#also very exciting seeing early Ankh-Morpork

[talesfromthebandgeekmafia]

DISTRESS DISTRESS just started Night Watch I DO NOT LIKE THESE IMPLICATIONS

[spike-dearheart]

Hello! I am very I retested in hearing your thought on characterization for the Dearhearts, especially pertaining to your „meeting the parents“ fic. What personalities do they have? How do they like Moist?

YO I'm sorry this is kind of a late answer, anon! I had things happening all last week SO HERE WE ARE

The thing about this question is... well, frankly, I'm also still deciding all these things for myself lmao, I'm the sort to kind of start with vibes and then organize them better as I write

Right now a lot of it comes down to grief, and the ways it manifests itself for this family. Adora turned all her grief into action, she turned it into fighting for other people who got fucked over by society (to an even more extreme degree than the Dearhearts), because she knew what it felt like to be overlooked and ignored. (She also turned it into a lot of chainsmoking and a hard outer shell so thick you'd be lucky to get through it with an axe, but that's besides the point.)

For the Dearhearts themselves, the only things we really know for sure in canon are that Robert Dearheart founded the clacks, was better with engineering than he was with money, and that he fell into a huge slump when John died. As for Mrs. Unnamed Woman Dearheart, meanwhile, we know that she has a sister who lives in the Dolly Sisters district (who let the family move in when they went bankrupt) and we know she was VERY excited about Moist and Adora getting married.

So far the Vibes that I want to go for, at least in my writing of the Dearhearts, is like...

Robert Dearheart is a perpetual tinkerer. I think the only thing that stopped him from tinkering EVER was John's death, and even then it couldn't stop him long term. He's an inventor, the drive to create is in his bones. I think, though, after everything that's happened, he's lost his confidence. He makes things, invents them, tinkers with them, but he's not convinced any of them are any good. The clacks was his baby, his ultimate brainchild, and having it taken away is one thing, but watching it crumble? Watching it get worse? That's painful. Even after the Dearheart family gets it back in their name, I think he quietly lets Adora take over as CEO (though she insists he have a seat at the table to represent the engineering interests, but he never wants to deal with the finances, and Adora does him proud). Robert Dearheart is a brilliant man who doesn't think he is, who carries around the weight of losing his son to the clacks towers that he invented. The main emotions I want him to embody are like... exhaustion but also he is where Adora got that "I won't believe it's impossible until I've tried it" trait she carries.

And Mrs. Dearheart is like... she's inventive, too, and she's tenacious. She managed to keep the family on their feet when they lost everything to bankruptcy and that requires grit. She's excited about Adora getting married (even starts planning the wedding), and I take that as a sort of relief, right? She's so relieved that Adora's found happiness and some sort of slice of "normalcy", despite the fact that "normal" for Adora looks very different than other people's "normal", and so finding a partner who looks at all that and goes "yeah of course I want that" has to be like... a Big Deal. I sort of landed on this idea that Mrs. Dearheart is where Adora gets that... edge. Like, the eyes that see straight through you, the sheer willpower, except in Mrs. Dearheart it's been tempered out by fewer early-life tragedies. And a love of birds (because I decided she likes birds, but since there tend to only be pigeons in Ankh-Morpork, she has specific pigeons that she likes and knows). And the fact that Mrs. Dearheart doesn't wear all black and shoes that can stab a man through the foot. All the same, the main emotions I want her to embody are (like I said) tenacity but also this deeper sense of...

I don't know how to explain it unless you meet someone like this, but there's people who've been through really awful shit and sometimes you scrape some paint off the surface and you go "oh my god this is really tragic" and they nod and they smile and they go "but I painted it yellow... like sunflowers, you know?" and it's not that they're hiding it, they know it's sad but they've managed, somehow, to keep hold of the sadness but still re-contextualize parts of it?? AM I MAKING SENSE??

Anyway lmao they do like Moist, but he's exTREMELY emotions about it all because I don't think they know? about what he did? Adora knows and she's decided (for better or worse) not to tell them! And this makes Moist Definitely Feel A Way at first, but once he gets told off for putting up a front partway through the first meeting with them, he relaxes bit by bit. I do think they see how good he is for Adora (and how good Adora is for him), although they're maybe a little bewildered at first because despite his pretty eccentric public image, Moist is... very nearly normal when you sit him down and talk to him at a dinner. A bit odd, maybe, and sometimes he's got funny ideas about what's common knowledge or not, but otherwise? Normal.

LMAO anyway thank you for the ask and I hope you enjoy my extreme rambling! And I hope that actually answered it for you, I know it's kinda VAGUE but... I'm still cooking

[painted-crow]

Some Discworld Sortings

@missbrunettebarbie​: Monstrous Regiment, The Truth, the first 3 City Watch books, Going Postal, Mort and Unseen Academicals. And I would love to read those sortings :)).

I already have most of Unseen Academicals’ Sorting written out--I just need to tweak it for publishing :) 

The short version of UA

The cast of UA is a pure-House matched set, aside from some models, and the characters each swap models around and interact with each others’ primaries in interesting ways. Glenda is a Hufflepuff/Hufflepuff, Juliette is a Gryffindor, Trev is a Slytherin, and Nutt, of course, is the loudest double Ravenclaw ever (I love him).

