The Light Fantastic

It should be pointed out that currently Great A’Tuin was very pleased and contented, and feelings like that in a brain the size of several large cities are bound to radiate out. In fact most people on the Disc were currently in a state of mind normally achievable only by a lifetime of dedicated meditation or about thirty seconds of illegal herbage.

That’s old Twoflower, Rincewind thought. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate beauty, he just appreciates it in his own way. I mean, if a poet sees a daffodil he stares at it and writes a long poem about it, but Twoflower wanders off to find a book on botany. And treads on it. It’s right what Cohen said. He just looks at things, but nothing he looks at is ever the same again. Including me, I suspect.

The Disc’s own sun rose. The star was already dwindling, and it wasn’t quite so much competition. Good reliable Disc light poured across the enraptured landscape, like a sea of gold.

Or, as the more reliable observers generally held, like golden syrup.

That is a nice dramatic ending, but life doesn’t work like that and there were other things that had to happen.

There was the Octavo, for example.

As the sunlight hit it the book snapped shut and started to fall back to the tower. And many of the observers realised that dropping towards them was the single most magical thing on the Discworld.

The feeling of bliss and brotherhood evaporated along with the morning dew. Rincewind and Twoflower were elbowed aside as the crowd surged forward, struggling and trying to climb up one another, hands outstretched.

The Octavo dropped into the centre of the shouting mass. There was a snap. A decisive snap, the sort of snap made by a lid that doesn’t intend to be opening in a hurry.

Rincewind peered between someone’s legs at Twoflower.

‘Do you know what I think’s going to happen?’ he said, grinning.

‘What?’

‘I think that when you open the Luggage there’s just going to be your laundry in there, that’s what I think.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘I think the Octavo knows how to look after itself. Best place for it, really.’

‘I suppose so. You know, sometimes I get the feeling that the Luggage knows exactly what it’s doing.’

‘I know what you mean.’

They crawled to the edge of the milling crowd, stood up, dusted themselves off and headed for the steps. No-one paid them any attention.

‘What are they doing now?’ said Twoflower, trying to see over the heads of the throng.

‘It looks as though they’re trying to lever it open,’ said Rincewind.

There was a snap and a scream.

‘I think the Luggage rather enjoys the attention,’ said Twoflower, as they began their cautious descent.

‘Yes, it probably does it good to get out and meet people,’ said Rincewind, ‘and now I think it’d do me good to go and order a couple of drinks.’

‘Good idea,’ said Twoflower. ‘I’ll have a couple of drinks too.’

It was nearly noon when Twoflower awoke. He couldn’t remember why he was in a hayloft, or why he was wearing someone else’s coat, but he did wake up with one idea right in the forefront of his mind.

He decided it was vitally important to tell Rincewind about it.

He fell out of the hay and landed on the Luggage.

‘Oh, you’re here, are you?’ he said. ‘I hope you’re ashamed of yourself.’

The Luggage looked bewildered.

‘Anyway, I want to comb my hair. Open up,’ said Twoflower.

The Luggage obligingly flipped its lid. Twoflower rooted around among the bags and boxes inside until he found a comb and mirror and repaired some of the damage of the night. Then he looked hard at the Luggage.

‘I suppose you wouldn’t like to tell me what you’ve done with the Octavo?’

The Luggage’s expression could only be described as wooden.

‘All right. Come on, then.’

Twoflower stepped out into the sunlight, which was slightly too bright for his current tastes, and wandered aimlessly along the street. Everything seemed fresh and new, even the smells, but there didn’t seem to be many people up yet. It had been a long night.

He found Rincewind at the foot of the Tower of Art, upervising a team of workmen who had rigged up a gantry of sorts on the roof and were lowering the stone wizards to the ground. He seemed to be assisted by a monkey, but Twoflower was in no mood to be surprised at anything.

‘Will they be able to be turned back?’ he said.

Rincewind looked around. ‘What? Oh, it’s you. No, probably not. I’m afraid they dropped poor old Wert, anyway. Five hundred feet onto cobbles.’

‘Will you be able to do anything about that?’

‘Make a nice rockery.’ Rincewind turned and waved at the workmen.

‘You’re very cheerful,’ said Twoflower, a shade reproachfully. ‘Didn’t you go to bed?’

‘Funny thing, I couldn’t sleep,’ said Rincewind. ‘I came out for a breath of fresh air, and no-one seemed to have any idea what to do, so I just sort of got people together,’ he indicated the librarian, who tried to hold his hand, ‘and started organising things. Nice day, isn’t it? Air like wine.’

‘Rincewind, I’ve decided that —’