Pratchett, Terry - Discworld 01 - The Colour of Magic

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the COLOUR OF MAGIC

terry Pratchett

On a world supported on the back of a giant turtle (sex unknown),

a gleeful, explosive, wickedly eccentric expedition sets out.

There's an avaricious but inept wizard, a naive tourist whose

luggage moves on hundreds of dear little legs, dragons who only

exist if you believe in them, and of course THE EDGE of the

planet...

The wackiest and most original fantasy since _Hitchhikers Guide

to the Galaxy_.

"Verbally witty, imaginatively resourceful and with a

nine line in comic-book action, this novel will be

enjoyed by those who enjoy high-spirited fantasy'

British Book News

"Frothy, inventive, and fun'

Kirkus Review

"Heroic barbarians, chthonic monsters, beautiful

princesses and fiery dragons, they're all here, but

none of them is doing business as usual'

Publishers weekly

Some erudite jokes on one dimension and a rollicking

story on another'

Oxford Anual

"He has the exceptional gift of humour . . . The plot

is so ridiculous . . . and so much Fun - that it

shouldn't be revealed in a serious newspaper . . .

Pratchett is very good indeed'

The Scotsman

"There is no end to the wacky wonders

tastes as consistently, inventively mad

wonderful'

Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction magazine

wild and no

fan

His concoction of wacky adventures is a delight

clever in language and characters and situations'

library Journal

THE COLOUR OF MAGIC

PROLOGUE

In a distant and second-hand set of dimensions, in

an astral plane that was never meant to fly, the

curling star-mists waver and part . . .

See . . .

Great A'Tuin the turtle comes, swimming slowly

through the interstellar gulf, hydrogen frost on his

ponderous limbs, his huge and ancient shell pocked

With meteor craters. Through sea-sized eyes that

are crusted with rheum and asteroid dust He stares

fixedly at the Destination.

In a brain bigger than a city, with geological

Slowness, He thinks only of the Weight.

Most of the weight is of course accounted for by

Berilia, Tubul, Great T'Phon and Jerakeen, the

four giant elephants upon whose broad and

startanned shoulders the disc of the World rests,

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Pratchett, Terry - Discworld 01 - The Colour of Magic

garlanded by the long waterfall at its vast

circumference and domed by the baby-blue vault of

Heaven.

Astropsychology has been, as yet, unable to

establish what they think about.

The Great Turtle was a mere hypothesis until the

day the small and secretive kingdom of Krull,

whose rim-most mountains project out over the

Rimfall, built a gantry 'and pulley arrangement at

the tip of the most precipitous crag and lowered

several oBservers over the Edge in a

quartzwindowed brass vessel to peer through the mist

veils.

The early astrozoologists, hauled back from theiR

long dangle by enormous teams of slaves, were

able to bring back much information about the

shape and nature of A'Tuin and the elephants but

this did not resolve fundamental questions about

the nature and purpose of the universe.

For example, what was Atuin's actual sex? This

vital question, said the Astrozoologists with

mounting authority, would not be answered until a larger

and more powerful gantry was constructed for a

deep-space vessel. In the meantime they could only

speculate about the revealed cosmos.

There was, for example, the theory that A'Tuin

had come from nowhere and would continue at a

uniform crawl, or steady gait, into nowhere, for all

time. This theory was popular among academics.

An alternative, favoured by those of a religiOUS

persuasion, was that A'Tuin was crawling from

the Birthplace to the Time of Mating, as were all

the stars in the sky which were, obviously, also

carried by giant turtles. When they arrived they

would briefly and passionately mate, for the first

and only time, and from that fiery union new

turtles would be born to carry a new pattern of

worlds. This was known as the Big Bang

hypothesis.

Thus it was that a young cosmochelonian of the

Steady Gait faction, testing a new telescope with

which he hoped to make measurements of the

precise albedo of Great A'Tuin's right eye, was on

this eventful evening the first outsider to see the

smoke rise hubward from the burning of the oldeSt

city in the world.

Later that night he became so engrossed in his

studies he completely forgot about it. Nevertheless,

he was the first.

There were others . . .

THE COLOUR OF MAGIC

Fire roared through the bifurcated city of

AnkhMorpork. Where it licked the Wizards' Quarter it

burned blue and green and was even laced with

strange sparks of the eighth colour, octarine; where

its outriders found their way into the vats and oil

stores all along Merchants Street it progressed in a

serieS of blazing fountainS and explosions; in the

Streets of the perfume blenders it burned with a

sweetness; where it touched bundles of rare and

dry herbs in the storerooms of the drugmasters it

made men go mad and talk to God.

