Mort

let us turn him back, and he's the only one who knows where all the books are,' said Rincewind urgently. 'I look after his bananas,' he added, feeling some additional explanation was called for.

Albert glared at him. 'Shut up.'

'Shutting up right away, sir.'

'And tell me where Death is.'

'Death, sir?' said Rincewind, backing against the wall.

Tall, skeletal, blue eyes, stalks, TALKS LIKE THIS . . . Death. Seen him lately?'

Rincewind swallowed. 'Not lately, sir.'

'Well, I want him. This nonsense has got to stop. I'm going to stop it now, see? I want the eight most senior wizards assembled here, right, in half an hour with all the necessary equipment to perform the Rite of AshkEnte, is that understood? Not that the sight of you lot gives me any confidence. Bunch of pantywaisters the lot of you, and stop trying to hold my hand!'

'Oook.'

'And now I'm going to the pub,' snapped Albert. 'Do they sell any halfway decent cat's piss anywhere these days?'

There's the Drum, sir,' said Rincewind.

'The Broken Drum? In Filigree Street? Still there?'

'Well, they change the name sometimes and rebuild it completely but the site has been, er, on the site for years. I expect you're pretty dry, eh, sir?' Rincewind said, with an air of ghastly camaraderie.

'What would you know about it?' said Albert sharply.

'Absolutely nothing, sir,' said Rincewind promptly.

'I'm going to the Drum, then. Half an hour, mind. And if they're not waiting for me when I come back, then well, they'd just better be!'

He stormed out of the hall in a cloud of marble dust.

Rincewind watched him go. The librarian held his hand.

'You know the worst of it?' said Rincewind.

'Oook?'

'I don't even remember walking under a mirror.'

At about the time Albert was in The Mended Drum arguing with the landlord over a yellowing bar tab that had been handed down carefully from father to son through one regicide, three civil wars, sixty-one major fires, four hundred and ninety robberies and more than fifteen thousand barroom brawls to record the fact that Alberto Malich still owed the management three copper pieces plus interest currently standing at the contents of most of the Disc's larger strongrooms, which proved once again that an Ankhian merchant with an unpaid bill has the kind of memory that would make an elephant blink . . . at about this time, Binky was leaving a vapour trail in skies above the great mysterious continent of Klatch.

Far below drums sounded in the scented, shadowy jungles and columns of curling mist rose from hidden rivers where nameless beasts lurked under the surface and waited for supper to walk past.

'There's no more cheese, you'll have to have the ham,' said Ysabell. 'What's that light over there?'

The Light Dams,' said Mort. 'We're getting closer.' He pulled the hourglass out of his pocket and checked the level of the sand.

'But not close enough, dammit!'

The Light Dams lay like pools of light hubwards of their course, which is exactly what they were; some of the tribes constructed mirror walls in the desert mountains to collect the Disc sunlight, which is slow