The Patrician's Private Cloud

Rincewind sat on the old chair, and remained silent. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the paper fluttering on the Patrician's desk, as if a breeze were moving it, but he knew that it was actually the Patrician working.

Then Rincewind saw the form of the Patrician, looking as if he had been there all along. Rincewind looked down at his own hands. They were trembling.

One by one, the powers-that-be in Ankh-Morpork's magic circles entered the room. Some materialized out of thin air in a showy display of light and smoke. Some were just practical and walked through the front door without fuss. There was one man that Rincewind did not recognize. He was a nondescript man who was dressed well, but in solid navy blue and white, although he was not a sailor. Rincewind shuddered and looked away.

The Archchancellor looked down and scowled. He took a notebook from a pocket in his robe, and opened it. He glanced up at the Patrician, and said, "I need to page the Dean again. I am sure that he has a good explanation for not answering the first time." Rincewind thought, "Ah, the Archchancellor is feeding the Dean to the wolves. I may not be the only one sweating today." The Archchancellor uttered a short and well-known phrase, and summoned the Dean.

The Dean materialized with a drumstick in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other. There was no smoke, and an anemic blue glow, and a sort of fizzy, harmless crackling noise that intimidated and awed nobody.

The Dean said, "I am going to have start that experiment over from scratch. I have lost at least two hours of work. So what do we have?"

Granny Weatherwax said, "I would say that have a need for a napkin and a little soap and water to clean the grease from your face and your hands. Let me help."

The Dean replied, "Thank you, Granny. I was in a hurry."

While the Dean was getting cleaned up, the Archchancellor said, "What sort of emergency do we have?"

The Patrician said, "It will easier to show you. By the way, this is Mister Black. I have asked him to assist today in matters of law, both natural and supernatural."

Rincewind grimaced. For the Patrician to be calling in a lawyer meant that things must be very bad indeed.

The man in navy blue and white opened a hinged leather box, pulled some eyeglasses out of it, and gave each person a pair. Rincewind noticed that he did not offer the Patrician a pair.

Rincewind put on his glasses. The room looked slightly different, but he could not quite describe to himself how.

The Patrician said, "Mister Black, please lead Rincewind up to the former Star Chamber. Or as we have renamed it, the Cloud Chamber. The rest of us will follow."

As Rincewind walked up to Mister Black, the Patrician said, "Of course, Mister Black, you will lead Rincewind from behind." Rinceward looked back at the others. They all had the smug look of those who knew that whatever was going to happen, it was not going to happen to them first.

Rincewind walked in front of Mister Black, suppressing his instincts to bolt and run. There was just enough light from the high and narrow windows to walk up the stairs. The Star Chamber was a name that sent pangs of fear into generations of Morporkians. The idea that the Patrician had just renamed it did not reassure Rincewind that the room's new purpose was going to warmer or fuzzier.

Rincewind was at least approaching a better lit area as he came to the top of the stairs. He glanced back, only to see Mister Black, wearing very dark glasses, shake his head, without rancor but without pity. Rincewind wanted to lie and say, "I was not thinking about escape," but he thought better of it.

Rincewind saw two heavy oaken doors with brass handles. Mister Black turned and said, "Are you sure that you all have your glasses on?"

There was a chorus of "Yes."

The Patrician said, "Rincewind, open the door."

Rincewind was now shivering, although he was not cold. But he feared the Patrician just a little more than he feared whatever was behind the door. He grabbed the brass handle and pulled on the door. It opened much more easily than he expected, and his gesture had the appearance of more bravery than was intended.

A blaze of octarine shone forth from the room! This light was as thaumatically bright as that of the sun. Rincewind reflexively shut his eyes. There was silence, and the first person to speak was the Archchancellor.

"This is amazing, Lord Ventinari. A thaumatic cloud. By the way, Rincewind, you can stop cowering now. The glasses block enough octarine so that you can look at it safely."

The Dean said, "But Lord Ventinari, you are not wearing the glasses. Have you become blind?"

"No. I cannot see octarine. I am not a wizard."

Nancy Ogg interrupted, "Rincewind has lost his head."

The Archchancellor replied, "Yes, he does that when he is placed under stress."

"No, I meant it quite literally."

And indeed, Rincewind's head had disappeared.

The Patrician said, "Do not worry. Rincewind's head is there. I am just getting him comfortable with the idea of what it might be like without it."

The Dean said, "You made him disappear?"

"Of course. With a thaumatic cloud, one need not actually be a wizard to work magic."

The Archchancellor said, "Wait a minute. What did we ever do to you? You are the one that has been insistent on making sure that each guild polices its own affairs. Possession of one of these by someone who is not trained is destabilizing."

"Indeed. I am glad that you see my point."

"Yes, but none of us had anything to do with this. Why are you breaching the understanding?"

"I have to look at the city's future. Not only for now, but ten and a hundred years from now. I did not solicit the creation of a thaumatic cloud. But it appears that the secret has been discovered, and there are parties that I will not disclose that are getting ready to sell access to a thaumatic cloud to anyone with enough money to pay for it."

This created an uproar among those present. Selling the mystic and magical secrets of the circle of wizards and witches wholesale, the hard-won knowledge of many generations, for the purpose of crass commerce was blasphemous - wicked - irresponsible - just not done! The secrets of the ancients could only be sold in closely controlled increments (with three to five year support contracts, depending on what the user was willing to pay) by qualified wizards, with just enough magic to do what the user needed. If every Tom, Dick, and Harry could just access a thaumatic cloud without a wizard, the city was at risk from magic used wrong, and, also, people might question the need for the charter of the Unseen University.

The Dean was red-faced with anger, but the Archchancellor stepped in front of him and asked, "Who is responsible for this?"

Mister Black, as if on cue, took a sheet of paper from the leather box, and read, "Patent Number 8675309, approved for Wizzard-candidate [sic] Rincewind on the thirteen day of Arachne, in the seventh year of the Patrician Lord Havelock Ventinari. A plan for the creation of Practical Thaumatic Clouds Using a Novel Thaum-Sharing Mechanism."

Every head in the room swiveled to the space above Rincewind's neck. Granny Weatherwax said, "What does he look like?"

The Patrician said, "About as you would expect."

The Archchancellor scowled, and said, "Rincewind. Would you mind explaining?"

Rincewind said,

1. "It was required for my first-year Basics of Thaumatic Law class. Everyone knows that the stuff that we file for patents is crap. I didn't even know that they approved it, much less that it would actually work!"
2. "It was after I got out of the university. I was looking for some fast cash, and thought that I might be able to patent some stuff and sell it so that I could eat."
3. "This patent is obviously a forgery in my name. Think for a minute. Do you actually think that I have the competence to design something like a thaumatic cloud?"

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