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grouper · 3 days ago

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FRIED DOG PILLS.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63911773

HEAR YE HEAR YE get your toxic wizard yaoi!!

Also, it's under this readmore. 18+ content, you have been warned! F/M, then M/M.

The Bursar’s office was a formation of stacked documents. They sat on his desk in hillocks which crested and surged over the floor, and formed paste-eroded waterfalls out of craggy filing cabinets. The stacks of paper were sedimentary, with strata of yellow and manila. There was order, all right angles. No water damage or wrinkles, just the firm press of time. Glass paperweights glittered like gemstones. Truly, the arrangement had been sitting there for gods know how long. The Bursar worked consistently, of course - it just kept piling up. And up. And up.

So, it was all the maid could do not to knock over the stacks of paper as she moved carefully through the office, dusting here and there. Motes flew into the yellow light. It was late afternoon, but it might have already been sunset by how yellowed the light was as it strove to penetrate the foggy-glassed window. No amount of scrubbing with the maid’s rag could alleviate that mist. It was a mix of dust, the elements, and tobacco smoke. It was a thick, oily coating. The pungent and tacky mixture covered most surfaces in the Bursar’s office apart from the riverbed which was his direct path to the door and the canyon of his most immediate portion of desk. So it had been for aeons.

If the window’s film of grime was truly impenetrable, the maid was determined to find out. She’d unfolded a ladder and placed it on as even of a surface as she could, and ascended. The Bursar didn’t seem to notice her. He was sunk deep into the alcove of his ancient leather chair. It was the skin of some sturdy animal, and it had long ago accepted its fate to cradle the man for eternity. It was dutifully ensconcing him. The Bursar’s arthritic hands shook as he jotted figures, and he hummed and muttered to himself. He giggled once in a while at a particularly funny number. The strange sound fell into the background as the maid scrubbed impotently at the glass.

Squeak-a, squeak-a, squeak-a - CRACK!

“Eeek!”

The Bursar only had time to look up to see a flurry of lacy petticoats and fly towards him! An imp scurried past, holding what looked to be a vital part of the maid’s ladder’s support. Then, the weight of the maid fell entirely into the Bursar’s lap. Stacks of ancient papers went flying about the room like thousands of cream-coloured butterflies. Paperweights clattered.

“WHOOF.”

The collection of petticoats had fallen hard into the Bursar’s lap, and was panting. The fluttering lace finally settled. Her eyes were wide and she was gripping to the wizard for dear life. Luckily, the Bursar’s ancient leather desk chair had seemingly absorbed all the force of the fall. Both parties were only a bit shocked. The maid tumbled out of the Bursar’s lap onto the rug at his feet, ass over teakettle. She righted herself. They looked at each other.

“Sorry about your papers, Doctor Bursar Sir.” She spoke flatly. Perhaps she wouldn’t lose her job.

But the Bursar wasn’t anywhere close to thinking of filing a complaint.

“Eh, what papers do you mean, my dear girl?” He was looking with an unfocused expression at the maid. “Forgive me, it feels as if I’ve been hit over the head with a… very attractive... Feather duster.” His tone trailed off and he smiled blissfully. Obviously, the image entertained him. The maid’s mouth fell open and she didn’t think to get up.

The Bursar looked around the room.

“My, this place is a mess these days. But, so much to do, never enough time to… tidy up, properly.” He looked down. “Where’s a maid when you need one?” He tittered.

“Er, I’ll help, if you like-“ the maid began, but was startled by the Bursar’s sudden hop out of his chair. It was like watching a marionette’s strings all get pulled at once. One cool and papery hand gripped onto hers and pulled the maid up. The wizard was surprisingly strong, in a wiry way.

“Time’s a-wasting, then! The light will be gone soon! Why do you stay in this stuffy old office all day, eh? You simply must get some air!” The Bursar spoke, perhaps to himself. It was anyone’s guess.