By now' the whole of downtown Morpork was

alight, and the richer and worthier citizens of

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Pratchett, Terry - Discworld 01 - The Colour of Magic

Ankh on the far bank were bravely responding to

the situation by feverishly demolishing the bridges.

But already the ships in the Morpork docks - laden

with grain, cotton and timber, and coated with tar

- were blazing merrily and, their moorings burnt to

ashes, were breasting the river Ankh on the ebb

tide, igniting riverside palaces and bowers as they

drifted like drowning fireflies towards the sea. In

any case, sparks were riding the breeze and

touching down far across the river in hidden

gardens and remote rickyards. The smoke from the merry burning rose miles

high, in a wind-sculpted black column 'that could

be seen across the whole of the discworld.

It was certainly impressive from the cool, dark

hilltop a few leagues away, where two figures were

watching with considerable interest.

The taller of the pair was chewing on a chicken

leg and leaning on a sword that was only

Marginally shorter than the average man. If it wasn't for

the air of wary intelligence about him it might

have been supposed that he was a barbarian from

the hubland wastes.

His partner was much shorter and wrapped from

head to toe in a brown cloak. Later, when he has

occasion to move, it will be seen that he moves

lightly, cat-like.

The two had barely exchanged a word in the last

twenty minutes except for a short and inconclusive

argument as to whether a particularly powerful

explosion had been the oil bond store or the

workshop of Kerible the Enchanter. Money hinged

on the fact.

Now the big man finished gnawing at the bone

and tossed it into the grass, smiling ruefully.

"There go all those little alleyways,' he said. "I

liked them.'

"All the treasure houses,' said the small man. He

added thoughtfully, "Do gems burn, I wonder? 'Tis

said they're kin to coal.'

"All the gold, melting and running down the

gutters,' said the big one, ignoring him. "And all

the wine, boiling in the barrels.'

"There were rats,' said his brown companion.

"Rats, I'll grant you.'

'it was no place to be in high summer.'

"That, too. One can't help feeling, though, a

well, a momentary-'

He trailed off, then brightened. "We owed old

Fredor at the Crimson Leech eight silver pieces,' he

added. The little man nodded.

They were silent for a while as a whole new

series of explosions carved a red line across a

hitherto dark section of the greatest city in the

world. Then the big man stirred

"Weasel?'

"Yes?'

"I wonder who started it?'

The small swordsman known as the Weasel said

nothing. He was watching the road in the ruddy

light. Few had come that way since the

widershins gate

had been one of the first to colapse in a shower of

white-hot embers.

But two were coming up it now. The Weasel's

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Pratchett, Terry - Discworld 01 - The Colour of Magic

eyes always at their sharpest in gloom and

halflight, made out the shapes of two mounted men

and some sort of low beast behind them. Doubtless

a rich merchant escaping with as much treasure as

he could lay frantic hands on. The Weasel said as

much to his companion, who sighed.

"The status of footpad ill suits us,' said the

barbarian, "but as you say, times are hard and

there are no soft beds tonight.'

He shifted his grip on his sword and, as the

leading rider drew near, stepped out onto the road

with a hand held up and his face set in a grin

nicely calculated to reassure yet threaten.

"Your pardon, sir-' he began.

The rider reined in his horse and drew back his

hood. The big man looked into a face blotched with

superficial burns and punctuated by tufts of singed

beard. Even the eyebrows had gone.

"Bugger off,' said the face. "You're Bravd the

Hublander, aren't you?'

*The shape and cosmology of the disc system are

perhaps worthy of note at this point.

There are, of course, two major directions on the diSC:

Hubward and Rimward. But since the disc itself revolves

at the rate of once every eight hundred days (in order to

distribute the weight fairly upon its supportive

pachyderms, according to Reforgule of Krull) there are also two

lesser directions, which are Turnwise and Widdershins.

Since the disc's tiny orbiting sunlet maintains a fixed

orbit while the majestic disc turns slowly beneath it, it

will be readily deduced that a disc year consists of not

four but eight seasons. The summers are those times

when the sun rises or sets at the nearest point on the

Rim, the winters those occasions when it rises or sets at

a point around ninety degrees along the circumference.

