The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett Read Free Book Online

haste,' said a voice like black silk. 'Or kiss your kidneys goodbye.'
    The crowd watched with interest. It was turning out to be quite a good day.
    Rincewind turned slowly, feeling the point of the sword scrape along his ribs. At the other end of the blade he recognized Stren Withel – thief, cruel swordsman, disgruntled contender for the title of worst man in the world.
    'Hi,' he said weakly. A few yards away he noticed a couple of unsympathetic men raising the lid of the Luggage and pointing excitedly at the bags of gold. Withel smiled. It made an unnerving effect on his scar-crossed face.
    'I know you,' he said. 'A gutter wizard. What is that thing ?'
    Rincewind became aware that the lid of the Luggage was trembling slightly, although there was no wind. And he was still holding the picturebox.
    'This? It makes pictures,' he said brightly. 'Hey, just hold that smile, will you?' He backed away quickly and pointed the box.
    For a moment Withel hesitated. ' What ?' he said.
    'That's fine, hold it just like that . . .' said Rincewind.
    The thief paused, then growled and swung his sword back.
    There was a snap, and a duet of horrible screams. Rincewind did not glance around for fear of the terrible things he might see, and by the time Withel looked for him again he was on the other side of the Plaza, and still accelerating.
    The albatross descended in wide, slow sweeps that ended in an undignified flurry of feathers and a thump as it landed heavily on its platform in the Patrician's bird garden.
    The custodian of the birds, dozing in the sun and hardly expecting a long-distance message so soon after this morning's arrival, jerked to his feet and looked up.
    A few moments later he was scuttling through the palace's corridors holding the message capsule and – owing to carelessness brought on by surprise – sucking at the nasty beak wound on the back of his hand.
    * * *
    Rincewind pounded down an alley, paying no heed to the screams of rage coming from the picturebox, and cleared a high wall with his frayed robe flapping around him like the feathers of a dishevelled jackdaw. He landed in the forecourt of a carpet shop, scattering the merchandise and customers, dived through its rear exit trailing apologies, skidded down another alley and stopped, teetering dangerously, just as he was about to plunge unthinkingly into the Ankh.
    There are said to be some mystic rivers one drop of which can steal a man's life away. After its turbid passage through the twin cities the Ankh could have been one of them.
    In the distance the cries of rage took on a shrill note of terror. Rincewind looked around desperately for a boat, or a handhold up the sheer walls on either side of him.
    He was trapped.
    Unbidden, the spell welled up in his mind. It was perhaps untrue to say that he had learned it; it had learned him. The episode had led to his expulsion from Unseen University, because, for a bet, he had dared to open the pages of the last remaining copy of the Creator's own grimoire, the Octavo (while the University librarian was otherwise engaged). The spell had leapt out of the page and instantly burrowed deeply into his mind, from whence even the combined talents of the Faculty of Medicine had been unable to coax it. Precisely which one it was they were also unable to ascertain, except that it was one of the eight basic spells that were intricately interwoven with the very fabric of time and space itself.
    Since then it had been showing a worrying tendency, when Rincewind was feeling rundown or especially threatened, to try to get itself said.
    He clenched his teeth together but the first syllable forced itself around the corner of his mouth. His left hand raised involuntarily and, as the magical force whirled him round, began to give off octarine sparks . . .
    The Luggage hurtled around the corner, its several hundred knees moving like pistons.
    Rincewind gaped. The spell died, unsaid.
    The box didn't appear to be hampered in any way