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And so it was that Rincewind, Twoflower and Bethan entered Unseen University.
Elsewhere on the campus—
The eight wizards inserted their keys and, with many a worried glance at one another, turned them. There was a faint little snicking sound as the lock slid open.
The Octavo was unchained. A faint octarine light played across its bindings.
Trymon reached out and picked it up, and none of the others objected. His arm tingled.
He turned towards the door.
'Now to the Great Hall, brothers,' he said, 'if I may lead the way —'
And there were no objections.
He reached the door with the book tucked under his rm. It felt hot, and somehow prickly.
At every step he expected a cry, a protest, and none came. He had to use every ounce of control to stop himself from laughing. It was easier than he could have imagined.
The others were halfway across the claustrophobic dungeon by the time he was through the door, and perhaps they had noticed something in the set of his shoulders, but it was too late because he had crossed the threshold, gripped the handle, slammed the door, turned the key, smiled the smile.
He walked easily back along the corridor, ignoring the enraged screams of the wizards who had just discovered how impossible it is to pass spells in a room built to be impervious to magic.
The Octavo squirmed, but Trymon held it tightly. Now he ran, putting out of his mind the horrible sensations under his arm as the book shape-changed into things hairy, skeletal and spiky. His hand went numb. The faint chittering noises he had been hearing grew in volume, and there were other sounds behind them – leering sounds, beckoning sounds, sounds made by the voices of unimaginable horrors that Trymon found it all too easy to imagine. As he ran across the Great Hall and up the main staircase the shadows began to move and reform and close in around him, and he also became aware that something was following, something with skittery legs moving obscenely fast. Ice formed on the walls. Doorways lunged at him as he barrelled past. Underfoot the stairs began to feel just like a tongue . . .
Not for nothing had Trymon spent long hours in the University's curious equivalent of a gymnasium, building up mental muscle. Don't trust the senses, he knew, because they can be deceived. The stairs are there, somewhere – will them to be there, summon them into being as you climb and, boy, you better get good at it. Because this isn't all imagination.
Great A'Tuin slowed.
With flippers the size of continents the skyturtle fought the pull of the star, and waited. There would not be long to wait . . .
Rincewind sidled into the Great Hall. There were a few torches burning, and it looked as though it had been set up for some sort of magical work. But the ceremonial candlesticks had been overturned, the complex octograms chalked on the floor were scuffed as if something had danced on them, and the air was full of a smell unpleasant even by Ankh-Morpork's broad standards. There was a hint of sulphur to it, but that underlay something worse. It smelt like the bottom of a pond.
There was a distant crash, and a lot of shouting.
'Looks like the gates have gone down,' said Rincewind.
'Let's get out of here,' said Bethan.
'The cellars are this way,' said Rincewind, and set off through an arch.
'Down there!'
'Yes. Would you rather stay here?'
He took a torch from its bracket on the wall and started down the steps.
After a few flights the walls stopped being panelled and were bare stone. Here and there heavy doors had been propped open.
'I heard something,' said Twoflower.
Rincewind listened. There did seem to be a noise coming from the depths below. It didn't sound frightening. It sounded like a lot of people hammering on a door and shouting 'Oi!'
'It's not those Things from the Dungeon Dimensions you were telling us about, is it?' said Bethan.
They don't swear like that,' said Rincewind. 'Come on.'
They hurried along the dripping passages, following the screamed curses and deep hacking coughs that were somehow reassuring; anything that wheezed like that, the listeners decided, couldn't possibly represent a danger.