Nutt helps Glenda realize her community’s worldview is toxic and stop seeing herself through their lens. Glenda then stops pushing the same worldview on Juliette and starts encouraging her to follow her Gryffindor instead. Nutt doesn’t remotely fit into the class framework Glenda’s used to, and he challenges her assumptions just by existing. (Glenda also picks up a Gryffindor secondary model from Juliette that’s very healthy for her, but that’s getting into a bunch more detail that I’ll save for the full post later.)

Nutt’s system is very Hufflepuffy, but he sees himself as more of a tool than a person, and Glenda consistently argues with him about this until he starts to believe her. Then she’s his champion in the community, where Nutt desperately wants to belong but keeps getting rejected for what he is. It’s such a good ship, they’re so healthy for each other--and if you’re looking for a wholesome, fuzzy romantic subplot with an autistic-coded character, it’s right here.

Trev slowly un-Petrifies as he starts to let himself care about his friends, and they in turn inspire him to contribute and make something of himself. It’s not immediately obvious that Trev is Burned, because he’s so carefree--but he’s carefree because he isn’t letting himself care. He’s an orphan, and he’s felt helpless for a long time.

We know he’s unburned when he finally prioritizes his loyalty to his living friends over the promise he made years ago to his mother (who seems to represent the last loyalty relationship Trev had, and he's still holding on to her; letting her go means Trev has accepted that he has new relationships and those are real). Juliette’s presence in particular reignites his ambition--he wants to do better for her, be better for her, and that gives him direction in a way that his previous goals of leisure and self-preservation didn’t.

(That’s what’s going on with their primaries. Eventually I’ll get off my butt and fix up the full post.)

A quick sampler of main characters from the other books...

Monstrous Regiment

Polly is a Slytherin primary. The whole reason she joins the army is to rescue Paul (and, secondarily, to make sure she has a stable future when her father dies--otherwise some unreliable relative of hers inherits the inn, she’s not allowed to own it because of Nugganite customs). Ravenclaw secondary, I think, for how much her narration criticizes the others for not having a plan. 

Going Postal

Moist is of course a double Slytherin--he's blatantly obvious. He has a Claw secondary model but he tells us through the narration that he doesn't value it quite as much as his Slytherin. He's also very good at performing Puff secondary and seeming like a reliable people person, but the second he's asked to actually be reliable and hardworking he starts to go nuts and look for dangerous, exciting stuff to do.

The only thing that really ties him to Ankh-Morpork, aside from its general entertainment value every time Vetinari tries to give him a job where someone inevitably wants to kill him, is Adorabelle (who is also a threat to his life, just a little, enough to be interesting). She’s a double Slytherin too, but she spends most of her time in neutral state--yet she’s even managed to turn her neutral state into a game to play with Moist. Of course he’s enamored with her, lol.

City Watch series

Vimes is a Ravendor: he has very thoroughly laid out views about the law and its role in choosing the right thing to do. You could argue that he’s a burned Gryff, given how tight of a lid he has on his “inner darkness” (that shows up more later, and he’s not being entirely metaphorical), but he seems pretty stable and content with his system. Vimes doesn’t trust himself without his checks and boundaries, but he seems to be okay with that, even if he’s secretly afraid that the rules and accountability he’s laid out for himself someday won’t be enough.

His system doesn’t always match up with the law, but he uses the law to make sure he doesn’t stray too far off moral ground and into taking his wrath out on the guilty. Vimes actually gains a really useful reputation in later books as being fair and consistent and impossible to corrupt.

As for his secondary... he’s known as “Vetinari’s terrier.” He thinks he should be better at Ravenclaw secondary (putting together clues and so on) but mostly he runs off charge and intuition. There’s a really silly bit in Thud! where he’s constantly arguing with a magical Palm Pilot Sybil got for him, because he doesn’t have the patience to learn to use it. Whether he likes it or not, he’s a Gryff.

Sybil is either a Puff or Gryff primary; I lean towards Gryff for her. She’s got this very certain, intuitive core to her, and while she clearly holds a lot of Hufflepuffy values, she’s also very hard to sway or influence. She’s very solid in her morality, and I think that’s one of the things Vimes loves about her. Vimes has to work at staying moral 24/7, while Sybil just... is.

She’s a Ravenclaw secondary with a REALLY loud Hufflepuff secondary model. Hufflepuff is how she was raised to behave, and she likes it a lot, but she uses Ravenclaw without even thinking about it--the number of times she just pulls the "I happen to be prepared for this very specific situation" card out of her hat is wild, and she doesn’t even seem to think that what she’s doing is unusual.

It’s most obvious in The Fifth Elephant: not only does Sybil speak Dwarvish, but she sings a piece of a Dwarf opera to get them out of a tight corner, and then she semi-accidentally becomes an expert trade negotiator out of sheer curiosity, reading up on the notes left by the previous ambassador.

Also, it’s really cute that Vimes is a Ravendor and Sybil is a Gryffinclaw.

Carrot is hard to Sort. He gives off REALLY strong Hufflepuff vibes, of course, and he knows everyone and can be empathetic toward anyone. But he’s actually really hard to read. Angua certainly keeps expecting that he’s hiding layers of himself, but that’s probably because she’s got a lot of Slytherin to her (either Slytherdor or double Slytherin, her secondary might be a little singed; her primary definitely is).