Thus, in the lands around the Circle Sea, the year

begins on Hogs' Watch Night, progresses through a

Spring Prime to its first midsummer (Small Gods' Eve)

which is followed by Autumn Prime and, straddling the

half-year point of Crueltide, Winter Secundus (also

known as the Spindlewinter, since at this time the sun

rises in the direction of spin). Then comes Secundus

Spring with Summer Two on its heels, the three quarter

mark of the year being the night of Alls Fallow - the one

night of the year, according to legend, when witches and

warlocks stay in bed. Then drifting leaves and frosty

nights drag on towards Backspindlewinter and a new

Hogs' Watch Night nestling like a frozen jewel at its

heart.

Since the Hub is never closely warmed by the weak sun

the lands there are locked in permafrost. The Rim, on the

other hand, is a region of sunny islands and balmy days

There are, of course, eight days in a disc week and eight

colours in its light spectrum. Eight is a number of some

considerable occult significance on the disc and must

never, ever, be spoken by a wizard.

Precisely why all the above should be so is not clear, but

goes some way to explain why, on the disc, the Gods are

not so much worshipped as blamed.

Bravd became aware that he had fumbled the

initiatiVe.

"Just go away, will you?' said the rider. 'I just

haven't got time for you, do you understand?'

He looked around and added: "That goes for your

shadow-loving fleabag partner too, wherever he's

hiding.'

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Pratchett, Terry - Discworld 01 - The Colour of Magic

The Weasel stepped up to the horse and peered at

the dishevelled figure.

'Why, it's Rincewind the wizard, isn't it?' he said

in tones of delight, meanwhile filing the wizard's

description of him in his memory for leisurely

vengeance. 'I thought I recognized the voice.'

Bravd spat and sheathed his sword. It was

seldom worth tangling with wizards, they so rarely

had any treasure worth speaking of.

"he talks pretty big for a gutter wizard,' he

muttered.

"You don't understand at all,' said the wizard

wearily. "I'm so scared of you my spine has turned

to jelly, it's just that I'm suffering from an overdose

of terror right now. I mean, when I've got over that

then I'll have time to be decently frightened of you.'

The Weasel pointed towards the burning city.

'You've been through that?' he asked.

The wizard rubbed a red'-raw hand across his

eyes. 'i was there when it started. See him? Back

there?' He pointed back down the road to where his

travelling companion was still approaching,

having adopted a method of riding that involved

falling out of the saddle every few seconds.

'Well?' said Weasel.

"he started it,' said Rincewind simply.

Bravd and Weasel looked at the figure, now

hopping across the road with one foot in a stirrup.

"Fire-raiser, is he?' said Bravd at last.

'No,' said Rincewind. "Not precisely. Let's just

say that if complete and utter chaos was lightning,

then he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a

thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and

Shouting "All gods are bastards". Got any food?'

"There's some chicken,' said Weasel. "in exchange

for a story.' "What's his name?' said Bravd, who tended to

lag behind in conversations.

' Twoflower . '

"Twoflower?' said Bravd. "What a funny name.'

`You,' said' Rincewind, dismounting, "do not

know the half of it. Chicken, you say?'

"Devilled,' said Weasel. The wizard groaned.

'That reminds me,' added the Weasel, snapping

hiS fingers, "there was a really big explosion about,

oh, half an hour ago'

'That was the oil bond store going up,' said

Rincewind, wincing at the memory of the burning

rain.

Weasel turned and grinned expectantly at his

companion, who grunted and handed over a coin

from his pouch. Then there was a Scream from the

roadway, cut off abruptly. Rincewind did not look

up from his chicken.

"one of the things he can't do, he can't ride a

horse,' he said. Then he stiffened as if sandbagged

by a sudden recollection, gave a small yelp of terror

and dashed into the gloom. When he returned, the

being called Twoflower was hanging limply over

his shoulder. It was small and skinny, and dressed

very oddly in a pair of knee length britches and a

shirt in such a violent and vivid conflict of colours

that Weasel's fastidious eye was offended even in

the half-light.

"No bones broken, by the feel of things,' said

Rincewind. He was breathing heavily. Bravd winked

at the Weasel and went to investigate the shape

that they assumed was a pack animal.

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Pratchett, Terry - Discworld 01 - The Colour of Magic

'You'd be wise to forget it,' said the wizard,

without looking up from his examination of the

unconscious Twoflower. "Believe me. A power

protects it.'

"A spell?' said Weasel, squatting down.

'No-oo. 'But magic of a kind, I think. Not the

usual sort. I mean, it can turn gold into copper

while at the same time it is still gold, it makes men

rich by destroying their possessions, it allows the

weak to walk fearlessly among thieves, it passes

through the strongest doors to leach the most

protected treasuries. Even now it has me enslaved

- so that I must follow this madman willynilly and

protect him from harm. It's stronger than you,

Bravd. It is, I think, more cunning even than you,

Weasel.'

