Book 1 - Page 25 (2/2)

“Next I was summoned to build the Palace of the Seven Deserts, as a result of which the Emir showered me with silver and then, not entirely to my surprise, had my right hand cut off.”

“A grave hindrance in your line of business,” nodded the Arch-astronomer.

“I used some of the silver to make myself this new hand, putting to use my unrivalled knowledge of levers and fulcrums. It suffices. After I created the first great Light Dam, which had a capacity of 50,000 daylight hours, the tribal councils of the Nef loaded me down with fine silks and then hamstrung me so that I could not escape. As a result I was put to some inconvenience to use the silk and some bamboo to build a flying machine from which I could launch myself from the top-most turret of my prison.”

“Bringing you, by various diversions, to Krull,” said the Arch-astronomer. “And one cannot help feeling that some alternative occupation -lettuce farming, say - would offer somewhat less of a risk of being put to death by instalments. Why do you continue in it? Goldeneyes Dactylos shrugged.

“I’m good at it,” he said.

The Arch-astronomer looked up again bronze fish, s.h.i.+ning now like a gong in the noontime sun.

“Such beauty,” he murmured. “And unique. Come, Dactylos. Recall to me what it was that I promised should be your reward?”

“You asked me to design a fish that would swim through the seas of s.p.a.ce that lie between the worlds,” intoned the master craftsman. “In return for which - in return-“

“Yes? My memory is not what it used to be,” purred the Arch-astronomer, stroking the warm bronze.

“In return,” continued Dactylos, without much apparent hope, “you would set me free, and refrain from chopping off any appendages. I require no treasure.”

“Ah, yes. I recall now.” The old man raised a blueveined hand, and added, “I lied.”

There was the merest whisper of sound, and the goldeneyed man rocked on his feet. Then he looked down at the arrowhead protruding from his chest, and nodded wearily. A speck of blood bloomed on his lips.

There was no sound in the entire square (save for the buzzing of a few expectant flies) as his silver hand came up, very slowly, and fingered the arrowhead.

Dactylos grunted.

“Sloppy workmans.h.i.+p,” he said, and toppled backwards.

The Arch-astronomer prodded the body with his toe, and sighed.

“There will be a short period of mourning, as befits a master craftsman,” he said. He watched a bluebottle alight on one golden eye and fly away puzzled… “That would seem to be long enough,” said the Arch-astronomer, and beckoned a couple of slaves to carry the corpse away.

“Are the chelonauts ready?” he asked.

The master launchcontroller hustled forward.

“Indeed, your prominence,” he said.

“The correct prayers are being intoned?

“Quite so, your prominence.”

“How long to the doorway?”

“The launch window,” corrected the master launchcontroller carefully. “Three days, your prominence. Great A’Tuin’s tail will be in an unmatched position.”

“Then all that remains,” concluded the Arch-astronomer, “is to find the appropriate sacrifice.”

The master launchcontroller bowed.

“The ocean shall provide,” he said.

The old man smiled. it always does,” he said.

“If only you could navigate”

“If only you could steer-“

A wave washed over the deck. Rincewind and Twoflower looked at each other. “Keep bailing!” they screamed in unison, and reached for the buckets.

After a while Twoflower’s peevish voice filtered up from the waterlogged cabin.

“I don’t see how it’s my fault,” he said. He handed up another bucket, which the wizard tipped over the side.

“You were supposed to be on watch,” snapped Rincewind.

“I saved us from the slavers, remember,” said Twoflower.

“I’d rather be a slave than a corpse,” replied the wizard. He straightened up and looked out to sea. He appeared puzzled.

He was a somewhat different Rincewind from the one that escaped the fire of Ankh-Morpork six months before. More scarred, for one thing. And much more travelled. He had visited the Hublands, discovered the curious folkways of many colourful peoples invariably obtaining more scars in the process - and had even, for a never-to-be-forgotten few days, sailed on the legendary Dehydrated Ocean at the heart of the incredibly dry desert known as the Great Nef. On a colder and wetter sea he had seen floating mountains of ice. He had ridden on an imaginary dragon. He had very nearly said

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