I want to say that he’s a Hufflepuff secondary who’s really good at adapting to and mirroring other people, and Angua keeps mistaking this for Slytherin secondary. I think he’s a Gryffindor primary with a lot of Hufflepuffy values, like Sybil, and maybe he has a Slytherin model specifically for Angua (he drops everything for her early on in Fifth Elephant, possibly staking his life on the fact that she’ll come and find him when he does) --but I could be persuaded otherwise.

Phew, this is longer than I thought it’d be.

[cakesandfail]

Ok so THREE ships for the shipping post, pick and chose @ your discretion on grounds of this is a bit extra. •Vimes/Vetinari/Sybil •Moist von Lipwig/Adora Bell Dearheart •William/Otto/Sacharissa

buckle up friendo if we’re gonna be Extra then I’m answering every goddamn question, obviously some of these are 21st century Earth things so... just pretend they all live in London instead of Ankh-Morpork for those, I guess

here we fucking go

1. Vimes/Vetinari/Sybil

who hogs the duvet Sam does. Dude is a big fan of pillows, I can’t imagine he’d be any different re: duvetswho texts/rings to check how their day is going Sybil. Sam is v bad at technology and Havelock just sends memes while watching committees happenwho’s the most creative when it comes to gifts Havelock, if by ‘creative’ you mean ‘devious and prone to trolling’who gets up first in the morning Havelock, though let’s be honest, none of them has anything remotely approaching a normal sleep patternwho suggests new things in bed this is definitely Sybil and there’s nothing that will ever convince me otherwisewho cries at movies S A Mwho gives unprompted massages that is an extremely bad idea when two out of three people in the relationship are (justifiably) paranoidwho fusses over the other when they’re sick Sam is the absolute worst for this, as we all found out in Feet of Claywho gets jealous easiest Sam. His self-esteem is terrible and he can hardly believe that one smart, cute, fancy rich person would want him, let alone two. Things can be dificult. He does his best.who has the most embarrassing taste in music I mean I’m pretty sure Havelock wins this one by reading sheet music, the weirdowho collects something unusual ...how unusual are farty dragons? (it’s Sybil regardless, even if the dragons aren’t unusual for Ankh-Morpork she does also have a house full of random tat)who takes the longest to get ready if they’re going out it’s Sybil because she’s got Undergarments(tm) and makeup and a wig to sort out, but if it’s a normal day it’s Havelock because let’s be honest, anyone with a beard like that is definitely a little bit vain and fussy about itwho is the most tidy and organised Mr shiny-circular-saw-brain himself, Havelock Vetinariwho gets most excited about the holidays 100% Sybil (and Sam a bit too, secretly, now he’s in a position to enjoy them)who is the big spoon/little spoon Sam is always the littlest spoon and he loves itwho gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports lmaoooo this is Havelock for sure, he’s clearly one of those people who won’t do anything in public unless he knows he won’t fuck it upwho starts the most arguments this is Sam’s favourite hobbywho suggests that they buy a pet Sybil and Havelock just kind of acquire them tbh, and Sam gave up doing anything about it years agowhat couple traditions they have 25th May is special- it’s Young Sam’s birthday and of course the anniversary of the revolution, so Uncle Havelock comes round for tea and then goes to Small Gods with old Sam, and then stays the night, conveniently disappearing early enough in the morning that nobody else knows he was therewhat tv shows they watch together listen. listen. if they were in modern London they’d be watching the Supervet and getting emotional about it. fite me. also Sybil and Havelock watch nerdy gameshows like Only Connect and University Challenge, but Sam is not here for that at allwhat other couple they hang out with bold of you to assume any of these nerds have any other friendshow they spend time together as a couple does almost getting murdered count because that does happen a lot. Otherwise: naps at bizarre times of the day, fighting over the newspaper, carriage journeys home from parties where they bitch about everyone they hate (ie everyone else who was there)who made the first move Sybil, for every single context where making the first move was necessarywho brings flowers home Havelock does because he’s a ‘show affection through gifts’ sort of person and also a huge nerd who probably knows all about floriographywho is the best cook fucking nobody lol they’re all useless

