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Rincewind passed her the Octavo without a word.
She opened it and peered the pages.
'What funny writing,' she said. 'It keeps changing. What's that crocodile thing doing to the octopus?'
Rincewind looked over her shoulder and, without thinking, told her. She was silent for a moment.
'Oh,' she said levelly. 'I didn't know crocodiles could do that.'
'It's just ancient picture writing,' said Rincewind hurriedly. 'It'll change if you wait. The Spells can appear in every known language.'
'Can you remember what you said when the wrong colour appeared?'
Rincewind ran a finger down the page.
'There, I think. Where the two-headed lizard is doing – whatever it's doing.'
Twoflower appeared at her other shoulder. The Spell flowed into another script.
'I can't even pronounce it,' said Bethan. 'Squiggle, squiggle, dot, dash.'
'That's Cupumuguk snow runes,' said Rincewind. 'I think it should be pronounced “zph”.'
'It didn't work, though. How about “sph”?'
They looked at the word. It remained resolutely off-colour.
'Or “sff”?' said Bethan.
'It might be “tsff”,' said Rincewind doubtfully. If anything the colour became a dirtier shade of brown.
'How about “zsff”?' said Twoflower.
'Don't be silly,' said Rincewind. 'With snow runes the —'
Bethan elbowed him in the stomach and pointed.
The brown shape in the air was now a brilliant red.
The book trembled in her hands. Rincewind grabbed her around the waist, snatched Twoflower by the collar, and jumped backwards.
Bethan lost her grip on the Octavo, which tumbled towards the floor. And didn't reach it.
The air around the Octavo glowed. It rose slowly, flapping its pages like wings.
Then there was a plangent, sweet twanging noise and it seemed to explode in a complicated silent flower of light which rushed outwards, faded, and was gone.
But something was happening much further up in the sky . . .
Down in the geological depths of Great A'Tuin's huge brain new thoughts surged along neural pathways the size of arterial roads. It was impossible for a sky turtle to change its expression, but in some indefinable way its scaly, meteor-pocked face looked quite expectant.
It was staring fixedly at the eight spheres endlessly orbiting around the star, on the very beaches of space.
The spheres were cracking.
Huge segments of rock broke away and began the long spiral down to the star. The sky filled with glittering shards.
From the wreakage of one hollow shell a very small sky turtle paddled its way into the red light. It was barely bigger than an asteroid, its shell still shiny with molten yolk.
