The Colour of Magic

him into full consciousness.

The boards of a boat pressed into his back and Twoflower was looking down at him with an expression of deep concern. Rincewind groaned, and sat up.

This turned out to be a mistake. The edge of the world was a few feet away.

Beyond it, at a level just below that of the lip of the endless Rimfall, was something altogether magical.

* * *

Some seventy miles away, and well beyond the tug of the rim current, a dhow with the red sails typical of a freelance slaver drifted aimlessly through the velvety twilight. The crew—such as remained—were clustered on the foredeck, surrounding the men working feverishly on the raft.

The captain, a thickset man who wore the elbow-turbans typical of a Great Nef tribesman, was much travelled and had seen many strange peoples and curious things, many of which he had subsequently enslaved or stolen. He had begun his career as a sailor on the Dehydrated Ocean in the heart of the disc’s driest desert. [31] The captain had never before been really frightened. Now he was terrified.

‘I can’t hear anything,’ he muttered to the first mate.

The mate peered into the gloom.

‘Perhaps it fell overboard?’ he suggested hopefully. As if in answer there came a furious pounding from the oar deck below their feet, and the sound of splintering wood. The crewmen drew together fearfully, brandishing axes and torches.

They probably wouldn’t dare to use them, even if the Monster came rushing towards them. Before its terrible nature had been truly understood several men had attacked it with axes, whereupon it had turned aside from its single-minded searching of the ship and had either chased them overboard or had—eaten them? The captain was not quite certain. The Thing looked like an ordinary wooden sea chest. A bit larger than usual, maybe, but not suspiciously so. But while it sometimes seemed to contain things like old socks and miscellaneous luggage, at other times—and he shuddered—it seemed to be, seemed to be, seemed to have … He tried not to think about it. It was just that the men who had been drowned overboard had probably been more fortunate than those it had caught. He tried not to think about it. There had been teeth, teeth like white wooden gravestones, and a tongue red as mahogany …

He tried not to think about it. It didn’t work.

But he thought bitterly about one thing. This was going to be the last time he rescued ungrateful drowning men in mysterious circumstances. Slavery was better than sharks, wasn’t it? And then they had escaped and when his sailors had investigated their big chest—how had they appeared in the middle of an untroubled ocean sitting on a big chest, anyway?—and it had bitt … He tried not to think about it again, but he found himself wondering what would happen when the damned thing realised that its owner wasn’t on board any longer …

‘Raft’s ready, lord,’ said the first mate.

‘Into the water with it,’ shouted the captain, and ‘Get aboard!’ and ‘Fire the ship!’

After all, another ship wouldn’t be too hard to come by, he philosophised, but a man might have to wait a long time in that Paradise the mullahs advertised before he was granted another life. Let the magical box eat lobsters.

Some pirates achieved immortality by great deeds of cruelty or derring-do. Some achieved immortality by amassing great wealth. But the captain had long ago decided that he would, on the whole, prefer to achieve immortality by not dying.^{38}

* * *

‘What the hell is that?’ demanded Rincewind.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Twoflower beatifically.

‘I’ll decide about that when I know what it is,’ said the wizard.

‘It is the Rimbow,’ said a voice immediately behind his left ear, ‘and you are fortunate indeed to be looking at it. From above, at any rate.’

The voice was accompanied by a gust of cold, fishy breath. Rincewind sat quite still.

‘Twoflower?’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘If I turn around, what will I see?’

‘His name is Tethis. He says he’s a sea troll.^{39} This is his boat. He rescued us,’ explained Twoflower. ‘Will you look around now?’

‘Not just at the moment, thank you. So why aren’t we going over the Edge, then?’ asked Rincewind with glassy calmness.

‘Because your boat hit the Circumfence,’ said the voice behind him [32] .

‘The Circumfence?’ he repeated.

‘Yes. It runs along the edge of the world,’ said the unseen troll. Above the roar of the waterfall Rincewind thought he could make out the splash of oars. He hoped they were oars.

‘Ah. You mean the circumference,’ said Rincewind. ‘The circumference makes the edge of things.’

‘So does the Circumfence,’ said the troll.

‘He means this,’ said Twoflower, pointing down. Rincewind’s eyes followed the finger, dreading what they might see …

Hubwards of the boat was a rope suspended a few feet above the surface of the white water. The boat was attached to it, moored yet mobile, by a complicated arrangement of pulleys and little wooden wheels. They ran along the rope as the unseen rower propelled the craft along the very lip of the Rimfall. That explained one mystery—but what supported the rope?

Rincewind peered along its length and saw a stout wooden post sticking up out of the water a few yards ahead. As he watched the boat neared it and then passed it, the little wheels clacking neatly around it in a groove obviously cut for the purpose.

Rincewind also noticed that smaller ropes hung down from the main rope at intervals of a yard or so.

He turned back to Twoflower.

‘I can see what it is,’ he said, ‘but what is it?’

Twoflower shrugged. Behind Rincewind the sea troll said, ‘Up ahead is my house. We will talk more when we are there. Now I must row.’

Rincewind found that looking ahead meant that he would have to turn and find out what a sea troll actually looked like, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that yet. He looked at the Rimbow instead.

It hung in the mists a few lengths beyond the edge of the world, appearing only at morning and evening when the light of the Disc’s little orbiting sun shone past the massive bulk of Great A’tuin the World Turtle and struck the Disc’s magical field at exactly the right angle.

A double rainbow corruscated into being. Close into the lip of the Rimfall were the seven lesser colours, sparkling and dancing in the spray of the dying seas.

But they were pale in comparison to the wider band that floated beyond them, not deigning to share the same spectrum.

It was the King Colour, of which all the lesser colours are merely partial and wishy-washy reflections. It was octarine, the colour of magic. It was alive and glowing and vibrant and it was the undisputed pigment of the imagination, because wherever it appeared it was a sign that mere matter was a servant of the powers of the magical mind. It was enchantment itself.

But Rincewind always thought it looked a sort of greenish-purple.

After a while a small speck on the rim of the world resolved itself into a eyot or crag, so perilously perched that the waters of the fall swirled around it at the start of their long drop. A driftwood shanty had been built on it, and Rincewind saw that the top rope of the Circumfence climbed over the rocky island on a number of iron stakes and actually passed through the shack by a small round window. He learned later that this was so that the troll could be alerted to the arrival of any salvage on his stretch of the Circumfence by means of a series of small bronze bells, balanced delicately on the rope.