Стража! Стража!

           Themortarwashalf-rotted,butthebarshadbeendrivendeepintotherock.Undertheircrustingofrusttherewasstillplentyofiron.Itwasalongjob,butitwassomethingtodoandrequiredablessedabsenceofthought.Theycouldn’ttakeitawayfromhim.Itwasagood,cleanchallenge;youknewifyouwentonchippingaway,you’dwinthrougheventually.

           Itwasthe"eventually"thatwastheproblem.EventuallyGreatA’Tuinwouldreachtheendoftheuniverse.Eventuallythestarswouldgoout.EventuallyNobbymighthaveabath,althoughthatwouldprobablyinvolvearadicalrethinkingofthenatureofTime.

           Hehackedatthemortaranyway,andthenstoppedassomethingsmallandpalefelldownoutside,quiteslowly.

           "Peanutshell?"hesaid.

           TheLibrarian’sface,surroundedbytheinner-tubejowlsoftheLibrarian’shead,appearedupsidedowninthebarredopening,andgavehimagrinthatwasn’tanylessterribleforbeingthewrongwayup.

           "Oook?"

           Theorangutanfloppeddownoffthewall,grabbedacoupleofbars,andpulled.Musclesshuntedbackandforwardacrossitsbarrelchestinacomplexpavaneofeffort.Themouthfulofyellowteethgapedinsilentconcentration.

           Therewereacoupleofdull"thungs"asthebarsgaveupandbrokefree.Theapeflungthemasideandreachedintothegapinghole.ThenthelongestarmsoftheLawgrabbedtheastonishedVimesunderhisshouldersandpulledhimthroughinonemovement.

           Theranksurveyedtheirhandiwork.

           "Right,"saidNobby.