Free The Last Continent by Terry Pratchett Page B

take his hand off the—”
    “No. It’s the painting underneath I’m talking about, mister.”
    Rincewind looked closer. There were fainter lines there, which you’d think were just flaws in the rock if you weren’t looking. Rincewind squinted. Other lines seemed to fit…Yes, someone had painted figures…They were…
    He blew away some sand.
    Yes, they were…
    …curiously familiar…
    “Yes,” said Scrappy, his voice apparently coming from a distance. “Look a bit like you, don’t they…?”
    “But they’re—” he began. He straightened up. “How long have these paintings been here?”
    “Well, lessee,” said the kangaroo. “Out of the sun and the weather, nothing to disturb ’em…Twenty thousand years?”
    “That’s not right!”
    “Nah, true, prob’ly thirty thousand, in a nice sheltered spot like this.”
    “But these are…That’s my…”
    “O’ course, when I say thirty thousand years,” said the kangaroo, I mean it depends how you look at it. Even them hand paintings on the top’ve been there five thousand years, see. And those faint ones…Oh, yes, got to be pretty old, tens of thousands of years, except—”
    “Except what?”
    “They weren’t here last week, mate.”
    “You’re saying they’ve been here for ages…but not for very long?”
    “See? I knew you was clever.”
    “And now you’re going to tell me what the hell you’re talking about?”
    “Right.”
    “Excuse me, I’ll just find something to eat.”
    Rincewind lifted up a rock. There were a couple of jam sandwiches underneath.

    The wizards were civilized men of considerable education and culture. When faced with being inadvertently marooned on a desert island they understood immediately that the first thing to do was place the blame.
    “It really was very clear!” shouted Ridcully, waving his hand frantically in the air at the place where the window had been. “And I put a sign on it!”
    “Yes, but you’ve got a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign nailed to your study door,” said the Senior Wrangler, “and you still expect Mrs. Whitlow to bring you your tea in the mornings!”
    “Gentlemen, please!” said Ponder Stibbons. “We’ve got to sort some things out right now!”
    “Yes indeed!” roared the Dean. “And it was his fault! The sign wasn’t large enough!”
    “I mean we have to—”
    “There are ladies present!” snapped the Senior Wrangler.
    “ Lady .” Mrs. Whitlow uttered the word carefully and with deliberation, like a gambler putting down a winning hand. She stood primly watching them. Her expression said: I’m not worried, because with all these wizards around nothing bad can happen.
    The wizards adjusted their attitudes.
    “Ai do apologize if Ai’ve done something wrong,” she said.
    “Oh, not, not wrong ,” said Ridcully quickly. “Not exactly wrong . As such.”
    “Anyone could have done it,” said the Senior Wrangler. “I could hardly read the lettering myself.”
    “And, taking the broad view, it’s certainly better to be stuck out here in the fresh air and sunshine than in that stuffy study,” Ridcully went on.
    “That’s quite a broad view, sir,” said Ponder doubtfully.
    “And we’ll be back home in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” said Ridcully, beaming.
    “Unfortunately, this doesn’t look a very agricultural sort of—” Ponder began.
    “Figure of speech, Mister Stibbons, figure of speech.”
    “The sun’s going down, sir,” Ponder persisted. “Which means it’ll be night time soon.”
    Ridcully looked nervously at Mrs. Whitlow, and then at the sun.
    “Is there a problem?” said Mrs. Whitlow.
    “Oh, good heavens, no!” said Ridcully hastily.
    “Ai notice the little hole in the wall doesn’t seem to have come back,” said Mrs. Whitlow.
    “We, er—”
    “It’s a little prank, is it?” the housekeeper went on. “Ai’m sure you gentlemen will have your fun, and no mistake.”
    “Yes, that’s—”
    “But Ai should be grateful if you