Sourcery by Terry Pratchett Read Free Book Online

ceiling; this was the kind of thief that could steal it.
    This particular thief was credited with stealing the jewelled disembowelling knife from the Temple of Offler the Crocodile God during the middle of Evensong, and the silver shoes from the Patrician’s finest racehorse while it was in the process of winning a race. When Gritoller Mimpsey, vice-president of the Thieves’ Guild, was jostled in the marketplace and then found on returning home that a freshly-stolen handful of diamonds had vanished from their place of concealment, he knew who to blame. * This was the type of thief that could steal the initiative, the moment and the words right out of your mouth.
    However, it was the first time it had stolen something that not only asked it to, in a low but authoritative voice, but gave precise and somehow unarguable instructions about how it was to be disposed of.
    It was that cusp of the night that marks the turning point of Ankh-Morpork’s busy day, when those who make their living under the sun are resting after their labors and those who turn an honest dollar by the cold light of the moon are just getting up the energy to go to work. The day had, in fact, reached that gentle point when it was too late for housebreaking and too early for burglary.
    Rincewind sat alone in the crowded, smoky room, and didn’t take much notice when a shadow passed over the table and a sinister figure sat down opposite him. There was nothing very remarkable about sinister figures in this place. The Drum jealousy guarded its reputation as the most stylishly disreputable tavern in Ankh-Morpork and the big troll that now guarded the door carefully vetted customers for suitability in the way of black cloaks, glowing eyes, magic swords and so forth. Rincewind never found out what he did to the failures. Perhaps he ate them.
    When the figure spoke, its husky voice came from the depths of a black velvet hood, lined with fur.
    “Psst,” it said.
    “Not very,” said Rincewind, who was in a state of mind where he couldn’t resist it, “but I’m working on it.”
    “I’m looking for a wizard,” said the voice. It sounded hoarse with the effort of disguising itself but, again, this was nothing unusual in the Drum.
    “Any wizard in particular?” Rincewind said guardedly. People could get into trouble this way.
    “One with a keen sense of tradition who would not mind taking risks for high reward,” said another voice. It appeared to be coming from a round black leather box under the stranger’s arm.
    “Ah,” said Rincewind, “that narrows it down a bit, then. Does this involve a perilous journey into unknown and probably dangerous lands?”
    “It does, as a matter of fact.”
    “Encounters with exotic creatures?” Rincewind smiled.
    “Could be.”
    “Almost certain death?”
    “Almost certainly.”
    Rincewind nodded, and picked up his hat.
    “Well, I wish you every success in your search,” he said, “I’d help you myself, only I’m not going to.”
    “What?”
    “Sorry. I don’t know why, but the prospect of certain death in unknown lands at the claws of exotic monsters isn’t for me. I’ve tried it, and I couldn’t get the hang of it. Each to their own, that’s what I say, and I was cut out for boredom.” He rammed his hat on his head and stood up a little unsteadily.
    He’d reached the foot of the steps leading up into the street when a voice behind him said: “A real wizard would have accepted.”
    He could have kept going. He could have walked up the stairs, out into the street, got a pizza at the Klatchian takeaway in Sniggs Alley, and gone to bed. History would have been totally changed, and in fact would also have been considerably shorter, but he would have got a good night’s sleep although, of course, it would have been on the floor.
    The future held its breath, waiting for Rincewind to walk away.
    He didn’t do this for three reasons. One was alcohol. One was the tiny flame of pride that flickers in