Rincewind, DM (Hon), Egregious Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography, Reader in Cryptic Languages, Health and Safety Officer and about seventeen other positions no one else at Unseen University wanted, crawled reluctantly out of bed and walked slowly over to the Luggage and opened it. Just like every other morning for a goodly number of years, he took out his clothing for the day. As usual it was cleaned, pressed, neatly folded and smelled faintly of lavender.
Unlike in the earlier years, though, it had no patches, holes or rents. The Archchancellor had been as good as his word and when Rincewind performed "a great service of benefit to Wizards and all mankind" he had been awarded an Unseen University honorary faculty position which came with its own small suite of rooms, a place at the table in the Dining Hall, and annual new wardrobes. Rincewind found this extremely worrisome. Rincewind found nearly everything extremely worrisome and the better things got for him the more he worried. He had spent his entire life firmly convinced that the Multiverse was out to get him and had the scars to prove it. These were almost entirely on his back, having been inflicted as he ran hellbent for leather away1 from (fill in the blank here).
[ 1Some have asked where he was running to but the man always replied that the 'to' was infinitely less important than the 'from' and kept on running]
For some reason, though, the professor worried less and felt safer2 within UU's walls and so long as he didn't have to leave was slightly more relaxed--slightly. Today, however, was his weekly 'date' with Madame Lotus Blossom at the Counterweight Palace. Usually getting there was bad enough but since he always was accompanied by two trolls, his anxiety level didn't raise a great deal. However, lately she had started welcoming him with a cup of tea that was well-spiked with Tiger Oil3 and the following couple of hour's erotic delights only reinforced Rincewind's fear that some great catastrophe was in the offing.
[2 That's 'safer', not 'safe'. Sort of 'less endangered'.]
[3 An herbal potion concocted by the witch Hilta Goatfounder from the village of Ohulan Cutash. It is a remedy for any man who because if age, infirmity or over-familiarity is no longer up his lady's romantic hopes and expectations.]
It always put the poor man in a terrible quandary. He wanted to go because Lotus Blossom was very pretty and the prescribed (by the Archchancellor!) therapy no longer made him think of well-buttered mashed potatoes whenever he saw her. He had to go because Vice-Chancellor Stibbons thought that maintaining good relations with the woman (who was also the Peoples' Beneficent Republic of Agatea's head agent in Ankh-Morpork) was good for the faculty's menu. There was even an implication that if Rincewind failed to keep making Lotus Blossom happy his position at UU might be imperiled.
On the other hand, the professor was firmly convinced that every good thing that happened to him would be doubly over-balanced by something terrible the Multiverse was preparing for him. This led to him hiding under his bed as soon as he returned and staying there for the remainder of that day and all the next.
Then there was the Door. Rincewind's predecessor as Egregious Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography had been a private sort of man with big ears and a perpetual suntan. The latter was due to his somehow opening a connection to a tropical isle thousands of years in the past where he spent the entirety of Ankh-Morpork's frigid winters. The first opening had been through his window and was kept open by a stick. The rest of the faculty had discovered the man's secret and crawled through to enjoy the warmth, the surf and (in the case of the Archchancellor) the fishing. Mrs. Whitlow had come along bearing breakfast and in a momentary fit of neatness had removed the stick marooning all in a previous epoch.
Rincewind's 'great service of benefit to Wizards and all mankind' had gotten everyone home and the man his own limited, unpaid position. The opening to Mono Island wasn't supposed to be part of the deal, even if the magical window had been found. However, Hex, the University's thinking engine, had its own ideas and odd sense of humor. It (he?) felt that since Rincewind's suite had originally had an opening to another 'place', it was part of the furniture and should be there again. Hence the Door.
Holes in Reality (Doors) were a well-known but frustrating magical phenomenon at UU. They showed up periodically causing great excitement among the students but always turned out to be uncontrollable. That is they did until Hex figured out the thauma-rithms to make them work on command. Now a Door was one of the perks that went along with promotion to Senior Faculty, and while Rincewind wasn't really Senior Faculty, Hex 'thought' he deserved a one. It opened onto a tropical beach somewhen that wasn't inhabited by a pesky god with a penchant for experimentation. That didn't mean it was safe, just less dangerous. Rincewind had stuck his head through once and quickly pulled it back. Visit a balmy seaside in the middle of winter? Not even! Something that wonderful was guaranteed to get him eaten by a shark or skull-cracked by a falling coconut.
Unfortunately, Madame Lotus Blossom was a very skilled interrogator as well as intelligence agent and had weaseled the Door's existence out of Rincewind. And once she knew about it, she insisted on an invitation to see it. And she was coming today! Worse yet, she promised to bring her 'teapot' along AND a beach towel. Warm sand, a beach towel, Tiger Oil and Lotus Blossom. Payback would surely be horrific.
