The Light Fantastic (Discworld 2)

He snatched the book and snapped it open viciously.

He rummaged around in the back of his mind, where the Spell hung out.

'All right,' he snarled. You've had your fun, you've ruined my life, now get back to where you belong!'

'But I—' protested Twoflower.

'The Spell, I mean the Spell,' said Rincewind. 'Go on, get back on the page!'

He glared at the ancient parchment until his eyes crossed.

'Then I'll say you!' he shouted, his voice echoing up the tower. 'You can join the rest of them and much good may it do you!'

He shoved the book back into Twoflower's arms and staggered off up the steps.

The wizards had reached the top and disappeared from view. Rincewind climbed after them.

'Lad, am I?' he muttered. 'When I'm advanced in the craft, eh? I just managed to go around with one of the Great Spells in my head for years without going totally insane, didn't I?' He considered the last question from all angles. Yes, you did,' he reassured himself. 'You didn't start talking to trees, even when trees started talking to you.'

His head emerged into the sultry air at the top of the tower.

He had expected to see fire-blackened stones criss-crossed with talon marks, or perhaps something even worse.

Instead he saw the seven senior wizards standing by Trymon, who seemed totally unscathed. He turned and smiled pleasantly at Rincewind.

'Ah, Rincewind. Come and join us, won't you?'

So this is it, Rincewind thought. All that drama for nothing. Maybe I really am not cut out to be a wizard, maybe —

He looked up and into Trymon's eyes.

Perhaps it was the Spell, in its years of living in Rincewind's head, that had affected his eyes. Perhaps his time with Twoflower, who only saw things as they ought to be, had taught him to see things as they are.

But what was certain was that by far the most difficult thing Rincewind did in his whole life was look at Trymon without running in terror or being very violently sick.

The others didn't seem to have noticed.

They also seemed to be standing very still.

Trymon had tried to contain the seven Spells in his mind and it had broken, and the Dungeon Dimensions had found their hole, all right. Silly to have imagined that the Things would have come marching out of a sort of rip in the sky, waving mandibles and tentacles. That was old-fashioned stuff, far too risky. Even nameless terrors learned to move with the times. All they really needed to enter was one head.

His eyes were empty holes.

Knowledge speared into Rincewind's mind like a knife of ice. The Dungeon Dimensions would be a playgroup compared to what the Things could do in a universe of order. People were craving order, and order they would get – the order of the turning screw, the immutable law of straight lines and numbers. They would beg for the harrow . . .

Trymon was looking at him. Something was looking at him. And still the others hadn't noticed. Could he even explain it? Trymon looked the same as he had always done, except for the eyes, and a slight sheen to his skin.

Rincewind stared, and knew that there were far worse things than Evil. All the demons in Hell would torture your very soul, but that was precisely because they valued souls very highly; evil would always try to steal the universe, but at least it considered the universe worth stealing. But the grey world behind those empty eyes would trample and destroy without even according its victims the dignity of hatred. It wouldn't even notice them.

Trymon held out his hand.

'The eighth spell,' he said. 'Give it to me.'

Rincewind backed away.

'This is disobedience, Rincewind. I am your superior, after all. In fact, I have been voted the supreme head of all the Orders.'

'Really?' said Rincewind hoarsely. He looked at the other wizards. They were immobile, like statues.