"What is it called then, this mighty magic?'

Rincewind shrugged. "in our tongue it is

reflected-sound-as-of-underground-spirits. Is there

any wine?'

"You must know that I am not without artifice

where magic is concerned,' said Weasel. "only last

year did i- assisted by my friend there - part the

notoriously powerful Archmage of Ymitury from

his staff, his belt of moon jewels and his life, in

that approximate order. I do not fear this

reflectedsound-of-underground-spirits of which you speak.

However,' he added, "you engage my interest.

Perhaps you would care to tell me more?'

Bravd looked at the shape on the road. It was

closer now, and clearer in the pre-dawn light. It

looked for all the world like

a"A box on legs?' he said.

"i'll tell you about it,' said Rincewind. "if there's

any wine, that is.'

Down in the valley there was a roar and a hiss.

Someone more thoughtful than the rest had ordered

to be shut the big river gates that were at the point

where the Ankh flowed out of the twin city. Denied

its usual egress, the river had burst its banks and

was pouring down the fire-ravaged streets. Soon

the continent of flame became a series of islands,

each one growing smaller as the dark tide rose.

And up from the city of fumes and smoke rose a

broiling cloud of steam, covering the stars. Weasel

thought that it looked like some dark fungus or

mushroom.

The twin city of proud Ankh and pestilent Morpork,

of which all the other cities of time and space are,

as it were, mere reflections, has stood many

asSaults in its long and crowded history and has

always risen to flourish again. So the fire and its

Subsequent flood, which destroyed everything left

that was not flammable and added a particularly

noisome flux to the survivors' problems, did not

mark its end. Rather it was a fiery punctuation

mark, a coal-like comma, or salamander

semicolon, in a continuing story.

Several days before these events a ship came up

the Ankh on the dawn tide and fetched up, among

many others, in the maze of wharves and docks on

the Morpork shore. It carried a cargo of pink

pearls, milk-nuts, pumice, some official letters for

the Patrician of Ankh, and a man.

It was the man who engaged the attention of

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Blind Hugh, one of the beggars on early duty at

Pearl Dock. He nudged Cripple Wa in the ribs, and

pointed wordlessly.

Now the stranger was standing on the quayside

watching several straining seamen carry a large

brass-bound chest down the gangplank. Another

man, obviously the captain, was standing beside

him. There was about the seaman - every nerve in

Blind Hugh's body, which tended to vibrate in the

presence of even a small amount of impure gold at

fifty paces, screamed into his brain - the air of one

anticipating imminent enrichment.

Sure enough, when the chest had been deposited

on the cobbles, the stranger reached into a pouch

and there was the flash of a coin. Several coins

Gold. Blind Hugh, his body twanging like a hazel

rod in the presence of water, whistled to himself.

Then he nudged Wa again, and sent him scurrying

off down a nearby alley into the heart of the city.

When the captain walked back onto his ship,

leaving the newcomer looking faintly bewildered

on the quayside, Blind Hugh snatched up his

begging cup and made his way across the street

with an ingratiating leer. At the sight of him the

stranger started to fumble urgently with his money

pouch.

"Good day to thee, sire,' Blind Hugh began, and

found himself looking up into a face with four eyes

in it. He turned to run!

"!' said the stranger, and grabbed his arm. Hugh

was aware that the sailors lining the rail of the

ship were laughing at him. At the same time his

specialised senses detected an overpowering

impression of money. He froze. The stranger let go and

quickly thumbed through a small black book he

had taken from his belt. Then he said "Hallo.'

"What?' said Hugh. The man looked blank.

"Hallo?' he repeated, rather louder than necessary

and so carefully that Hugh could hear the vowels

tinkling into place.

"Hallo yourself,' Hugh riposted. The stranger

smiled widely fumbled yet again in the pouch. This

time his hand came out holding a large gold coin. It

was in fact slightly larger than an 8,000-dollar

Ankhian crown and the design on it was unfamiliar,

but it spoke inside Hugh's mind in a language he

understood perfectly. My current owner, it said, is

in need of succour and assistance; why not give it

to him, so you and me can go off somewhere and

enjoy ourselves?

Subtle changes in the beggar's posture made the

stranger feel more at ease. He consulted the small

book again.