2. Moist/Adora

who hogs the duvet Adora. And there’s nothing Moist can do about it.who texts/rings to check how their day is going Moist, because he’s a nice cheerful sort of boy (and also likes to be annoying)who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts ...probably Moist? He’s pretty imaginative, I think- that’s not to say that Adora wouldn’t find him good gifts, but his would be more ‘out there’ without being wrongwho gets up first in the morning Adora, unless she’s on nights or Moist has been summoned by his surrogate dad Vetinariwho suggests new things in bed hahahaha ADORAwho cries at movies both of them. Adora will never admit this to anybody.who gives unprompted massages Moist, but only once they’ve been married long enough that he knows when he definitely won’t get stomped onwho fusses over the other when they’re sick I honestly think they’re both the kind of people who are like ‘get the fuck away from me’ when they’re ill so probably nobodywho gets jealous easiest Adora. She’s not worried about Moist, but he’s a very charming dude and other people need to Watch It.who has the most embarrassing taste in music Moist is a big Spandau Ballet fan and you know itwho collects something unusual look, Moist doesn’t actively collect weird shit, weird shit just happens to come into his possessionwho takes the longest to get ready Moist. Just fucking look at him. He wears a gold suit.who is the most tidy and organised Adora, but this does not extend to her private space at all, and their bedroom is a disaster areawho gets most excited about the holidays M o i s twho is the big spoon/little spoon I... think it’s probably Moist. Yeah. Moist.who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports Adora is the kind of person who’d even try to fight Vetinari if she had to, so.who starts the most arguments see above lmaowho suggests that they buy a pet Moist does, because for all that he complained, he got quite attached to Mr Fusspotwhat couple traditions they have uhhhhh idk if it’s a tradition so much as a regular date night but they definitely go dancing together when they have timewhat tv shows they watch together they hate-watch The Apprentice, and Undercover Boss, and Dragons Den- basically anything where they can judge other people’s ability to run a businesswhat other couple they hang out with work people, mostly. Sometimes they have to socialise with Sam and Sybil, which is a bit unfortunate for Moist and Sam, but Adora and Sybil find their respective idiots very cute when they’re all cross so it tends to work out okayhow they spend time together as a couple the aforementioned hate-watching marathons and dancing. I think they’re probably one of the few canon couples that actually has date nights.who made the first move Moist. It’s canon. He’s a dipshit, but it did sort of work.who brings flowers home Moist does, because he thinks it’s a good idea to do it regularly so Adora won’t assume he’s fucked up every timewho is the best cook Moist- he once spent three months as a cook in a pub while laying low after a scam. It’s not amazing gourmet food, but it’s alright.

3. William/Otto/Sacharissa

who hogs the duvet Sacharissa, because she’s the smallest and the first to get coldwho texts/rings to check how their day is going All of them- they’re journalists, they’re always in contact all the time. In a Roundworld AU they’d have a whatsapp groupwho’s the most creative when it comes to gifts Williamwho gets up first in the morning I think this probably depends on what they’re doing, but it’s definitely not Otto hahawho suggests new things in bed Otto isn’t necessarily going to suggest them outright, but he’s definitely dropped hints about things he used to get up to back in the daywho cries at movies William. He thinks the others don’t know. They do.who gives unprompted massages I’m not sure? This seems like a William thing but he’s also extremely awkward. I think it would be him once they were established as a trio.who fusses over the other when they’re sick Otto- he worries about the other two because they’re mortal and because he’s just generally an anxious kind of dudewho gets jealous easiest William. He’s a bit insecure about his place in the world and, well, Sacharissa is so pretty and Otto is a vampire which makes him automatically 500% sexier to everyone everywhere, clearly anyone hanging around them wants to take his place. (Spoiler: they don’t.)who has the most embarrassing taste in music Sacharissa strikes me as a big 90s pop fan idekwho collects something unusual Otto is definitely a nerd about old cameras/iconographswho takes the longest to get ready I think possibly Sacharissa just because girl clothes take longer- otherwise I don’t think there’s much in it. They’re all pretty sensible people.who is the most tidy and organised William has a stick up his butt about everything ever, so definitely himwho gets most excited about the holidays Otto does, because he finally has someone to celebrate with who isn’t going to get eaten (behave.)who is the big spoon/little spoon this varies a lot, I think? I just kind of assumed they usually end up in a big old cuddlepilewho gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports William. He went to boarding school and even though he hated it, it’s bound to have had some effect on himwho starts the most arguments ...also William lmaowho suggests that they buy a pet Sacharissa. She thinks both Wuffles and Mr Fusspot are very cute.what couple traditions they have They get a takeaway whenever they’ve stayed late at work together to finish a big story. Otto can’t eat it, obviously, but he likes to just sit with the others and hang out. It’s nice.what tv shows they watch together absolutely no news programmes at all, ever. Lots of low-energy stuff like How It’s Made so they don’t have to use any brainpower.what other couple they hang out with sometimes Gunilla and Boddony join in with the takeaway nightshow they spend time together as a couple running about like loons after the next story, mostlywho made the first move William with Sacharissa, Sacharissa with Ottowho brings flowers home Sacharissa does- mostly just because she likes having them aroundwho is the best cook Otto made a point of learning to cook so he could do something nice for his favourite people. He had lessons and everything. He has to wear gloves to handle the garlic, but it’s worth it.

[jurijurijurious]

Happy Birthday Terry Pratchett

So today would have been Sir Terry Pratchett’s 70th birthday. He sadly passed away before his time in 2015 from early onset Alzheimers. Seeing such a bright, inquisitive and sharp mind succumb to that horrible condition was really distressing, and I can’t imagine how difficult it was for those closer to him.

But today I celebrate the effect Terry Pratchett had on my life. Here’s a quick sketch I did of him in his top hat from the “Dodger” era of his writing career. More on that in a bit...

I was introduced to Terry Pratchett and his Discworld through a back-door, so to speak, in (I think) 2003, by @the-mcguffin through a fanfiction. The fanfic interested me enough that I went to my local library for the first time in years, found what Pratchett books they had, and took one out to read. (See, the first step was it encouraged library use! A very Pratchett thing, I think! I had no money to buy books back then...) The first book I read was “Interesting Times”. I think it was the cover I liked the best (or actually was just the one I disliked the least - the Kirby illustrations were never my cup of tea alas...)