The girl was presently in the hallway, being pulled about by the confused Bursar. Somehow, watching the suddenly vibrant Bursar all but sprint down this once-grand hallway made the maid smile. She could use some air, and if one of the faculty members commanded it, she must obey! She allowed herself to be tugged along by the excited wizard. His robes flapped back onto her, snapping playfully at her legs. That deep maroon could really move when it wanted to.

The Bursar’s curly-toed shoes padded out the back door into the gardens, followed closely by the clomp of the maid’s heavy work boots. Classes were in session at the moment, and nobody was around to be alerted to their solitary presence. In about half an hour, though, there would be students and faculty all over. But for now, the wizard and the maid had the university gardens to themselves.

The Bursar pulled the maid by the hand down a path, then finally released her. Budding trees were about them, and herbs and bushes were pushing through the newly-thawed soil. Modo had been hard at work already, and had worked through the last fall. After a long winter, some jollification was much appreciated. Any greenery at all was fine, in fact.

“I have not visited the gardens yet, this year.” The maid spoke by way of conversation. The Bursar’s robes were following him about as he twirled from scrubby bush to bunch of herbs. The wizard was obviously pleased.

“Ah, the gardens!’ He fell to his knees before a bush and pressed his face to the barely-open buds.

“Such freshness! Such newness!” He sighed and simpered, then turned to the maid. “Come here, then, and smell the flowers! You simply must enjoy the garden.”

Perhaps encouraged by the fleeting appearance of the Bursar’s lucidity, the maid knelt gently next to the wizard and sniffed at the flowers. She couldn’t help but smile, a bit embarrassed.

“They are nice.” She couldn’t think of much else to say. The Bursar was looking at her quite intensely.

“Perhaps. Perhaps.” The Bursar turned back to the flowers and sniffed at them again, closing his eyes. He gathered the barely-open buds in his wizened hands and nuzzled into the plant. His knobbly nose buried itself enthusiastically in tiny white blossoms and waxy green leaves. The sight was undeniably charming. The maid felt a sudden fullness in her belly, as she’d only felt when spending time with one of those dull boys in her hometown. It was one of the only things to do back then. Now, since beginning work at the university it hadn’t been easy to find time to meet people.

The wizard caught her eye. The maid had been staring as she thought.

“Yes, perhaps they are nice. They are not the sweetest, or the largest… but they are hardy. And they bloom early, do they not?”

Something in the Bursar’s tone made the maid do a double-take. No way. He couldn’t be serious... Could he? She remembered something about a vow of celibacy. That was the ticket. The wicked side of her took full control- she couldn’t help it at times like this.

“Yes… I suppose they do. A remarkable little plant, now that I’m taking a… closer look.” She leaned towards the bush once again. The scent was almost peppery, and a bit stale. She leaned in again. It was a pleasing scent, but in the strangest way. Before she knew it, she was closing her eyes and huffing it.

“Ooh. That is something, isn’t it?” She couldn’t help but drink it in. She’d have to visit the gardens again - and perhaps find out if this came in a perfume. The scent was dusty, floral, and spicy all at once.

“Ha. You are doing a wonderful imitation of a bee.” The Bursar giggled haphazardly. He was twiddling at his long white beard and watching the maid with interest. Despite herself, she coloured. She felt herself heat up. Her mouth fell open, but she was beaten to the punch by the Bursar once again.

“The bee and the flower… is it not a bit brutal? A delicate flower grows tall out into the world, they’re the whats-names of the plant. Did you know that? Take a mad old wizard’s word for it.” He winked again and took a meaningful sniff at the blossoms. The maid smiled despite herself. She was having fun.

“But… yes, the plant puts out its pretty flower and all’s going well until the big bad bee shows up and ravishes the plant for all it’s worth.” The Bursar began to twitch a bit and his eyes grew faraway. He shivered. He was beginning to get excited, in his way. His head jerked a bit.

“Yes, the big bristly bee, all swaggering and arrogant. The stupid thing. And it thinks it can just rub itself all over this poor, sweet plant. Isn’t that just awful?” The Bursar’s eyes were twinkling. The maid knew she really shouldn’t, but she did anyways.

