The Colour of Magic

The Sergeant glowered at Rincewind, and then peered at Twoflower with interest.

‘Everything all right here, then?’ he said.

‘Oh, fine,’ said Rincewind. ‘Got held up, did you?’

The sergeant ignored him. ‘This the foreigner, then?’ he inquired.

‘We were just leaving,’ said Rincewind quickly, and switched to Trob. ‘Twoflower, I think we ought to get lunch somewhere else. I know some places.’

He marched out into the corridor with as much aplomb as he could muster. Twoflower followed, and a few seconds later there was a strangling sound from the sergeant as the Luggage closed its lid with a snap, stood up, stretched, and marched after them.

Watchmen were dragging bodies out of the room downstairs. There were no survivors. The Watch had ensured this by giving them ample time to escape via the back door, a neat compromise between caution and justice that benefited all parties.

‘Who are all these men?’ said Twoflower.

‘Oh, you know. Just men,’ said Rincewind. And before he could stop himself some part of his brain that had nothing to do took control of his mouth and added, ‘Heroes, in fact.’

‘Really?’

When one foot is stuck in the Grey Miasma of H’rull it is much easier to step right in and sink rather than prolong the struggle. Rincewind let himself go.

‘Yes, that one over there is Erig Stronginthearm, over there is Black Zenell—’

‘Is Hrun the Barbarian here?’ said Twoflower, looking around eagerly. Rincewind took a deep breath.

‘That’s him behind us,’ he said.

The enormity of this lie was so great that its ripples did in fact spread out one of the lower astral planes as far as the Magical Quarter across the river, where it picked up tremendous velocity from the huge standing wave of power that always hovered there and bounced wildly across the Circle Sea. A harmonic got as far as Hrun himself, currently fighting a couple of gnolls on a crumbling ledge high in the Caderack Mountains, and caused him a moment’s unexplained discomfort.

Twoflower, meanwhile, had thrown back the lid of the Luggage and was hastily pulling out a heavy black cube.

‘This is fantastic,’ he said. ‘They’re never going to believe this at home.’

‘What’s he going on about?’ said the sergeant doubtfully.

‘He’s pleased you rescued us,’ said Rincewind. He looked sidelong at the black box, half expecting it to explode or emit strange musical tones.

‘Ah,’ said the sergeant. He was staring at the box, too.

Twoflower smiled brightly at them.

‘I’d like a record of the event,’ he said. ‘Do you think you could ask them all to stand over by the window, please? This won’t take a moment. And, er, Rincewind?’

‘Yes?’

Twoflower stood on tiptoe to whisper.

‘I expect you know what this is, don’t you?’

Rincewind stared down at the box. It had a round glass eye protruding from the centre of one face, and a lever at the back.

‘Not wholly,’ he said.

‘It’s a device for making pictures quickly,’ said Twoflower. ‘Quite a new invention. I’m rather proud of it but, look, I don’t think these gentlemen would—well, I mean they might be—sort of apprehensive? Could you explain it to them? I’ll reimburse them for their time, of course.’

‘He’s got a box with a demon in it that draws pictures,’ said Rincewind shortly. ‘Do what the madman says and he will give you gold.’

The Watch smiled nervously.

‘I’d like you in the picture, Rincewind. That’s fine.’ Twoflower took out the golden disc that Rincewind had noticed before, squinted at its unseen face for a moment, muttered ‘Thirty seconds should about do it,’ and said brightly, ‘Smile please!’

‘Smile,’ rasped Rincewind. There was a whirr from the box.

‘Right.’

* * *

High above the disc the second albatross soared; so high in fact that its tiny mad orange eyes could see the whole of the world and the great, glittering, girdling Circle Sea. There was a yellow message capsule strapped to one leg. Far below it, unseen in the clouds, the bird that had brought the earlier message to the Patrician of Ankh- Morpork flapped gently back to its home.

* * *

Rincewind looked at the tiny square of glass in astonishment. There he was, all right—a tiny figure, in perfect colour, standing in front of a group of Watchmen whose faces were each frozen in a terrified rictus. A buzz of wordless terror went up from the men around him as they craned over his shoulder to look.

Grinning, Twoflower produced a handful of the smaller coins Rincewind now recognised as quarter- rhinu. He winked at the wizard.

‘I had similar problems when I stopped over in the Brown Islands,’ he said. ‘They thought the iconograph steals a bit of their souls. Laughable, isn’t it?’

‘Yarg,’ said Rincewind and then, because somehow that was hardly enough to keep up his side of the conversation, added, ‘I don’t think it looks very like me, though.’

‘It’s easy to operate,’ said Twoflower, ignoring him. ‘Look, all you have to do is press this button. The iconograph does the rest. Now, I’ll just stand over here next to Hrun, and you can take the picture.’

The coins quietened the men’s agitation in the way that gold can, and Rincewind was amazed to find, half a minute later, that he was holding a little glass portrait of Twoflower wielding a huge notched sword and smiling as though all his dreams had come true.

* * *

They lunched at a small eating-house near the Brass Bridge, with the Luggage nestling under the table. The food and wine, both far superior to Rincewind’s normal fare, did much to relax him. Things weren’t going to be too bad, he decided. A bit of invention and some quick thinking, that was all that was needed.

Twoflower seemed to be thinking too. Looking reflectively into his wine cup he said, ‘Tavern fights are pretty common around here, I expect?’

‘Oh, fairly.’

‘No doubt fixtures and fittings get damaged?’

‘Fixt—oh, I see. You mean like benches and whatnot. Yes, I suppose so.’

‘That must be upsetting for the innkeepers.’

‘I’ve never really thought about it. I suppose it must be one of the risks of the job.’

Twoflower regarded him thoughtfully.

‘I might be able to help there.’ he said. ‘Risks are my business. I say, this food is a bit greasy, isn’t it?’

‘You did say you wanted to try some typical Morporkean food,’ said Rincewind. ‘What was that about risks?’

‘Oh, I know all about risks. They’re my business.’

‘I thought that’s what you said. I didn’t believe it the first time either.’

‘Oh, I don’t take risks. About the most exciting thing that happened to me was knocking some ink over. I assess risks. Day after day. Do you know what the odds are against a house catching fire in the Red Triangle district of Bes Pelargic? Five hundred and thirty-eight to one. I calculated that,’ he added with a trace of pride.

‘What—’ Rincewind tried to suppress a burp—‘what for? ’Scuse me.’ He helped himself to some more wine.

‘For—’ Twoflower paused. ‘I can’t say it in Trob,’ he said. ‘I don’t think the beTrobi have a word for it. In my language we call it—’ he said a collection of outlandish syllables.

‘Inn-sewer-ants,’ repeated Rincewind. ‘Tha’s a funny word. Wossit mean?’