The Colour of Magic

He dropped it quickly and turned around. An old man had stepped out from behind the heavy curtains. He was tall, thin and looked almost benign compared to some of the faces Rincewind had seen recently.

“The puree of sea cucumbers is very good too,” said the face, conversationally. “Those little green bits are baby starfish.”

“Thank you for telling me,” said Rincewind weakly.

“Actually, they’re rather good,” said Twoflower, his mouth full. “I thought you liked seafood?”

“Yes, I thought I did,” said Rincewind. “What’s this wine—crushed octopus eyeballs?”

“Sea grape,” said the old man.

“Great,” said Rincewind, and swallowed a glassful. “Not bad. A bit salty, maybe.”

“Sea grape is a kind of small jellyfish,” explained the stranger. “And now I really think I should introduce myself. Why has your friend gone that strange colour?”

“Culture shock, I imagine,” said Twoflower. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. It’s Garhartra. I’m the Guestmaster, you see. It is my pleasant task to make sure that your stay here is as delightful as possible.” He bowed. “If there is anything you want you have only to say.”

Twoflower sat down on an ornate mother-of-pearl chair with a glass of oily wine in one hand and a crystallised squid in the other. He frowned.

“I think I’ve missed something along the way,” he said. “First we were told we were going to be slaves—”

“A base canard!” interrupted Garhartra.

“What’s a canard?” said Twoflower.

“I think it’s a kind of duck,” said Rincewind from the far end of the long table. “Are these biscuits made of something really nauseating, do you suppose?”

“—and then we were rescued at great magical expense—”

“They’re made of pressed seaweed,” snapped the Guestmaster.

“—but then we’re threatened, also at a vast expenditure of magic—”

“Yes, I thought it would be something like seaweed,” agreed Rincewind. “They certainly taste like seaweed would taste if anyone was masochistic enough to eat seaweed.”

“—and then we’re manhandled by guards and thrown in here—”

“Pushed gently,” corrected Garhartra.

“—which turned out to be this amazingly rich room and there’s all this food and a man saying he’s devoting his life to making us happy,” Twoflower concluded. “What I’m getting at is this sort of lack of consistency.”

“Yar,” said Rincewind. “What he means is, are you about to start being generally unpleasant again? Is this just a break for lunch?”

Garhartra held up his hands reassuringly.

“Please, please,” he protested. “It was just necessary to get you here as soon as possible. We certainly do not want to enslave you. Please be reassured on that score.”

“Well, fine,” said Rincewind.

“Yes, you will in fact be sacrificed,” Garhartra continued placidly.

“Sacrificed? You’re going to kill us?” shouted the wizard.

“Kill? Yes, of course. Certainly! It would hardly be a sacrifice if we didn’t, would it? But don’t worry—it’ll be comparatively painless.”

“Comparatively? Compared to what?” said Rincewind. He picked up a tall green bottle that was full of sea grape jellyfish wine and hurled it hard at the Guestmaster, who flung up a hand as if to protect himself.

There was a crackle of octarine flame from his fingers and the air suddenly took on the thick, greasy feel that indicated a powerful magical discharge. The flung bottle slowed and then stopped in mid-air, rotating gently.

At the same time an invisible force picked Rincewind up and hurled him down the length of the room, pinning him awkwardly halfway up the far wall with no breath left in his body. He hung there with his mouth open in rage and astonishment.

Garhartra lowered his hand and brushed it slowly on his robe.

“I didn’t enjoy doing that, you know,” he said.

“I could tell,” muttered Rincewind.

“But what do you want to sacrifice us for?” asked Twoflower. “You hardly know us!”

“That’s rather the point, isn’t it? It’s not very good manners to sacrifice a friend. Besides, you were, um, specified. I don’t know a lot about the god in question, but He was quite clear on that point. Look, I must be running along now. So much to organise, you know how it is,” the Guestmaster opened the door, and then peered back around it. “Please make yourselves comfortable, and don’t worry.”

“But you haven’t actually told us anything!” wailed Twoflower.

“It’s not really worth it, is it? What with you being sacrificed in the morning,” said Garhartra. “It’s hardly worth the bother of knowing, really. Sleep well. Comparatively well, anyway.”

He shut the door. A brief octarine flicker of balefire around it suggested that it had now been sealed beyond the skills of any earthly locksmith.

Gling, clang, tang went the bells along the Circumfence in the moonlit, rimfall-roaring night.