“I think i saw some interesting plants…. Over there.” She pointed into some tall hedges, where the two would be hidden from the view of the university. It looked like some storybook illustration, if a bit scruffier. It would do. She stood quickly and darted into the more enclosed space.

Immediately, the figure was closer to her than before. She heard the Bursar’s wheeze as he caught up, black lungs working. Once in a while, the man giggled distractedly. The maid knelt down onto the grass once more, inspecting some boring-looking herbs.

“Ah… not as interesting as I thought. Not sure what I saw. This is a cozy spot, though. Would be good for a picnic.” She smiled, then shivered. The spring was still new, and a breeze prickled gooseflesh into her arms. She grinned sheepishly.

“Eh, wot? You’re thinking of rolling about on the grass? Perhaps we should test it out, then. Yes, I think so ! Let’s go on, then!” The Bursar was immediately beside her, and then the two were laying down next to each other.

Then, the Bursar’s robes were falling around the maid. She laughed as the wizard’s beard tickled her nose, and she wrapped her arms around his slight waist. He straddled her lap in a charming way, hiking up his robes.

“Bursar…. What are you doing?” The maid spoke with a smile on her lips, and a touch of concern. As sweet as this was, there was the vow to think of. But the Bursar would not stop now.

“Ah… after the bee does all its business, it does go back to its hive and…. It makes honey from the pollen, I believe. Yes, that must be it. And then we get to eat that honey on our scones with some butter. Mmm…. Yes.” The Bursar looked down as if enraptured, twitching gently with excitement and general nerves.

“But I wonder if you were to feed a hive on only the flowers which we just sampled, what would the honey taste like? Probably… fresh.” And he bit down gently on the maid’s jawline. The maid whimpered and covered her mouth.

Then robes were being hiked and petticoats explored. their garbs were similar, in fact- with some key differences. The maid’s hands slipped upwards and gripped onto the Bursar’s sparsely-haired thighs, pulling him closer.

“Yes…. Delicious.” She smiled benevolently, and then the Bursar was groping her all over. She closed her eyes and leaned back to enjoy the sensation. Something was pressed against her leg, awakened from a long slumber. She heard the Bursar’s hitched breathing and snuffling. The wizard was talking to himself.

‘Yes, the big bristly bee. BZZZ…. Ooooh, aaah.” He hummed and nuzzled into the maid’s throat and nibbled gently. “Hubba, hubba!”

the maid rolled her eyes and pressed her hand harder over her mouth to suppress a laugh. This was wonderful, magical, hysterical, just like she knew it would be. She was finally ready to really settle into things when suddenly-

“Oh, BUUUURSAAAAR!”

The maid almost knocked her jaw from how fast the Bursar’s head shot up. The wizard’s eyes were wide. He quickly fell off the girl and scrambled to his feet, leaving the girl to slump onto the damn prickly grass.

“Oh, BUUUURSAAAARRRR- oh, there you are! Now listen, I’ve got to try out a new spell and I need one man, a novelty coconut brazier, and two gallons of flaming mink blood. Who’s your friend?”

Then Ridcully did multiple takes. He looked from the maid to the Bursar, to the enclosed hedge surroundings and finally to the Bursar’s robe, which was doing a serviceable impression of a tent.

Then he looked back to the Bursar and his mouth fell open.

“You didn’t.”

The words were a sobering ice cube down the Bursar’s back.

“Now - See here, Arch-Chancellor- the young lady had , ahem, fallen, and I was helping her up! Yes, that’s it, eh-heh, ha.” with convulsive movements, the Bursar bunched his robe about him. His efforts were girlish and ineffective.

“Stop this nonsense.” the Arch-Chancellor turned to the maid. “and you… get out.” Ridcully’s voice was dead serious. A cloud moved over the sun, casting a silvery light into the glade. a chill fell over the three as the sun’s warmth was blocked, and the maid got up.

“lovely to meet you both.” she curtsied and squeezed past the Arch-Chancellor. That was what to do with wizards- leave well enough alone, when it came to that. She all but skipped down the garden path, then broke into a jog as she passed out the university’s gates.

