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‘How often do you have to do this?’ Geoffrey asked the back of the receding figure.
‘Forty-eight and a half times a day, young sir.’
‘What is the half time?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘Well, the fish and me aren’t getting any younger and so sometimes we just goes halfway. And once a week,’ said the keeper, ‘I do a bit of cleaning out after the fish has done his business.’
‘So where do you put the business?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘Ah, well, young sir, fish business is not as useful for gardeners as most businesses are, but if you look carefully when you walk away, you will see the trees behind my chairs are slightly bigger than the rest of the trees in the park.’
Before he went to bed that evening Geoffrey carefully put a piece of fruit cake that he’d managed to smuggle up from the kitchen on the windowsill for Old Pediment the gargoyle.
1 It is suspected that gargoyles are, in fact, a type of troll. Over the years of their exposure to the abnormal magical activity that always surrounds Unseen University they have evolved into mobile and sentient beings. Their diet is varied but the emphasis now is on pigeons. Their alimentary tract, which is a complex U-shaped organ, was originally designed for the digestion of a watery mineral diet that entered the body through the ears. The solids were filtered and digested in the usual fashion while the liquid was extracted and expelled through the mouth. The recent change in food source has resulted in their ears becoming vestigial, and a small and isolated loop of intestine between the ears and throat, not unlike the human appendix, is all that remains. Another result of this change in diet is their ability to move their jaws and even close their mouths, making it much easier to have a conversation with them. Saying that, gargoyles seldom talk about anything but pigeons and how much they dislike them.
2 Elephants, including hermit elephants, eat grass, leaves and sometimes whole tree branches, but only absorb 40 per cent of the nutrients. This means that elephant poo not only makes good compost but is also of considerable nutritional value to other animals, especially birds and insects. An elephant can produce about 20kg of poo a day; over a year that would stack up to over 7,000kg. On the basis that an elephant lives for sixty-five years or so, we’re looking at a lifetime production of poo not far short of 5,000 tonnes, which is, it has been calculated, enough poo to fill the Ankh-Morpork Opera House up to the small trap door in the loft.
A LUNCH AT THE GUILD OF PLUMBERS AND DUNNAKIN DIVERS
LIKE ALL CHILDREN, Geoffrey woke at dawn with every switch in his body turned full on. Older people generally check to see that nothing has fallen off in the night. There is always a careful but thorough audit of which limb to get out of bed first so the rest of the body can follow. Geoffrey, however, simply bounded out of bed and, after saying hello to the gleaming Mister Gazunder, went straight to the window to see if the cake had gone. It had, and Geoffrey, being of an observant mind and now informed in the ways of the world of digestion, climbed out on to the ledge to look downwards. He was overjoyed when he saw what he took to be a small deposit on the border of the flowerbed beneath his window. Without a thought he raced down the stairs, past an astonished Hartley, out through the back door – pausing only to pick up his bucket from the top step – and round the corner of the house, looking up until he was standing under his bedroom window. It was only then, looking down, that he realized he was barefoot. Luckily, gargoyle poo so much resembles gravel that you may think of it as gravel. Geoffrey was thankful to see he had not stepped in all of it and there was still enough to scrape up into his bucket.
As he made his way back round to the scullery door, finding along the way some long grass on which to wipe his toes, he saw at the end of the garden two burly men hoisting on to their shoulders a pole from which hung a large container. A gentle morning breeze brought a whiff of the privy and he was about to go wandering off following his nose, as it were, when Hartley the cook came to the door and in a kindly voice said, ‘Now you come here, young man. Get washed and dressed and your breakfast will be ready when you come down.’
After breakfast Geoffrey took his bucket of gargoyle poo down to the sheds to put in his museum, hoping to see Plain Old Humphrey. Sure enough, he found the gardener sitting on a bench at the bottom of the garden, carefully cleaning his spade. There was no sign of the men Geoffrey had seen earlier, but there was still a whiff hanging around like a smelly ghost. ‘Plain Old Humphrey? Who were those men here early this morning?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘That was Jimmer and Bob the gongers. They should have been here last night,’ said Plain Old Humphrey, ‘but their cart got clamped down at The Soake so they were running a bit late.’
‘What do gongers do
?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘Jimmer and Bob work for Sir Harry King and they empty all the cesspits and privies around here,’ said Plain Old Humphrey.1
‘I know about privies, but I don’t know what a cesspit is,’ said Geoffrey, determined to get to the bottom of this mysterious occupation.
‘Well, using these new-fangled lavatory contraptions, like the Deluge Supreme your Grand-mama has installed, means there is a lot of water in with the business. It all goes into a pit where the water can soak away and then every now and then you have to dig out what’s left, and I’m sure your Grand-mama wouldn’t want to do that.’
‘And it all goes to Sir Harry?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘Yes, Sir Harry has collecting carts waiting all round the city to take this valuable night soil down to his yard.’
‘I wish I could go to his yard!’ said Geoffrey, enthusiastically. ‘He must have the biggest collection of poo in the world!’
‘Watch out, here’s trouble,’ said Plain Old Humphrey. As he spoke, Lily the maid appeared.
‘Your Grand-mama has been looking all over for you, young man,’ she said to Geoffrey. ‘You’re to come straight inside.’ She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a reply. Plain Old Humphrey winked at Geoffrey, took his pipe out of his mouth and poked his tongue out at the retreating figure.
Geoffrey giggled but obediently followed Lily into the kitchen where he found his Grand-mama, who was talking to Hartley the cook. ‘Geoffrey and I will be out for lunch, but we will be back for dinner,’ she was saying. ‘Geoffrey, oh there you are, we have been invited to a luncheon at the Guild of Plumbers and Dunnakin Divers by my good friend Sir Charles Lavatory, so you’ll need to look smart. I’ve bought you a new jacket; it’s in your room. Please don’t ruin this one because I’ve had it tailored especially for you.’
Geoffrey ran upstairs and was delighted to find his new jacket had at least eight pockets, and they were all lined with a rubbery material that looked as though nothing could stain or even seep through to the surface. How kind of Grand-mama, he thought. I could collect a lot of interesting stuff wearing this jacket.
Their carriage took them up Nonesuch Street, along Park Lane, past the Opera House and across the Brass Bridge to the Street of Alchemists, where the coach stopped outside the grand entrance to the Plumbers’ Guild, which had a bell-pull that looked just like the chain and lever on Grand-mama’s water closet and a door knocker that was shaped like a long-handled spade with a rounded end.
Grand as the entrance was, nothing prepared Geoffrey for the sight that greeted them when they went in. The room was vast and the walls were completely covered from floor to ceiling with shiny patterned tiles. There were large pictures, also made up of tiles, of serious men with expressions of stern contentment and jobs well done.
‘How nice to see you, Maud, and this must be your grandson Geoffrey.’ A tall, grey-haired, distinguished-looking man with mutton-chop whiskers approached, greeting Grand-mama with a bow, and a smile for Geoffrey.
‘This, Geoffrey, is Sir Charles Lavatory,’ said Grand-mama.
