Cohen produced a big yellow match from somewhere in his tobacco bag, looked at Wert for a moment, and with great deliberation struck the match on his fossilised nose.
'Look,' he said to Twoflower, as kindly as he could manage. 'What do you expect? I've been around a long time, I've seen the whole magical thing, and I can tell you that if you go around with your jaw dropping all the time people hit it. Anyway, wizard's die just like anyone else when you stick a —'
There was a loud snap as Rincewind shut the book. He stood up, and looked around.
What happened next was this:
Nothing.
It took a little while for people to realise it. Everyone had ducked instinctively, waiting for the explosion of white light or scintillating fireball or, in the case of Cohen, who had fairly low expectations, a few white pigeons, possibly a slightly crumpled rabbit.
It wasn't even an interesting nothing. Sometimes things can fail to happen in quite impressive ways, but as far as non-events went this one just couldn't compete.
'Is that it?' said Cohen. There was a general muttering from the crowd, and several of the star people were looking angrily at Rincewind.
The wizard stared Wearily at Cohen.
'I suppose so,' he said.
'But nothing's happened.'
Rincewind looked blankly at the Octavo.
'Maybe it has a subtle effect?' he said hopefully. 'After all, we don't know exactly what is supposed to happen.'
'We knew it!' shouted one of the star people. 'Magic doesn't work! It's all illusion!'
A stone looped over the roof and hit Rincewind on the shoulder.
'Yeah,' said another star person. 'Let's get him!'
'Let's throw him off the tower!'
'Yeah, let's get him and throw him off the tower!'
The crowd surged forward. Twoflower held up his hands.
'I'm sure there's just been a slight mistake—' he began, before his legs were kicked from underneath him.
'Oh bugger,' said Cohen, dropping his dogend and grinding it under a sandalled foot. He drew his sword and looked around for the Luggage.
It hadn't rushed to Twoflower's aid. It was standing in front of Rincewind, who was clutching the Octavo to his chest like a hot-water bottle and looking frantic.
A star man lunged at him. The Luggage raised its lid threateningly.
'I know why it hasn't worked,' said a voice from the back of the crowd. It was Bethan.
'Oh yeah?' said the nearest citizen. 'And why should we listen to you?'
A mere fraction of a second later Cohen's sword was pressed against his neck.
'On the other hand,' said the man evenly, 'perhaps we should pay attention to what this young lady has got to say.'
As Cohen swung around slowly with his sword at the ready Bethan stepped forward and pointed to the swirling shapes of the spells, which still hung in the air around Rincewind.
'That one can't be right,' she said, indicating a smudge of dirty brown amidst the pulsing, brightly coloured flares.
You must have mispronounced a word. Let's have a look.'