Back in the garden, two wizards couldn’t seem to escape each other. Ridcully and the Bursar looked at each other for a moment. The cornered hare confronts the mastiff. The Bursar’s twitches were growing more violent. Soon he’d need a pill, if this kept up.

“now see here,” the Bursar began. the Arch-Chancellor’s hackles went up.

“see here? Do not make me laugh. You cannot kid yourself. This is real, Bursar.” the Arch-Chancellor snapped his thick fingers in the Bursar’s face in a patronizing way. the Bursar blinked and twitched again, taking a step back. The Arch-Chancellor took a step forward.

“You’re here, this is now, and you damn fool, you’ve broken your vow of celibacy!” he barked and then managed to quiet himself in a strangled rasp, realizing that shouting such things would not be good PR.

“Now, I have not! I didn’t- do the deed,” pause to twitch hard, and steady himself.

“Ahem, is there something wrong, Arch-Chancellor…? he twiddled at his beard, his expression open as the void.

Ridcully paused and looked at the Bursar with dumbfounded rage, boiling.

“You idiot, don’t tell me you’ve simply forgotten one of the fundamental laws of wizardry? I should have you removed from the faculty just for that. This humouring you has gone far enough, I-”

“I-I’m sorry, sir, I only wanted to see the pretty lady, and she’d been nice, and we were having a lovely afternoon--”

Ridcully suddenly turned away and had to steady his breathing. Under the sound of wind in the new leaves, the wizard’s breathing sounded thick, laboured- he sucked another breath in. There was a beat.

The Bursar grabbed at the pocket of his robe but Ridcully was faster. The bushy-bearded wizard shook the pill bottle over his head. The Bursar would only embarrass himself if he tried to swipe for it.

“Give me those, er, please!” The Bursar’s face was pale and he grabbed one wrist with his hand to stop his arm from jerking. He looked around for a moment as if surprised at where he was, but when his eyes settled back onto the Arch-Chancellor he refocused.

“Those are mine, I do believe!” he pointed at the bottle. The Arch-Chancellor scowled, but watched on with some fascination. He did not lower the bottle.

“oh, yes. They’re yours, aren’t they? Feel a bit twitchy? One of these, and you’re right as rain! Ribbit, ribbit! Hah!” the Arch-Chancellor shook the bottle again. Purplish spots were forming on his cheeks, and a vein bulged on his forehead. He went on. The Bursar could only watch in horror and fascination. He’d only rarely seen his friend this way before, and such outbursts were never aimed towards himself no matter how feather-brained the Bursar’s offense had been. This was different- such was apparent, even through the haze and the auras.

“One of these, and all those nerves and worries fly away, chirp-chirp, do they not? No need to worry about silly things like vows, is there? Cool as a cucumber, weren’t you, even as you put those… those hands of yours…. all over that… that sweet, young--” he let out a strangled cry and turned away, taking the frog pills with him. There was an odd, desperate edge to the Arch-Chancellor’s voice. The Bursar tried to collect himself

“Arch-Chancellor, give me those pills! I- I need them! I mustn’t go without them, I haven’t ever-- We don’t know what may happen!” The Bursar wiped at his mouth, where a side of his jaw was clenched and wouldn’t unclench. It was most disconcerting, and he felt himself returning to awful reality. At times like this, his body seized. He’d never gone without his pills, not in years. His heart pounded, which must not be helping his current predicament. Rarely had his blood pressure risen without one of the old fried dog pills to shove it back down.

“You-- give me those, now, or I’ll find a bottle elsewhere!” The implication was clear.

“You leave now, and you can stay out of my sight forever, for all I care, you barmy old fool!”

The Bursar had played too many games of Cripple Mr. Onion with the Arch-Chancellor not to know when the man was bluffing. His beard seemed to bristle up, to intimidate, like one of those ridiculous spiny puff-up fish. Accordingly, the Bursar doubled down.

“Perhaps there’s an opening at the beggar’s guild!” The Bursar gasped, still eyeing his pills.

