he vaulted the parapet and dropped, without much aerodynamic grace, into the icy waters of the Lancre.
The Librarian liked the stage. He was always in the front seat on the first night of a new production at any of Ankh's theatres, his prehensile abilities allowing him to clap twice as hard as anyone else or, if necessary, hurl peanut shells.
And he was feeling let down. There were hardly any books in the castle, except for serious volumes on etiquette and animal breeding and estate management. As a rule, royalty doesn't read much.
He wasn't expecting to be amazed at the Entertainment. He'd peered behind the bit of sacking that was doing service as a dressing room, and seen half a dozen heavily built men arguing with one another. This did not bode well for an evening of thespianic splendor, although there was always the possibility that one of them might hit another one in the face with a custard pie[33].
He had managed to get the three of them seats in the front row. This wasn't according to the rules of precedence, but it was amazing how everyone squeezed up to make room. He'd also found some peanuts. No one ever knew how he managed that.
'Oook?'
'No, thank you,' said Ponder Stibbons. 'They give me wind.'
'Oook?'
'I like to listen to a man who likes to talk! Whoops! Sawdust and treacle! Put that in your herring and smoke it!'
'I don't think he wants one,' said Ponder.
The curtain went up, or at least was pulled aside by Carter the baker.
The Entertainment began.
The Librarian watched in deepening gloom. It was amazing. Normally he quite liked a badly acted play, provided enough confectionery stayed airborne, but these people weren't even good at bad acting. Also, no one seemed to be on the point of throwing anything.
He fished a peanut out of the bag and rolled it in his fingers, while staring intently at the left ear of Tailor the other weaver.
And felt his hair rise. This is very noticeable on an orang-utan.
He glanced up at the hill behind the erratic actors, and growled under his breath.
'Oook?'
Ponder nudged him.
'Quiet!' he hissed. 'They're getting the hang of it. . .'
There was an echo to the voice of the one in the straw wig.
'What'd she say?' said Ponder.
'Oook!'
'How'd she do that? That's good makeup, that-'