After that, the rest is sort-of history. I read another and another and another. And when I got a job, I bought some. The thing is I ended up re-reading favourites before I read all of them because that’s how I rolled. (“Guards! Guards!” was re-read a lot.)

Anyway, again back to my pal @the-mcguffin who, after having successfully converted me to the books, tried to persuade me to go to a Discworld Convention or to a Discworld play. They always seemed to fall at the wrong time, or (during the years before I passed my driving test) were at places I simply couldn’t get to very easily. Finally, I went “fuck it” and succumbed in 2010, buying a membership. (Back in those days, you could still get a ticket for a DWCon months after they had gone on sale - I think I got mine the January before the Con and was still only number 700-and-something. But I digress...)

After the Convention, equipped with a bunch of new friendships and memories, nothing was the same again. I don’t know what DWCons do to you, but literally I was a different person when I came home, and the rest of my life since has near enough revolved around booking holidays for Discworld events. That’s a Hell of a way to spend 8 years of your life.

And the thing about Discworld is the ripples. I think the quote in one of the books, which is more about death than anything, is “No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away”. But Discworld has always created ripples. Like, for instance, I never would have rediscovered my love of Shakespeare and theatre without Discworld - it was a knock-on-effect thing which followed the first convention. I would never have driven my lonely ass down to some far-flung corner of England called Somerset to spend a weekend in a quirky little town on a hill called Wincanton (twinned with Ankh-Morpork!) with other Discworld fans. I’ve done that several times now. It’s quite a long drive. And, my God, the silly, crazy things we have done in Wincanton in the name of Discworld and Terry Pratchett - I think my favourite was when we did a mountain climbing expedition up the high street. The reaction of locals was priceless. Us bloody lunatics.

I’ve also been privileged to contribute my art to some of the Conventions, a scary but wonderfully rewarding thing to be able to do for something you love. It’s even more peculiar to see people walking around in merchandise with your art on it.

But back to the “Dodger” thing. My best memories of Terry Pratchett surround his novel “Dodger”. To be frank, it’s a novel I’ve only read once, but the memories are gold.

I think my very favourite memory comes from, I think, a Hogswatch event in Wincanton, I’m gonna take a guess it took place in November 2011. Terry was still well enough to attend and it was a wonderfully intimate setting to be in with him, crammed into the back room of The Bear pub in Wincanton and listening to him speak. And I remember him speaking about writing Dodger. And it was wonderful. I think it’s the time where I’ve felt most connected to, most alike, Terry Pratchett, as his face lit up and you could hear the joy, the excitement, in his voice as he spoke about doing the research for this Victorian-based novel - and suddenly I was 15 again, in my history classroom, studying the Poor Law, the Victorian slums, the Factory Acts - dude, this was my thing! Victorian social history was something I adored at school, and it continues to fascinate me, and to hear your favourite author speak so passionately, so lovingly of the historical research process - it was genuinely wonderful. I can’t remember what he said - I just remember the moment and the feelings I had. And that’s why I’ve drawn Terry Pratchett in his top hat for his birthday today - because it is my special memory.

On another Dodger note, another awesome memory was a little later down the line, after the book had been published and stuff, in the pub after seeing Stephen Briggs’ Studio Theatre Club do their production of “Dodger”. It was the final performance, a lot of Discworld fans had come to little ol’ Abingdon for the final show, and the pub was full of both the cast and crew and Discworld fans. And Terry Pratchett was there, in his top hat. He wasn’t quite so well as he had been at the Hogswatch in 2011, but he was still very lively and interactive, and I just remember him coming over to some of the cast members and myself as we were talking and he started to talk about something to us. Again, I’ve not the foggiest what he said, I can’t recall, but his intensity, his keen interest, his liveliness - they were wonderful things to be privy to.

And I think everyone can always appreciate how Terry would just be happy milling about in a pub, at a convention, or anywhere - he never had airs and graces.

I think my biggest regret is never being able to have a good conversation with him. I’m not the world’s best talker, I’m crap at conversation, and I think this is what defeated me. I only ever said a few words to him and they were pointless. I do remember going to see the Studio Theatre Club’s “The Man Who Was Thursday” in, I believe, 2011? And Terry Pratchett was there with his wife. I held the door for him at the theatre entrance when he was coming up the steps behind me and my friend. And during the half time interval, it was the most peculiar sight to see that no one else there appeared to recognise him, and he spent a few minutes stood alone with no one to talk to. I wonder if he enjoyed that? Part of me regrets deeply not going over and speaking to him, it was a missed opportunity, but there we go, what would I have said? Hey ho.

So happy birthday to the late, great man. The friends I have made, the places I have travelled to, the hobbies I have embarked upon, the experiences I have had, which have all resulted from reading that one fanfiction based on his works... The effect on my life has been immeasurable. It’s a good day to raise a glass to his name and his legacy, read one of his books, and remember him and what he has done for you.

[readbookywooks]

‘I know,’ said Carding. ‘You know who the boy is.’

Spelter’s lips moved soundlessly as he tried to foresee the next bit of the exchange. ‘You can’t be certain of that,’ he said, after a while.

‘My dear Spelter, you blush when you inadvertently tell the truth.’

‘I didn’t blush!’

‘Precisely,’ said Carding, ‘my point.’

‘All right,’ Spelter conceded. ‘But you think you know something else.’