“Yes, they wouldn’t bother me there! I’d fit right in, wouldn’t I? Better than being pulled about by you all the time, that’s for sure! Yes, my good wizard, I think it’s time for me to take a break then, if I cannot even be afforded such simple things as my medication!”

Through the haze of multicoloured aura, through the pounding of the Bursar’s long-sedated mind, the accounting wizard watched as the Arch-Chancellor deflated. It was strange to see. And unexpected. At times like this, usually the Arch-Chancellor would begin to charge up a fireball at the offending miscreant. But this was different. This was the Bursar. The Arch-Chancellor’s hands twitched and he tried to match the Bursar’s determined gaze. The fact that only one of the Bursar’s wide and rolling eyes focused on him at a time only made the task all the more difficult. This disconcerting effect was the final nail in the coffin- and Ridcully’s arm finally dropped back down. He did not offer the pills to the Bursar, but they were back in reach. Neither man moved.

“You can’t go.” The Arch-Chancellor left the statement open, and the words hung in the air.

Of course, the Bursar had been bluffing. His aim had been to win, for once, over the pompous old bully. And he had. He reached out and snatched the pill bottle out of the Arch-Chancellor’s hand. Ridcully watched as the Bursar took one of the pills. Not his usual handful, but enough to calm him in the moment. The convulsing and seizing of his body eased by a margin, and the Bursar was able to focus on the moment.

Somehow, out-bluffing the Arch-Chancellor felt different than he’d sometimes imagined. Rather than triumph, he simply felt cold. Ridcully’s gaze upon him was, truly, defeated.

“I could if I wished.” The Bursar mumbled, but it didn’t seem right to think of leaving anymore. However, this statement seemed to further agitate the Arch-Chancellor. The bristly wizard’s eyes grew wide, and his face paled. The Bursar somehow didn’t like to see him this way.

“What, then, you wish for me to stay? To handle the accounts-- and quit the pills, as well?” The Bursar gave a strange laugh. “If I shall stay, then I must have them. I simply must! Perhaps I could be more discreet, would that help?” Another strange laugh. The Bursar was missing the point, growing confused again as the pill’s effects set in.

“You damn fool, this is not about the pills!” The Arch-Chancellor’s shoulders hiked, and he growled. He tried to quiet his tone, which led to his voice whistling oddly. The Bursar giggled, thinking of tea-kettles. The Arch-Chancellor’s seemed a bit ill all of a sudden.

“You-- you-- do you think we do not all wish for such things? That we do not-- yearn, when we see the couples walking hand-in-hand? Myself, I have not taken a warm bath in years! There is a reason why we mustn’t see the maids, why we should only have each other’s company! You… you traitor!” The Arch-Chancellor looked away.

The Bursar thought this was overblowing things a bit, but he was more concerned what he thought might have been a sniffle, muffled by the wind.

“I say, hasn’t every wizard… fooled about, time and again, Arch-Chancellor-- Ridcully? It is… more of a guideline, than a… rule.” The Bursar tried some familiarity. He thought of times when even the Arch-Chancellor had sought some company, though nothing vow-breaking. There was that Weatherwax woman, for one….

The Arch-Chancellor turned and stammered a bit.

“That- that’s beside the point, isn’t it? This is different-- this is -- it’s… it’s you, for one thing!” Ridcully’s emphasis on *you* was not lost on the Bursar. Even Ridcully seemed puzzled about what he meant.

“Er…. Be that as it may,” the confused Bursar continued, “this is… as it were… private. Is it not? So, I’ve been caught …. cavorting, or some such thing. Granted, that is an offense, so… what shall it be? Have I finally lost the privilege of keeping that unicorn in my office, then?” The Bursar bargained. Ridcully paused and computed for a moment.

“Er… nothing like that.” There was a pause. Then the Arch-Chancellor seemed to puff up again.

