Sourcery (Discworld 5)

Carding reached out to touch the boy on the shoulder, and then thought better of it.

‘Magnificent,’ he said, instead.

He turned to the assembled wizardry and raised his arms. ‘My brothers,’ he intoned, ‘we have in our midst a wizard of great power!’

Spelter tugged at his robe.

‘He nearly killed you,’ he hissed. Carding ignored him.

‘And I propose-’ Carding swallowed - ‘I propose him for Archchancellor!’

There was a moment’s silence, and then a burst of cheering and shouts of dissent. Several quarrels broke out at the back of the crowd. The wizards nearer the front weren’t quite so ready to argue. They could see the smile on Coin’s face. It was bright and cold, like the smile on the face of the moon.

There was a commotion, and an elderly wizard fought his way to the front of the throng.

Spelter recognised Ovin Hakardly, a seventh-level wizard and a lecturer in Lore. He was red with anger, except where he was white with rage. When he spoke, his words seared through the air like so many knives, clipped as topiary, crisp as biscuits.

‘Are you mad?’ he said. ‘No-one but a wizard of the eighth level may become Archchancellor! And he must be elected by the other most senior wizards in solemn convocation! (Duly guided by the gods, of course.) It is the Lore! (The very idea!)’

Hakardly had studied the Lore of magic for years and, because magic always tends to be a two-way process, it had made its mark on him; he gave the impression of being as fragile as a cheese straw, and in some unaccountable way the dryness of his endeavours had left him with the ability to pronounce punctuation. He stood vibrating with indignation and, he became aware, he was rapidly standing alone. In fact he was the centre of an expanding circle of empty floor fringed with wizards who were suddenly ready to swear that they’d never clapped eyes on him in their life.

Coin had raised his staff.

Hakardly raised an admonitory finger.

‘You do not frighten me, young man,’ he snapped. ‘Talented you may be, but magical talent alone is not enough. There are many other qualities required of a great wizard. Administrative ability, for example, and wisdom, and the-’

Coin lowered his staff.

‘The Lore applies to all wizards, does it not?’ he said.

‘Absolutely! It was drawn up-’

‘But I am not a wizard, Lord Hakardly.’

The wizard hesitated. ‘Ah,’ he said, and hesitated again. ‘Good point,’ he said.

‘But I am well aware of the need for wisdom, foresight and good advice, and I would be honoured if you could see your way clear to providing those much-valued commodities. For example - why is it that wizards do not rule the world?’

‘What?’

‘It is a simple question. There are in this room-’ Coin’s lips moved for a fraction of a second - ‘four hundred and seventy-two wizards, skilled in the most subtle of arts. Yet all you rule are these few acres of rather inferior architecture. Why is this?’

The most senior wizards exchanged knowing glances.

‘Such it may appear,’ said Hakardly eventually, ‘but, my child, we have domains beyond the ken of the temporal power.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Magic can surely take the mind to inner landscape of arcane-’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Coin. ‘Yet there are extremely solid walls outside your University. Why is this?’

Carding ran his tongue over his lips. It was extraordinary. The child was speaking his thoughts.

‘You squabble for power,’ said Coin, sweetly, ‘and yet, beyond these walls, to the man who carts nightsoil or the average merchant, is there really so much difference between a highlevel mage and a mere conjuror?’

Hakardly stared at him in complete and untrammelled astonishment.

‘Child, it’s obvious to the meanest citizen,’ he said. ‘The robes and trimmings themselves

‘Ah,’ said Coin, ‘the robes and trimmings. Of course.’