The Color of Magic (Discworld 1)

It was rumoured that an entire wing of the Patrician’s palace was filled with clerks who spent their days collating and updating all the information collected by their master’s exquisitely organized spy system. Rincewind didn’t doubt it. He glanced towards the balcony that ran down one side of the audience room. A sudden run, a nimble jump - a sudden hail of crossbow quarrels. He shuddered. The Patrician cradled his chins in a beringed hand, and regarded the wizard with eyes as small and hard as beads.

“Let me see,” he said. “Oathbreaking, the theft of a horse, uttering false coinage - yes, I think it’s the Arena for you, Rincewind.”

This was too much.

“I didn’t steal the horse! I bought it fairly!”

“But with false coinage. Technical theft, you see.”

“But those rhinu are solid gold!”

“Rhinu?” The Patrician rolled one of them around in his thick fingers. “is that what they are called? How interesting. But, as you point out, they are not very similar to dollars…”

“Well, of course they’re not-“

“Ah you admit it, then?”

Rincewind opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and shut it again.

“Quite so. And on top of these there is, of course, the moral obloquy attendant on the cowardly betrayal of a visitor to this shore. For shame, Rincewind!” The Patrician waved a hand vaguely. The guards behind Rincewind backed away, and their captain took a few paces to the right. Rincewind suddenly felt very alone.

It is said that when a wizard is about to die Death himself turns up to claim him (instead of delegating the task to a subordinate, such as Disease or Famine, as is usually the case). Rincewind looked around nervously for a tall figure in black( wizards, even failed wizards, have in addition to rods and cones in their eyeballs the tiny octagons that enable them to see into the far octarine, the basic colour of which all other colours are merely pale shadows impinging on normal four-dimensional space. It is said to be a sort of fluorescent greenish-yellow purple).

Was that a flickering shadow in the corner?

“Of course,” said the Patrician, “I could be merciful.” The shadow disappeared. Rincewind looked up an expression of insane hope on his face.

“Yes?” he said.

The Patrician waved a hand again. Rincewind saw the guards leave the chamber. Alone with the lord of the twin cities, he almost wished they would come back.

“Come hither, Rincewind,” said the Patrician. He indicated a bowl of savouries on a low onyx table by the throne. “Would you care for a crystallised jellyfish? No?”

“Um,” said Rincewind, “no.”

“Now I want you to listen very carefully to what I am about to say,” said the Patrician amiably, “otherwise you will die. In an interesting fashion. Over a period. Please stop fidgetting like that. Since you are a wizard of sorts, you are of course aware that we live upon a world shaped, as it were, like a disc? And that there is said to exist, towards the far rim, a continent which though small is equal in weight to all the mighty landmasses in this hemicircle? And that this, according to ancient legend, is because it is largely made of gold?”

Rincewind nodded. Who hadn’t heard of the Counterweight Continent? Some sailors even believed the childhood tales and sailed in search of it. Of course, they returned either empty handed or not at all. Probably eaten by giant turtles, in the opinion of more serious mariners. Because, of course, the Counterweight Continent was nothing more than a solar myth.

“It does, of course, exist,” said the Patrician. “Although it is not made of gold, it is true that gold is a very common metal there. Most of the mass is made up by vast deposits of octiron deep within the crust. Now it will be obvious to an incisive mind like yours that the existence of the Counterweight Continent poses a deadly threat to our people here-” he paused, looking at Rincewind’s open mouth. He sighed. He said, “Do you by some chance fail to follow me?”

“Yarrg,” said Rincewind. He swallowed, and licked his lips. “I mean, no. I mean - well, gold…”

“I see,” said the Patrician sweetly. “You feel, perhaps, that it would be a marvellous thing to go to the Counterweight Continent and bring back a shipload of gold?”

Rincewind had a feeling that some sort of trap was being set.

“Yes?” he ventured.

“And if every man on the shores of the Circle Sea had a mountain of gold of his own? Would that be a good thing? What would happen? -think carefully.” Rincewind’s brow furrowed. He thought. “We’d all be rich?”

The way the temperature fell at his remark told him that it was not the correct one.

o;What of it?”

“I said this coin isn’t like ours. It is pure gold.”

After Broadman had left, at a run, the alchemist spent some time staring at the ceiling. Then he drew out a very small piece of thin parchment, rummaged for a pen amongst the debris on his workbench, and wrote a very short, small, message. Then he went over to his cages of white doves, black cockerels and other laboratory animals. From one cage he removed a glossy coated rat, rolled the parchment into the phial attached to a hind leg, and let the animal go.