The fat wizard shrugged. ‘A mere suspicion of a hunch,’ he said. ‘But why should I ally,’ he rolled the unfamiliar word around his tongue, ‘with you, a mere fifth level? I could more certainly obtain the information by rendering down your living brain. I mean no offence, you understand, I ask only for knowledge.’

The events of the next few seconds happened far too fast to be understood by non-wizards, but went approximately like this:

Spelter had been drawing the signs of Megrim’s Accelerator in the air under cover of the table. Now he muttered a syllable under his breath and fired the spell along the tabletop, where it left a smoking path in the varnish and met, about halfway, the silver snakes of Brother Hushmaster’s Potent Asp-Spray as they spewed from Carding’s fingertips.

The two spells cannoned into one another, turned into a ball of green fire and exploded, filling the room with fine yellow crystals.

The wizards exchanged the kind of long, slow glare you could roast chestnuts on.

Bluntly, Carding was surprised. He shouldn’t have been. Eighth-level wizards are seldom faced with challenging tests of magical skill. In theory there are only seven other wizards of equal power and every lesser wizard is, by definition - well, lesser. This makes them complacent. But Spelter, on the other hand, was at the fifth level.

It may be quite tough at the top, and it is probably even tougher at the bottom, but halfway up it’s so tough you could use it for horseshoes. By then all the no-hopers, the lazy, the silly and the downright unlucky have been weeded out, the field’s cleared, and every wizard stands alone and surrounded by mortal enemies on every side. There’s the pushy fours below, waiting to trip him up. There’s the arrogant sixes above, anxious to stamp out all ambition. And, of course, all around are his fellow fives, ready for any opportunity to reduce the competition a little. And there’s no standing still. Wizards of the fifth level are mean and tough and have reflexes of steel and their eyes are thin and narrow from staring down the length of that metaphorical last furlong at the end of which rests the prize of prizes, the Archchancellor’s hat.

The novelty of co-operation began to appeal to Carding. There was worthwhile power here, which could be bribed into usefulness for as long as it was necessary. Of course, afterwards it might have to be - discouraged …

Spelter thought: patronage. He’d heard the term used, though never within the University, and he knew it meant getting those above you to give you a leg up. Of course, no wizard would normally dream of giving a colleague a leg up unless it was in order to catch them on the hop. The mere thought of actually encouraging a competitor … But on the other hand, this old fool might be of assistance for a while, and afterwards, well …

They looked at one another with mutual, grudging admiration and unlimited mistrust, but at least it was a mistrust each one felt he could rely on. Until afterwards.

‘His name is Coin,’ said Spelter. ‘He says his father’s name is Ipslore.’

‘I wonder how many brothers has he got?’ said Spelter.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘There hasn’t been magic like that in this university in centuries,’ said Carding, ‘maybe for thousands of years. I’ve only ever read about it.’

‘We banished an Ipslore thirty years ago,’ said Spelter. ‘According to the records, he’d got married. I can see that if he had sons, um, they’d be wizards, but I don’t understand how-’

‘That wasn’t wizardry. That was sourcery,’ said Carding, leaning back in his chair.

Spelter stared at him across the bubbling varnish.

‘Sourcery?’

‘The eighth son of a wizard would be a sourcerer.’

‘I didn’t know that!’

‘It is not widely advertised.’

‘Yes, but - sourcerers were a long time ago, I mean, the magic was a lot stronger then, um, men were different … it didn’t have anything to do with, well, breeding.’ Spelter was thinking, eight sons, that means he did it eight times. At least. Gosh.

‘Sourcerers could do everything,’ he went on. ‘They were nearly as powerful as the gods. Um. There was no end of trouble. The gods simply wouldn’t allow that sort of thing any more, depend upon it.’

‘Well, there was trouble because the sourcerers fought among themselves,’ said Carding, ‘But one sourcerer wouldn’t be any trouble. One sourcerer correctly advised, that is. By older and wiser minds.’

‘But he wants the Archchancellor’s hat!’

‘Why can’t he have it?’

Spelter’s mouth dropped open. This was too much, even for him.

Carding smiled at him amiably.

‘But the hat-’

‘It’s just a symbol,’ said Carding. ‘It’s nothing special. If he wants it, he can have it. It’s a small enough thing. Just a symbol, nothing more. A figurehat.’

‘Figurehat?’

‘Worn by a figurehead.’

‘But the gods choose the Archchancellor!’

Carding raised an eyebrow. ‘Do they?’ he said, and coughed.

‘Well, yes, I suppose they do. In a manner of speaking.’

‘In a manner of speaking?’

Carding got up and gathered his skirts around him. ‘I think,’ he said, ��that you have a great deal to learn. By the way, where is that hat?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Spelter, who was still quite shaken.

‘Somewhere in, um, Virrid’s apartments, I suppose.’

‘We’d better fetch it,’ said Carding.

He paused in the doorway and stroked his beard reflectively. ‘I remember Ipslore,’ he said. ‘We were students together. Wild fellow. Odd habits. Superb wizard, of course, before he went to the bad. Had a funny way of twitching his eyebrow, I remember, when he was excited.’ Carding looked blankly across forty years of memory, and shivered.

‘The hat,’ he reminded himself. ‘Let’s find it. It would be a shame if anything happened to it.’

