The Color of Magic (Discworld 1)

“I had a great idea,” he burbled.

“Yah,” said Rincewind, wearily. “Why don’t we get Hrun to accompany us to Quirm?”

Twoflower looked amazed. “How did you know?” he said. “I just thought you’d think it,” said Rincewind.

Hrun ceased stuffing silverware into his saddlebags and grinned encouragingly at them. Then his eyes strayed back to the Luggage.

“If we had him with us, who’d attack us?” said Twoflower.

Rincewind scratched his chin. “Hrun?” he suggested.

“But we saved his life in the Temple!”

“Well, if by attack you mean kill,” said Rincewind, “I don’t think he’d do that. He’s not that sort. He’d just rob us and tie us up and leave us for the wolves, I expect.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Look, this is real life,” snapped Rincewind. “I mean, here you are, carrying around a box full of gold, don’t you think anyone in their right minds would jump at the chance of pinching it?” I would, he added mentally -if I hadn’t seen what the Luggage does to prying fingers.

Then the answer hit him. He looked from Hrun to the picture box. The picture imp was doing its laundry in a tiny tub, while the salamanders dozed in their cage.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “I mean, what is it heroes really want?”

“Gold?” said Twoflower.

“No. I mean really want.”

Twoflower frowned. “I don’t quite understand,” he said.

Rincewind picked up the picture box. “Hrun,” he said. “Come over here, will you?”

The days passed peacefully. True, a small band of bridge trolls tried to ambush them on one occasion, and a party of brigands nearly caught them unawares one night (but unwisely tried to investigate the Luggage before slaughtering the sleepers). Hrun demanded, and got, double pay for both occasions.

“If any harm comes to us,” said Rincewind, “then there will be no-one to operate the magic box. No more pictures of Hrun, you understand?”

Hrun nodded, his eyes fixed on the latest picture. It showed Hrun striking a heroic pose, with one foot on a heap of slain trolls.

“Me and you and little friend Twoflowers, we all get on hokay,” he said. “Also tomorrow, may we get a better profile, hokay?”

He carefully wrapped the picture in trollskin and stowed it in his saddlebag, along with the others.

“It seems to be working,” said Twoflower admiringly, as Hrun rode ahead to scout the road.

“Sure,” said Rincewind. “What heroes like best is themselves.”

“You’re getting quite good at using the picture box, you know that?”

“Yar.”

“So you might like to have this.” Twoflower held out a picture.

“What is it?” asked Rincewind.

“Oh, just the picture you took in the temple.”

Rincewind looked in horror. There, bordered by a few glimpses of tentacle, was a huge, whorled, calloused, potion-stained and unfocused thumb.

“That’s the story of my life,” he said wearily.