"i wish to be directed to an hotel, tavern, lodging

house, inn, hospice, caravanserai,' he said.

'What, all of them?' said Hugh, taken aback.

"?' said the stranger.

Hugh was aware that a small crowd of fishwives,

shellfish diggers and freelance gawpers were

watching them with interest.

"look,' he said, "i know a good tavern, is that

enough?' He shuddered to think of the gold coin

escaping from his life. He'd keep that one, even if

Ymor confiscated all the rest. And the big chest

that comprised most of the newcomer's luggage

looked to be full of gold, Hugh decided.

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Pratchett, Terry - Discworld 01 - The Colour of Magic

The four-eyed man looked at his book.

I would like to be directed to an hotel, place of

repose, tavern, a-'

"yes, all right. Come on then,' said Hugh hurriedly.

He picked up one of the bundles and walked away

quickly. The stranger, after a moment's hesitation,

strolled after him.

A train of thought shunted its way through

Hugh's mind. Getting the newcomer to the Broken

Drum so easily was a stroke of luck, no doubt of it,

and Ymor would probably reward him. But for all

his new acquaintance's mildness there was

something about him that made Hugh uneasy, and for

the life of him he couldn't figure out what it was.

Not the two extra eyes, odd though they were.

There was something else. He glanced back.

The little man was ambling along in the middle

of the street, looking around him with an

expression of keen interest.

Something else Hugh saw nearly made him

gibber.

The massive wooden chest, which he had last

seen resting solidly on the quayside, was following

on its master's heels with a gentle rocking gait.

Slowly, in case a sudden movement on his part

might break his fragile control over his own legs,

Hugh bent slightly so that he could see under the

chest.

There were lots and lots of little legs.

Very deliberately, Hugh turned around and

walked very carefully towards the Broken Drum.

"Odd,' said Ymor.

"He had this big wooden chest,' added Cripple

Wa.

'He'd have to be a merchant or a spy,' said Ymor.

He pulled a scrap of meat from the cutlet in his

hand and tossed it into the air. It hadn't reached

the zenith of its arc ,before a black shape detached

itself from the shadows in the corner of the room

and swooped down, taking the morsel in mid-air.

"A merchant or a spy,' repeated Ymor. "i'd prefer

a spy. A spy pays for himself twice, because there's

always the reward when we turn him in. What do

you think, Withel?'

Opposite Ymor the second greatest thief in

Ankhmorpork half-closed his one eye and shrugged.

"i've checked on the ship,' he said. "it's a freelance

trader. Does the occasional run to the Brown

islands. People there are just savages. They don't

understand about spies and I expect they eat

merchants . '

"He looked a bit like a merchant,' volunteered

Wa. "Except he wasn't fat.'

There was a flutter of wings at the window. Ymor

shifted his bulk out of the chair and crossed the

room, coming back with a large raven. After he'd

unfastened the message capsule from its leg it flew

to join its fellows lurking among the rafters.

Withel regarded it without love. Ymor's ravens were

notoriously loyal to their master, to the extent that

Withel's one attempt to promote himself to the rank

of greatest thief in Ankh-Morpork had cost their

master's right hand man his left eye. But not his

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life, however. Ymor never grudged a man hiS

ambitions.

"Gc?,' said Ymor, tossing the little phial aside and

unrolling the tiny scroll within.

"Gorrin the Cat,' said Withel automatically. "On

station up in the gong tower at the Temple of Small

GodS.'

he says Hugh has taken our stranger to the

Broken Drum. Well, that's good enough. Broadman

is a - friend of ours, isn't he?'

'Aye,' said Withel. "if he knows what's good for

trade.'

"Among his customers has been your man

Gorrin,' said Ymor pleasantly, "for he writes here

about a box on legs, if i read this scrawl correctly.'

He looked at Withel over the top of the paper.

Withel looked away. 'He will be disciplined,' he

said flatly. Wa looked at the man leaning back in

his chair, his black-clad frame resting as

nonchalantly as a Rimland puma on a jungle branch, and

decided that Gorrin atop Small Gods temple would

soon be joining those little deities in the multifold

dimensions of Beyond. And he owed Wa three

copper pieces.

Ymor crumpled the note and tossed it into a

corner. "i think we'll wander along to the Drum later

on, Withel. Perhaps, too, we may try this beer that

your men find so tempting.'

Withel said nothing. Being Ymor's right-hand

man was like being gently flogged to death with

scented bootlaces.

