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‘I suppose I can’t complain,’ said Rincewind virtuously. ‘I’ve had a good life. Well, quite good.’ He hesitated. ‘Well, not all that good. I suppose most people would call it pretty awful.’ He considered it further. ‘I would,’ he added, half to himself.
WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, MAN?
Rincewind was nonplussed. ‘Don’t you make an appearance when a wizard is about to die?’
OF COURSE. AND I MUST SAY YOU PEOPLE ARE GIVING ME A BUSY DAY
‘How do you manage to be in so many places at the same time?’
GOOD ORGANISATION.
Time returned. The staff, which had been hanging in the air a few feet away from Rincewind, started to scream forward again.
And there was a metallic thud as Coin caught it onehandedly in mid-flight.
The staff uttered a noise like a thousand fingernails dragging across glass. It thrashed wildly up and down, flailing at the arm that held it, and bloomed into evil green flame along its entire length.
So. At the last, you fail me.
Coin groaned but held on as the metal under his fingertips went red, then white.
He thrust the arm out in front of him, and the force streaming from the staff roared past him and drew sparks from his hair and whipped his robe up into weird and unpleasant shapes. He screamed and whirled the staff round and smashed it on the parapet, leaving a long bubbling line in the stone.
Then he threw it away. It clattered against the stones and rolled to a halt, wizards scattering out of its path.
Coin sagged to his knees, shaking.
‘I don’t like killing people,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it can’t be right.’
‘Hold on to that thought,’ said Rincewind fervently.
‘What happens to people after they’re dead?’ said Coin.
Rincewind glanced up at Death.
‘I think this one’s for you,’ he said.
HE CANNOT SEE OR HEAR ME, said Death, UNTIL HE WANTS TO. There was a little clinking noise. The staff was rolling back towards Coin, who looked down at it in horror.
Pick me up.
‘You don’t have to,’ said Rincewind again.
You cannot resist me. You cannot defeat yourself, said the staff.
Coin reached out very slowly, and picked it up.
Rincewind glanced at his sock. It was a stub of burnt wool, its brief career as a weapon of war having sent it beyond the help of any darning needle.
Now kill him.
Rincewind held his breath. The watching wizards held their breath. Even Death, who had nothing to hold but his scythe, held it tensely.
‘No,’ said Coin.
You know what happens to boys who are bad.
Rincewind saw the sourcerer’s face go pale.