In fact the hat had no intention of letting anything happen to it, and was currently hurrying towards the Mended Drum under the arm of a rather puzzled, black-clad thief.

The thief, as will become apparent, was a special type of thief. This thief was an artist of theft. Other thieves merely stole everything that was not nailed down, but this thief stole the nails as well. This thief had scandalised Ankh by taking a particular interest in stealing, with astonishing success, things that were in fact not only nailed down but also guarded by keen-eyed guards in inaccessible strongrooms. There are artists that will paint an entire chapel 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.[7] 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 labours 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, ‘Id 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 the heart of even the most careful coward. But the third was the voice.

[readbookywooks]

‘Hard to disobey, isn’t it?’ said Conina.

‘I’m trying,’ said Rincewind. Sweat prickled on his forehead.

Go aboard now, said the hat. Rincewind’s feet began to shuffle of their own accord.

‘Why are you doing this to me?’ he moaned.

Because I have no alternative. Believe me, if I could have found an eighth level mage I would have done so. I must not be worn!

‘Why not? You are the Archchancellor’s hat.’

And through me speak all the Archchancellors who ever lived. I am the University. I am the Lore. I am the symbol of magic under the control of men - and I will not be worn by a sourcerer! There must be no more sourcerers! The world is too worn out for sourcery!

Conina coughed.

‘Did you understand any of that?’ she said, cautiously.

‘I understood some of it, but I didn’t believe it,’ said Rincewind. His feet remained firmly rooted to the cobbles.

They called me a figurehat! The voice was heavy with sarcasm. Fat wizards who betray everything the University ever stood for, and they called me a figurehat! Rincewind, I command you. And you, madam. Serve me well and I will grant you your deepest desire.

‘How can you grant my deepest desire if the world’s going to end?’

The hat appeared to think about it. Well, have you got a deepest desire that need only take a couple of minutes?

‘Look, how can you do magic? You’re just a-’ Rincewind’s voice trailed off.

I AM magic. Proper magic. Besides, you don’t get worn by some of the world’s greatest wizards for two thousand years without learning a few things. Now. We must flee.

But with dignity of course.

Rincewind looked pathetically at Conina, who shrugged again.

‘Don’t ask me,’ she said. ‘This looks like an adventure. I’m doomed to have them, I’m afraid. That’s genetics[9] for you.’

‘But I’m no good at them! Believe me, I’ve been through dozens!’ Rincewind wailed.

Ah. Experience, said the hat.

‘No, really, I’m a terrible coward, I always run away.’ Rincewind’s chest heaved. ‘Danger has stared me in the back of the head, oh, hundreds of times!’

I don’t want you to go into danger.

‘Good!’

I want you to stay OUT of danger.

Rincewind sagged. ‘Why me?’ he moaned.

For the good of the University. For the honour of wizardry. For the sake of the world. For your heart’s desire. And I’ll freeze you alive if you don’t.

Rincewind breathed a sigh almost of relief. He wasn’t good on bribes, or cajolery, or appeals to his better nature. But threats, now, threats were familiar. He knew where he was with threats.

The sun dawned on Small Gods’ Day like a badly poached egg. The mists had closed in over Ankh-Morpork in streamers of silver and gold - damp, warm, silent. There was the distant grumbling of springtime thunder, out on the plains. It seemed warmer than it ought to be.

Wizards normally slept late. On this morning, however, many of them had got up early and were wandering the corridors aimlessly. They could feel the change in the air.

The University was filling up with magic.

Of course, it was usually full of magic anyway, but it was an old, comfortable magic, as exciting and dangerous as a bedroom slipper. But seeping through the ancient fabric was a new magic, saw-edged and vibrant, bright and cold as comet fire. It sleeted through the stones and crackled off sharp edges like static electricity on the nylon carpet of Creation. It buzzed and sizzled. It curled wizardly beards, poured in wisps of octarine smoke from fingers that had done nothing more mystical for three decades than a little light illusion. How can the effect be described with delicacy and taste? For most of the wizards, it was like being an elderly man who, suddenly faced with a beautiful young woman, finds to his horror and delight and astonishment that the flesh is suddenly as willing as the spirit.

And in the halls and corridors of the University the word was being whispered: Sourcery!

A few wizards surreptitiously tried spells that they hadn’t been able to master for years, and watched in amazement as they unrolled perfectly. Sheepishly at first, and then with confidence, and then with shouts and whoops, they threw fireballs to one another or produced live doves out of their hats or made multi-coloured sequins fall out of the air.

Sourcery! One or two wizards, stately men who had hitherto done nothing more blameworthy that eat a live oyster, turned themselves invisible and chased the maids and bedders through the corridors.

Sourcery! Some of the bolder spirits had tried out ancient flying spells and were bobbing a little uncertainly among the rafters. Sourcery!

Only the Librarian didn’t share in the manic breakfast. He watched the antics for some time, pursing his prehensile lips, and then knuckled stiffly off towards his Library. If anyone had bothered to notice, they’d have heard him bolting the door.

It was deathly quiet in the Library. The books were no longer frantic. They’d passed through their fear and out into the calm waters of abject terror, and they crouched on their shelves like so many mesmerised rabbits.

