The Light Fantastic

what’s been said, you can’t—’

‘You can try!’

Rincewind sighed, and turned to Twoflower.

He wasn’t there. Rincewind’s eyes turned inevitably towards the base of the Tower of Art, and he was just in time to see the tourist’s plump figure, sword inexpertly in hand, as it disappeared into a door.

Rincewind’s feet made their own decision and, from the point of view of his head, got it entirely wrong.

The other wizards watched him go.

‘Well?’ said Bethan. ‘He’s going.’. The wizards tried to avoid one another’s eyes.

Eventually Wert said, ‘We could try, I suppose. It doesn’t seem to be spreading.’

‘But we’ve got hardly any magic to speak of,’ said one of the wizards.

‘Have you got a better idea, then?’

One by one, their ceremonial robes glittering in the weird light, the wizards turned and trudged towards the tower.

The tower was hollow inside, with the stone treads of its staircase mortared spiral-fashion into the walls. Twoflower was already several turns up by the time Rincewind caught him.

‘Hold on,’ he said, as cheerfully as he could manage. ‘This sort of thing is a job for the likes of Cohen, not you. No offence.’

‘Would he do any good?’

Rincewind looked up at the actinic light that lanced down through the distant hole at the top of the staircase.

‘No,’ he admitted.

‘Then I’d be as good as him, wouldn’t I?’ said Twoflower, flourishing his looted sword.

Rincewind hopped after him, keeping as close to the wall as possible.

‘You don’t understand!’ he shouted. ‘There’s unimaginable horrors up there!’

‘You always said I didn’t have any imagination.’

‘It’s a point, yes,’ Rincewind conceded, ‘but—’

Twoflower sat down.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking forward to something like this ever since I came here. I mean, this is an adventure, isn’t it? Alone against the gods, that sort of thing?’

Rincewind opened and shut his mouth for a few seconds before the right words managed to come out.

‘Can you use a sword?’ he said weakly.

‘I don’t know. I’ve never tried.’

‘You’re mad!’

Twoflower looked at him with his head on one side. ‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ he said. ‘I’m here because I don’t know any better, but what about you?’ He pointed downwards, to where the other wizards were toiling up the stairs. ‘What about them?’

Blue light speared down the inside of the tower. There was a peal of thunder.

The wizards reached them, coughing horribly and fighting for breath.

‘What’s the plan?’ said Rincewind.

‘There isn’t one,’ said Wert.

‘Right. Fine,’ said Rincewind. ‘I’ll leave you to get on with it, then.’

‘You’ll come with us,’ said Panter.

‘But I’m not even a proper wizard. You threw me out, remember?’

‘I can’t think of any student less able,’ said the old wizard, ‘but you’re here, and that’s the only qualification you need. Come on.’

The light flared and went out. The terrible noises died as if strangled.

Silence filled the tower; one of those heavy, pressing silences.

‘It’s stopped,’ said Twoflower.

Something moved, high up against the circle of red sky. It fell slowly, turning over and over and drifting from side to side. It hit the stairs a turn above them.

Rincewind was first to it.

It was the Octavo. But it lay on the stone as limp and lifeless as any other book, its pages fluttering in the breeze that blew up the tower.

Twoflower panted up behind Rincewind, and looked down.

‘They’re blank,’ he whispered. ‘Every page is completely blank.’

‘Then he did it,’ said Wert. ‘He’s read the spells. Successfully, too. I wouldn’t have believed it.’

‘There was all that noise,’ said Rincewind doubtfully. ‘The light, too. Those shapes. That didn’t sound so successful to me.’

‘Oh, you always get a certain amount of extradimensional attention in any great work of magic,’ said Panter dismissively. ‘It impresses people, nothing more.’

‘It looked like monsters up there,’ said Twoflower, standing closer to Rincewind.

‘Monsters? Show me some monsters!’ said Wert.

Instinctively they looked up. There was no sound. Nothing moved against the circle of light.

‘I think we should go up and, er, congratulate him,’ said Wert.

‘Congratulate?’ exploded Rincewind. ‘He stole the Octavo! He locked you up!’

The wizards exchanged knowing looks.

‘Yes, well,’ said one of them. ‘When you’ve advanced in the craft, lad, you’ll know that there are times when the important thing is success.’

‘It’s getting there that matters,’ said Wert bluntly. ‘Not how you travel.’

They set off up the spiral.

Rincewind sat down, scowling at the darkness.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Twoflower, who was holding the Octavo.

‘This is no way to treat a book,’ he said. ‘Look, he’s bent the spine right back. People always do that, they’ve got no idea of how to treat them.’

‘Yah,’ said Rincewind vaguely.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Twoflower.

‘I’m not worried, I’m just angry,’ snapped Rincewind. ‘Give me the bloody thing!’

He snatched the book and snapped it open viciously.

He rummaged around in the back of his mind, where the Spell hung out.

‘All right,’ he snarled. ‘You’ve had your fun, you’ve ruined my life, now get back to where you belong!’

‘But I—’ protested Twoflower.

‘The Spell, I mean the Spell,’ said Rincewind. ‘Go on, get back on the page!’

He glared at the ancient parchment until his eyes crossed.

‘Then I’ll say you!’ he shouted, his voice echoing up the tower. ‘You can join the rest of them and much good may it do you!’

He shoved the book back into Twoflower’s arms and staggered off up the steps.

The wizards had reached the top and disappeared from view. Rincewind climbed after them.

‘Lad, am I?’ he muttered. ‘When I’m advanced in the craft, eh? I just managed to go around with one of the Great Spells in my head for years without going totally insane, didn’t I?’ He considered the last question from all angles. ‘Yes, you did,’ he reassured himself. ‘You didn’t start talking to trees, even when trees started talking to you.’

His head emerged into the sultry air at the top of the tower.

He had expected to see fire-blackened stones criss-crossed with talon marks, or perhaps something even worse.

Instead he saw the seven senior wizards standing by Trymon, who seemed totally unscathed. He turned and smiled pleasantly at Rincewind.

‘Ah, Rincewind. Come and join us, won’t you?’

So this is it, Rincewind thought. All that drama for nothing. Maybe I really am not cut out to be a wizard,