Not every book had made it. Most of the important grimoires had got out but a seven-volume herbal had lost its index to the flames and many a trilogy was mourning for its lost volume. Quite a few books had scorch marks on their bindings; some had lost their covers, and trailed their stitching unpleasantly on the floor.
A match flared, and pages rippled uneasily around the walls. But it was only the Librarian, who lit a candle and shambled across the floor at the base of a menacing shadow big enough to climb skyscrapers. He had set up a rough table against one wall and it was covered with arcane tools, pots of rare adhesives and a bookbinder’s vice which was already holding a stricken folio. A few weak lines of magic fire crawled across it.
The ape pushed the candlestick into Rincewind’s hand, picked up a scalpel and a pair of tweezers, and bent low over the trembling book. Rincewind went pale.
‘Um,’ he said, ‘er, do you mind if I go away? I faint at the sight of glue.’
The Librarian shook his head and jerked a preoccupied thumb towards a tray of tools.
‘Oook,’ he commanded. Rincewind nodded miserably, and obediently handed him a pair of long-nosed scissors. The wizard winced as a couple of damaged pages were snipped free and dropped to the floor.
‘What are you doing to it?’ he managed.
‘Oook.’
‘An appendectomy? Oh.’
The ape jerked his thumb again, without looking up. Rincewind fished a needle and thread out of the ranks on the tray and handed them over. There was silence broken only by the scritching sound of thread being pulled through paper until the Librarian straightened up and said:
‘Oook.’
Rincewind pulled out his handkerchief and mopped the ape’s brow.
‘Oook.’
‘Don’t mention it. Is it - going to be all right?’
The Librarian nodded. There was also a general,
almost inaudible sigh of relief from the tier of books above them.
Rincewind sat down. The books were frightened. In fact they were terrified. The presence of the sourcerer made their spines creep, and the pressure of their attention closed in around him like a vice.
‘All right,’ he mumbled, ‘but what can I do about it?’
‘Oook.’ The Librarian gave Rincewind a look that would have been exactly like a quizzical look over the top of a pair of half-moon spectacles, if he had been wearing any, and reached for another broken book.
‘I mean, you know I’m no good at magic.’
‘Oook.’
‘The sourcery that’s about now, it’s terrible stuff. I mean, it’s the original stuff, from right back in the dawn of time. Or around breakfast, at any rate.’
‘Oook.’
‘It’ll destroy everything eventually, won’t it?’
‘Oook.’
‘It’s about time someone put a stop to this sourcery, right?’
‘Oook.’
‘Only it can’t be me, you see. When I came here I thought I could do something, but that tower! It’s so big! It must be proof against all magic! If really powerful wizards won’t do anything about it, how can I?’
‘Oook,’ agreed the Librarian, sewing a ruptured spine.
‘So, you see, I think someone else can save the world this time. I’m no good at it.’