*****
In the expanded suite the Senior Wrangler now shared with his beloved Mrs. Whitlow, the dear lady stood in front of the mirror and adjusted her sarong. She thought momentarily about pulling it down a little in front and exposing a bit more décolletage for Horace's benefit but deciding that since it would soon be hanging from a branch while the two of them enjoyed the delights of bathing in a tropical pool some thousands of years in the past, additional cleavage was redundant.
Yes, the Senior Wrangler was Senior Faculty and had his own Door. As did most, his, like Rincewind's, opened onto a tropical beach. Was it on Mono Island? Unlikely. The plants there were simply going about herbal businesses of their own with no innate desire to be helpful. Was it the same one as Rincewind's. Extremely unlikely. given the infinite number of balmy shores in the Multiverse. However, given that Hex's sense of humor was--let us say--puckish, the possibility was certainly there.
"Do you have the towels, dear?" she asked.
"Of course," the Senior Wrangler replied happily, "we mustn't get sand in uncomfortable places, after all."
He held the Door for her and she blew him a kiss as they left Ankh-Morpork's bitter, windy snow and ice for sunshine, warm sand, balmy surf and tropical fruit in abundance.
*****
Archchancellor Ridcully's response to freezing winter evenings is a comfortable armchair, a fire on the hearth and a large bottle of VSOP Quirmian brandy. Forty years of winters at the family estates in the Ramtops had left the man somewhat derisive of the rest of the faculty's complaints about Ankh-Morpork's cold months so while his Door did have an adjustment for a tropical beach, his only use for it was to go fishing in the surf. And even at that, the man usually kept his Door's setting on a long stretch of verdant chalk stream where he could tempt the resident trout with his own hand-tied flies. Tonight he was sharing hearth, blaze and bottle with his Vice-Chancellor Ponder Stibbons.
"Stibbons, my man, yer haven't been submittin' any outrageous requests for fundin', of late. Have yer run out of mysteries to unravel?"
"Oh, no, Archchancellor. The world is still like a great sea of the Unknown where all I can do is fiddle with pebbles on the shore. Fortunately, Thaumatological Park's profits increase by the week and keep me so well supported that I have little need to tap the University's reserves, at least until the Next Big Thing comes along."
Ridcully refilled his snifter and handed Ponder the bottle.
"Considerin' the chaos yer Last Big Thing caused, I shouldn't be in any hurry! Splittin' the thaum, constructin' Roundworld, fightin' off fairies and dealin' with Auditors of Reality--we can easily do with consid'rably less of that sort of excitement! Might I suggest that'cher consider workin' towards the Next Moderate Thing or even the Next Little Thing? It's been remark'bly peaceful of late and 'm not aware that anyone is complainin'."
Stibbons grinned ruefully. "What everyone is complaining about seems to be the weather--again! Part of the reason it's been peaceful is that much of the Senior Faculty has taken off through their Doors to bask in the sun. There's even a rumor that Madame Lotus Blossom is coming to be shown the other side of Professor Rincewind's Door. And if the goddess of Negotiable Affection is to be believed (and I'm sure she is) the Dragon Lady is bringing Tiger Oil and a beach towel with her."
Ridcully drew on his pipe and blew a smoke ring. "Hmpf! That means that our Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography will be spendin' the next couple of days hidin' under his bed. Foolish, I call that. When yer a chap with an eye for the ladies, it simply doesn't do t'not take advantage when a lady takes an eye t'yer. On that subject, how are things goin' at Mrs. Palm's?"
"Very well, thank-you. Sarah has me on her calendar for regular appointments and I have come to look forward to them."
"Well, good for yer, then. The majority of the faculty still prefer the traditional male company and big dinners but it don't hurt for one t'take the occasional break from routine. I understand that even the Chair of Experimental Serendipity has become quite a regular at the Street of Negotiable Affection. D'yer ever cross paths?"
Ponder shot the Archchancellor a decidedly dirty look. "We do not," he answered crossly, "I don't know anything more about his--love life--than anyone else does."
"Good judgement, that," the Archchancellor opined, "Keepin' one's privacy private is simply good manners. D'yer need a refill?"
*****
Petulia, goddess of Negotiable Affection, stood in the doorway of Neoldian's smithy. The god of Blacksmiths, Ironworkers and Allied Trades repeatedly heated to cherry, hammered and shaped some bit of celestial arcana that one of the senior gods just had to have as soon as possible. All smithies are kept dimly lit so the smith can better judge the temperature of the forge and the color of the iron so the only real light was red. It shone off the god's sweaty, muscular torso, barely covered as it was by his leather apron. Petulia licked her lips as she watched the play of muscle under the god's skin. Her worshipers' affection was almost always paid for but Petulia herself was not opposed to the occasional tryst purely for the sport of it.