“Private…. private… what do you mean, private? You have no… private life, away from me! I’m the… first person you see in the morning, last person you see at night, I- I’m practically your nurse! We don’t have-- secrets from each other-- or at least, you don’t keep secrets from me!” The Arch-Chancellor seemed to think he’d made a point, then his words caught up with him. Another pause as the two men thought this over.

“You… this… isn’t about university business, is it, Mustrum?” The Bursar didn’t seem confused at all anymore. One of those rolling eyes focused on Ridcully’s face.

The Bursar tested something, jerking slightly closer to Ridcully.

“What if I were to… miss one of our Thursday evenings , where we sit in the faculty lounge, and you have your brandy and I have my tea, and we read? I believe it would be warranted, after this. I might simply…. not show up. Perhaps I am offended by your …. outburst.”

There was that same game face, which the Bursar had learned over the years. The Bursar had never tried to win at those games- it was fine entertainment just to watch Ridcully win over the Dean. But the Arch-Chancellor had always taken these games so personally. In those games, the Arch-Chancellor had always won. Once, though, they’d invited Stibbons, and that idiot boy had beat the Arch-Chancellor. He hadn’t been invited again, of course- but the Arch-Chancellor’s expression was similar now to what it had been then. He looked a bit lost, as if unsure about how such a thing could have been achieved. He’d lived his life on the high ground, and anything lower was generally unknown to him.

“You … it is … your choice…” was all the Arch-Chancellor could summon. That stricken expression was all the Bursar needed to understand what was going on. And the Arch-Chancellor knew his cover was blown. Obviously, this was a deeper problem.

“Now, see here.” Ridcully began. “For you to take those damned pills all the time is one thing, but for you to break your vow… it isn’t as if you’re a student. How long… how long has it been, Bursar? We… I… we’ve even drawn each other’s cold baths.” He spoke bitterly. The Bursar’s mouth fell open. Now that the Arch-Chancellor mentioned it, that was… odd. Ridcully went on.

“Of course it’s difficult. It’s… hellish, at times. You’ve got those pills to distract you, I suppose. And I… I could finish a bottle of brandy any night. We try not to, er overdo it, I think. I hope. Because then, who would… be there to complain to.” Ridcully’s eyes grew faraway. “Misery loves company, I suppose.”

The Arch-Chancellor was looking at the Bursar in an odd way. Hair stood on the back of the Bursar’s neck. The chilly breeze was somehow very welcome upon his cheeks, which he realized were burning. The two men stood in the glade for a moment, simply looking at each other. Ridcully opened his mouth to say something more, then looked away from the Bursar’s knit brow. Even the ever-confused Dinwiddie could make some sense of this.

Yes. It was obvious, in hindsight. It was true- Ridcully had not contrived it, but it was true. Ridcully seemed to think- and truly believe, that he was somehow the Bursar’s keeper. Ridcully was the one portioning out the frog pills when the Bursar seized, and yes, he’d even drawn the man’s cold baths. A dozen holes in the Bursar’s now warped hat were a testament to the bookkeeper’s presence at (and participation in) every one of Ridcully’s crossbow shooting practices. Ridcully had done trick shots, often resulting in the administering of a couple pills to the fainted Bursar. Perhaps the Arch-Chancellor wasn’t simply full of himself. Perhaps all that puffing and roaring and bluster and pulling the Bursar around like a personal testing-dummy had served some other purpose. Yes, Ridcully seemed to have a need to monopolize the Bursar’s time. Come to think of it, Ridcully seemed to need to know where the Bursar was at any given time, and might have sometimes preferred if they were joined at the hip. Someone, once, had joked about the Arch-Chancellor holding the Bursar’s leash- likely to keep him from wandering off, but still. It was possible, now that the Bursar really focused on it-- that the Arch-Chancellor was attached to the Bursar. Very much so.

“Oh. Oh. Ridcully- Mustrum!” The Bursar’s eyes welled up, and his voice quavered. The Arch-Chancellor’s eyes widened and he gave a strangled cry and he looked away. He pulled an old kerchief from his vest pocket and dabbed furiously at his forehead. The convulsive action did not alleviate the shiny pinkness of his forehead.