A long hairy arm reached up and grabbed Casplock’s Compleet Lexicon of Majik with Precepts for the Wise before it could back away, soothed its terror with a longfingered hand, and opened it under ‘S’. The Librarian smoothed the trembling page gently and ran a horny nail down the entries until he came to:

Sourcerer, n. (mythical). A proto-wizard, a doorway through which new majik may enterr the world, a wizard not limited by the physical capabilities of hys own bodie, not by Destinie, nor by Deathe. It is written that there once werre sourcerers in the youth of the world but not may there by nowe and blessed be, for sourcery is not for menne and the return of sourcery would mean the Ende of the Worlde … If the Creator hadd meant menne to bee as goddes, he ould have given them wings. SEE ALSO: thee Apocralypse, the legende of thee Ice Giants, and thee Teatime of the Goddes.

The Librarian read the cross-references, turned back to the first entry, and stared at it through deep dark eyes for a long time. Then he put the book back carefully, crept under his desk, and pulled the blanket over his head.

But in the minstrel gallery over the Great Hall Carding and Spelter watched the scene with entirely different emotions.

Standing side by side they looked almost exactly like the number 10.

‘What is happening?’ said Spelter. He’d had a sleepless night, and wasn’t thinking very straight.

‘Magic is flowing into the University,’ said Carding. ‘That’s what sourcerer means. A channel for magic. Real magic, my boy. Not the tired old stuff we’ve made do with these past centuries. This is the dawning of a … a-’

‘New, um, dawn?’

‘Exactly. A time of miracles, a … a-’

‘Anus mirabilis?’

Carding frowned. ‘Yes,’ he said, eventually, ’something like that, I expect. You have quite a way with words, you know.’

‘Thank you, brother.’

The senior wizard appeared to ignore the familiarity. Instead he turned and leaned on the carved rail, watching the magical displays below them. His hands automatically went to his pockets for his tobacco pouch, and then paused. He grinned, and snapped his fingers. A lighted cigar appeared in his mouth.

‘Haven’t been able to do that in years,’ he mused. ‘Big changes, my boy. They haven’t realised it yet, but it’s the end of Orders and Levels. That was just a - rationing system. We don’t need them any more. Where is the boy?’

‘Still asleep-’ Spelter began.

‘I am here,’ said Coin.

He stood in the archway leading to the senior wizard’s quarters, holding the octiron staff that was half again as tall as he was. Little veins of yellow fire coruscated across its matt black surface, which was so dark that it looked like a slit in the world.

Spelter felt the golden eyes bore through him, as if his innermost thoughts were being scrolled across the back of his skull.

‘Ah,’ he said, in a voice that he believed was jolly and avuncular but in fact sounded like a strangled death rattle. After a start like that his contribution could only get worse, and it did. ‘I see you’re, um, up,’ he said.

‘My dear boy,’ said Carding.

Coin gave him a long, freezing stare.

‘I saw you last night,’ he said. ‘Are you puissant?’

‘Only mildly,’ said Carding, hurriedly recalling the boy’s tendency to treat wizardry as a terminal game of corkers. ‘But not so puissant as you, I’m sure.’

‘I am to be made Archchancellor, as is my destiny?’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ said Carding. ‘No doubt about it. May I have a look at your staff? Such an interesting design-’

He reached out a pudgy hand.

It was a shocking breach of etiquette in any case; no wizard should even think of touching another’s staff without his express permission. But there are people who can’t quite believe that children are fully human, and think that the operation of normal good manners doesn’t apply to them.

Carding’s fingers curled around the black staff.

There was a noise that Spelter felt rather than heard, and Carding bounced across the gallery and struck the opposite wall with a sound like a sack of lard hitting a pavement.

‘Don’t do that,’ said Coin. He turned and looked through Spelter, who had gone pale, and added: ‘Help him up. He is probably not badly hurt.’

The bursar scuttled hurriedly across the floor and bent over Carding, who was breathing heavily and had gone an odd colour. He patted the wizard’s hand until Carding opened one eye.

‘Did you see what happened?’ he whispered.

‘I’m not sure. Um. What did happen?’ hissed Spelter.

‘It bit me.’

‘The next time you touch the staff,’ said Coin, matteroffactly, ‘you will die. Do you understand?’

Carding raised his head gently, in case bits of it fell off.

‘Absolutely,’ he said.

‘And now I would like to see the University,’ the boy continued. ‘I have heard a great deal about it…’

Spelter helped Carding to his unsteady feet and supported him as they trotted obediently after the boy.

‘Don’t touch his staff,’ muttered Carding.

‘I’ll remember, um, not to,’ said Spelter firmly. ‘What did it feel like?’

‘Have you ever been bitten by a viper?’

‘No.’

‘In that case you’ll understand exactly what it felt like.’

‘Hmmm?’

‘It wasn’t like a snake bite at all.’

They hurried after the determined figure as Coin marched down the stairs and through the ravished doorway of the Great Hall.

Spelter dodged in front, anxious to make a good impression.

‘This is the Great Hall,’ he said. Coin turned his golden gaze towards him, and the wizard felt his mouth dry up. ‘It’s called that because it’s a hall, dyou see. And big.’

He swallowed. ‘It’s a big hall,’ he said, fighting to stop the last of his coherence being burned away by the searchlight of that stare. ‘A great big hall, which is why it’s called-’