The twin city of Ankh-Morpork, foremost of all the

cities bounding the Circle Sea, was as a matter of

course the home of a large number of gangs, thieves'

guilds, syndicates and similar organisations. This

was one of the reasons for its wealth. Most of the

humbler folk on the widdershin side of the river, in

Morpork's mazy alleys, supplemented their meagre

incomes by filling some small role for one or other of

the competing gangs. So it was that by the time

Hugh and Twoflower entered the courtyard of the

Broken Drum the leaders of a number of them were

aware that someone had arrived in the city who

appeared to have much treasure. Some reports from

the more observant spies included details about a

book that told the stranger what to say, and a box

that walked by itself. These facts were immediately

discounted. No magician capable of such

enchantments ever came within a mile of Morpork docks.

It still being that hour when most of the city was

just rising or about to go to bed there were few

people in the Drum to watch Twoflower descend the

stairs. When the Luggage appeared behind him and

started to lurch confidently down the steps the

customers at the rough wooden tables, as one man,

looked suspiciously at their drinks.

Broadman was browbeating the small troll who

swept the bar when the trio walked past him. "What

in hell's that?' he said.

"Just don't talk about it,' hissed Hugh. Twoflower

was already thumbing through his book.

'What's he doing?' said Broadman, arms akimbo.

"it tells him what to say. I know it sounds

ridiculous,' muttered Hugh.

"How can a book tell a man what to say?'

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"i wish for an accommodation, a room, lodgings,

the lodging house, full board, are your rooms clean,

a room with a view, what is your rate for one night?'

said Twoflower in one breath.

Broadman looked at Hugh. The beggar shrugged.

"He's got plenty money,' he said.

"Tell him it's three copper pieces, then. And that

Thing will have to go in the stable.'

"?' said the stranger. Broadman held up three

thick red fingers and the man's face was suddenly a

sunny display of comprehension. He reached into

his pouch and laid three large gold pieces on Broadman's palm.

Broadman stared at them. They represented

about four times the worth of the Broken Drum,

Staff included. He looked at Hugh. There was no

help there. He looked at the stranger. He swallowed.

"Yes,' he said, in an unnaturally high voice. "And

then there's meals, o'course. Uh. You understand,

yes? Food. You eat. No?' He made the appropriate

motions.

"Fut?' said the little man.

'Yes,' said Broadman, beginning to sweat. "Have

a look in your little book, I should.'

The man opened the book and ran a finger down

one page. Broadman, who could read after a

fashion, peered over the top of the volume. What he

saw made no sense.

'Fooood,' said the stranger. "Yes. Cutlet, hash

chop, stew, ragout, fricassee, mince, collops, souffle,

dumpling, blancmange, sorbet, gruel, sausage, not

to have a sausage, beans, without a hear, kickshaws,

.jelly, jam. Giblets.' He beamed at Broadman.

"All that?' said the innkeeper weakly.

"it's just the way he talks,' said Hugh, "Don't ask

me why. He just does.'

All eyes in the room were watching the

strangerexcept for a pair belonging to Rincewind the

wizard, who was sitting in the darkest corner

nursing a mug of very small beer.

He was watching the Luggage.

Watch Rincewind.

Look at him. Scrawny, like most wizards, and

clad in a dark red robe on which a few mystic sigils

were embroidered in tarnished sequins. Some might

have taken him for a mere apprentice enchanter

who had run away from his master out of defiance,

boredom, fear and a lingering taste for

heterosexuality. Yet around his neck was a chain bearing

the bronze octagon that marked him as an alumnus

of Unseen University, the high school of magic

whose time-and-space transcendent campus is

never precisely Here or There. Graduates were

usually destined for mageship at least, but

Rincewind - after an unfortunate event - had left

him knowing only one spell and made a living of sorts

around the town by capitalising on an innate gift

for languages. He avoided work as a rule, but had a

quickness of wit that put his acquaintances in mind

of a bright rodent. And he knew sapient pearwood

when he saw it. He was seeing it now, and didn't

quite believe it.

An archmage, by dint of great effort and much

expenditure of time, might eventually obtain a

small staff made from the timber of the sapient

peartree. It grew only on the sites of ancient magic

there were probably no more than two such staffs

Side 10

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Pratchett, Terry - Discworld 01 - The Colour of Magicthe COLOUR OF MAGICterry Pratchett On a world supported on the back of a giant turtle (sex unknown), a gleeful, explosive, wickedly eccentric expedition sets out. There's an avaricious but inept wizard, a naive tourist whose ...

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Pratchett, Terry - Discworld 01 - The Colour of Magic

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