The Bursar stepped closer.

“Why did you not say something, old friend?” He reached toward the Arch-Chancellor, who jerked away. The Bursar retracted his hand slowly, peering closely at Ridcully who would not meet his gaze.

“You-- why… say something? What -- you poor, mad… the- the vow, Bursar! Think of it!” He pleaded with the Bursar.

The wind seemed to still in the garden. Every leaf stood - and seemed suddenly as shiny and fragile as glass. Ridcully turned quickly to meet the Bursar’s gaze. He needed to know- everything was out in the open now. He’d confirmed it. The vow had to do with the burning of loins in the night, the deep conviction needed to make such promises stick. And all the brandy in the world could not wash away the years of unfulfilled needing and wanting. That was what the vow was. And to direct that- to put it upon the Bursar. The old fool could have the decency to look affronted. The mad old Bursar was obviously confused, any wizard should have been horrified. No proper wizard should have that confounded curious expression like that on the Bursar’s face now. The world crystallized. It was the Arch-Chancellor’s turn to take a step back.

“What are you doing-- how could you-- you mustn’t-- we mustn’t-- oh, Bursar..”

The Bursar’s eyebrows shot up on his wrinkled forehead. This was very, very different. He watched, dumbfounded, as the Arch-Chancellor stood before him with his barrel chest heaving, baring a side of his meaty throat in anticipation of… something.

“Er, there, there…?” The Bursar patted Ridcully’s shoulder lightly, a bit nervous by this sudden change.

The Arch-Chancellor opened one eye, then another. Then a gust of wind almost took his hat off and he righted himself, adjusting his cloak with a nervous laugh, looking about.

“Ah. Hah. Yes. Er. Better already! Of course. Wot?” He patted his robes down, looking mortified. “Eh, I should better, er, get to the Dean, classes will be out soon, and I said I would meet him, er…”

But the Bursar reached out to grab Ridcully’s sleeve. “Wait.”

Ridcully whirled back to him. His voice was breathless once again.

“Yes!” Ridcully gasped, looking at the Bursar expectantly. The Bursar felt the beginnings of whiplash.

“Oh, my.” His head whirled, and he wondered if the frog pills could heal something like this.

“Mustrum…. perhaps you should like to… take tea with me, on Tuesday? I have… well, a couple hours in the afternoon, and I know a little place… with these lovely little… well, I think you would like it. Come with me?”

It was not ravishing. It was not the brutal catharsis which Ridcully seemed to crave. The Bursar watched as Ridcully’s face changed to process the thought. Beneath that impressive moustache, Ridcully’s lips formed a little o. Then, with a twitching of whiskers, the Arch-Chancellor sniffed. There was a moment of gratitude- then the Bursar’s shoulders relaxed as Ridcully seemed to come back to himself.

“Ahem! Yes, I suppose it will do-- I must check my ledger and calendar but, perhaps it could be arranged. Perhaps.” The Arch-Chancellor could not hide the way he swelled with some unspent emotion, giving the impression of a big, fur-clad balloon. The Bursar almost regretted his clemency already. A new door had been opened, to a corridor which had not been explored in decades. Shabby and dusty, but … it had once been grand, had it not?

Bells began all over the city- and the first of the students burst into the courtyard. The world returned, and both men seemed to ease, delivered from the pressures of privacy.

“Noon on Tuesday, we shall meet at the gates and walk. You best not forget.” Ridcully’s eyes narrowed.

“Er, forget what, Arch-Chancellor?” The Bursar grinned distractedly at a butterfly. He heard a scoff and the sound of curly-toed boots walking away. The Bursar followed the little white butterfly to a rosebush and watched as it unraveled its proboscis to drink nectar from the newly-opened bud.

The butterfly opened and closed its wings. The Bursar noticed it had one ragged wing, and blotches of yellow stained the edges of the delicate tissue. Still, the butterfly sat poised upon the deep maroon petals and drank long of the sweet nectar. The Bursar watched it for a while, then thought of early dinner and wandered off.