'Gentlemen, we've found our genius and we're on our way,' said Rincewind. 'Ponder, can Hex move some buffaloes to right outside this cave at dawn tomorrow?'

'That shouldn't be hard, yes.'

'Good.' Rincewind looked around. 'And there's quite a few tall trees here, too. Which is just as well.'

It was dawn, and the tree was full of wizards.

The ground below was full of buffalo. Hex had moved an entire herd, which was now more or less penned in amongst the rocks and trees.

And, on the rocky ledge in front of the bewildered, panicking creatures, Burnt Stick Man and the other hunters stared down in disbelief.

But only for a moment. They had spears, after all. They got two of the creatures before the rest thundered away. And, afterwards, people were certainly showing Burnt Stick Man a bit of respect.

'All right, I think I see what you're getting at,' said Ridcully, as the wizards very carefully climbed down.

'Well, I don't,' said the Dean. 'You're teaching them basic magic. And that doesn't work here!'

'They think it does,' said Rincewind.

'But that was only because we helped them! What're they going to do tomorrow when he does another painting and no buffaloes turn up?'

'They'll think it's experimental error,' said Rincewind. 'Because it's so sensible, isn't it? You draw a magic picture, and the real thing turns up! It's so sensible that they'll take a lot of convincing that it doesn't work. Besides ... '

'Besides what?' said Ponder.

'Oh, I was thinking that if Burnt Stick Man is really sensible he'll keep an eye on the movements of the local animals and make sure he paints his pictures at the right time.'

Some more weeks went by. There were lots of men like Burnt Stick Man.

And even Red Hands Man ...

'... so,' said Rincewind, as he sat by the river, squeezing the clay, 'it's quite easy to make other things out of it than snakes.'

'Snakes are easy,' said Red Hands Man, stained with ochre to the armpits.

'And there's lots of snakes around here, is there?' said Rincewind. It looked like prime snake country.

'Lots of them.'

'Ever wondered why? You play around rolling snakes out of clay, and snakes turn up?'

'I'm making the snakes?' said Red Hands Man. 'How can that be? I was only doing it because of the enjoyable tactile sensations!'

'It's an intriguing thought, isn't it?' said Rincewind. 'But it's okay, I won't tell anyone else.'

Red Hands Man stared at his hands as if examining two lethal instruments. He seemed a little less bright than Burnt Stick Man.

'Ever thought about making something else?' said Rincewind. Something more edible?'

'Fish are good to eat,' Red Hands Man conceded.

'Why not try making a clay fish?' said Rincewind, with a sincere smile.

Next morning, it rained trout.

In the afternoon a very happy Red Hands Man, now hailed as the saviour of the clan that lived among the reeds, made a model of a big fat woman out of clay.

The wizards discussed the moral implications of allowing Hex to rain enormous women over a wide area. The debate took a long time, with many pauses for inward reflection, but at last the Dean was voted down. It was agreed that if you gave a man a fat woman, he'd just have a fat woman for a day, but if you helped a man become a very important man because he had the secret of buffaloes or fish, he could get himself as many fat women as he wanted.

Next morning they went forward a thousand years in time. There was hardly an unadorned cave on the continent, and quite a lot of fat women.

They went further ...

In a forest clearing, a man was making a god out of wood. Either it wasn't a very good carving, or it was a good carving but an ugly god. The wizards watched.

And the Queen of the Elves appeared, with a couple of elves in attendance. They were male or, at least, appeared male. The queen was angry.

'What are you doing, wizards?' she snapped.

Ridcully gave her a nod of annoying friendliness. 'Oh, just a little ... what are we calling it, Stibbons?'

'A sociological experiment, Archchancellor,' said Ponder. 'But you've been teaching them art!

And sculpture!' 'And music,' said Ridcully happily. 'The Lecturer in Recent Runes is rather good with a lute, it turns out.'

'Only in a very amateur way, I'm afraid,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, blushing.

'Dashed easy to make, a lute,' said Ridcully. 'You just need a tortoise shell and some sinews and you're well away. I myself have been renewing my acquaintance with the penny whistle of my boyhood, although I fear that the Dean's expertise with the comb-and-paper leaves something to be desired.'

'And why are you doing all this?' the queen demanded. 'Are you angry? We thought you'd be pleased,' said Ridcully. 'We thought you wanted them this way. You know - imaginative.'

'He created music?' said the Queen, glaring at the Lecturer in Recent Runes, who gave her an embarrassed wave.

'Oh, no, I assure you,' he said. 'Er, they'd worked up to, you know, basic percussion, the conch shell and so on, but it was all rather dull. We just helped them along a bit.'

'Gave them a few tips,' said Ridcully, jovially.

The Queen's eyes narrowed. 'Then you are planning something!' she said.

'Aren't they doing well?' said Ridcully. 'Look at that chap over there. Visualisin' a god. One with woodworm and knotholes, but pretty good all the same. Quite complex mental processes, really.

We thought that if you want people with wild imaginations, then we'd help them to be really good at it. They'll fill the world with dragons and gods and monsters for you. You want that.'

The Queen gave him another look, and it was the look of a person with no sense of humour who nevertheless suspects that there's some joke somewhere that is on them.

'Why should you help us?' she said. 'You told me to consume your underthings!'

'Well, it's not as though this world is important enough to fight over,' said Ridcully.

'One of you isn't here,' said the Queen. 'Where is the stupid one?'

'Rincewind?' said the Archchancellor, with an innocent air that would not have fooled any human for a moment. 'Oh, he's doing pretty much the same thing, you know. Helping people imagine things. Which, I think, is what you want.'

THE EXTENDED PRESENT

Art? It looks superfluous. Few of the stories we tell about human evolution, the Homo sapiens bit, see music or art as being integral to the process. Oh, it often comes in as a kind of epiphenomenon, as evidence of how far we'd got: 'Just look at those wonderful cave paintings, statuettes, polished jewellery and ornaments! That shows that our brain was bigger/better/more loving/nearer to that of the Lecturer in Recent Runes ...' But art has not been portrayed as a necessary part of the evolution that made us what we are; nor has music.

So why are Burnt Stick Man and Red Hands Man dabbling in art, and why does Rincewind want to encourage them?

We've been told the story of The Naked Ape doing sex, we've had Gossiping Apes and Privileged Apes, various kinds of apes becoming intelligent on the seashore or running down gazelles on the savannah. We've had lots of development-of-intelligence stories culminating in Einstein; we have given you the privilege/puberty ritual/selection story that culminates in Eichmann and Obedience to Authority; but we have not presented a version of our evolution whose culmination is Fats Waller, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, or even Richard Feynman on the bongo drums.

Well, now we will.

Music is an important part of most people's lives, and this is continually reinforced by film and television. Background music is constantly informing us of imminent screen events, of tension and release, of characters' thoughts and, particularly, of their emotional states. It is very difficult for anyone brought up in the muzak environment of the twentieth century to imagine what the