tp.lightfantastic-第1章

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　Another　Disc　day　dawned；　but　very　gradually；　and　this　is　why。
　When　light　encounters　a　strong　magical　field　it　loses　ail　sense　of　urgency。　It　slows　right　down。　And　on　the　Discworld　the　magic　was　embarrassingly　strong；　which　meant　that　the　soft　yellow　light　of　dawn　flowed　over　the　sleeping　landscape　like　the　caress　of　a　gentle　lover　or；　as　some　would　have　it；　like　golden　syrup。　It　paused　to　fill　up　valleys。　It　piled　up　against　mountain　ranges。　When　it　reached　Cori　Celesti；　the　ten　mile　spire　of　grey　stone　and　green　ice　that　marked　the　hub　of　the　Disc　and　was　the　home　of　its　gods；　it　built　up　in　heaps　until　it　finally　crashed　in　great　lazy　tsunami　as　silent　as　velvet；　across　the　dark　landscape　beyond。
　It　was　a　sight　to　be　seen　on　no　other　world。
　Of　course；　no　other　world　was　carried　through　the　starry　infinity　on　the　backs　of　four　giant　elephants；　who　A'ere　themselves　perched　on　the　shell　of　a　giant　turtle。　His　name　…　or　Her　name；　according　to　another　school　of　thought　…　was　Great　A'Tuin；　he　…　or；　as　it　might　be；　she　…　will　not　take　a　central　role　in　what　follows　but　it　is　vital　to　an　understanding　of　the　Disc　that　he　…　or　she　…　is　there；　down　below　the　mines　and　sea　ooze　and　fake　fossil　bones　put　there　by　a　Creator　with　nothing　better　to　do　than　upset　archeologists　and　give　them　silly　ideas。
　Great　A'Tuin　the　star　turtle；　shell　frosted　with　frozen　methane；　pitted　with　meteor　craters；　and　scoured　with　asteroidal　dust。　Great　A'Tuin；　with　eyes　like　ancient　seas　and　a　brain　the　size　of　a　continent　through　which　thoughts　moved　like　little　glittering　glaciers。　Great　A'Tuin　of　the　great　slow　sad　flippers　and　star…polished　carapace；　labouring　through　the　galactic　night　under　the　weight　of　the　Disc。　As　large　as　worlds。　As　old　as　Time。　As　patient　as　a　brick。
　Actually；　the　philosophers　have　got　it　all　wrong。　Great　A'Tuin　is　in　fact　having　a　great　time。
　Great　A'Tuin　is　the　only　creature　in　the　entire　universe　that　knows　exactly　where　it　is　going。
　Of　course；　philosophers　have　debated　for　years　about　where　Great　A'Tuin　might　be　going；　and　have　often　said　how　worried　they　are　that　they　might　never　find　out。
　They're　due　to　find　out　in　about　two　months。　And　then　they're　really　going　to　worry　。　。　。
　Something　else　that　has　long　worried　the　more　imaginative　philosophers　on　the　Disc　is　the　question　of　Great　A'Tuin's　sex；　and　quite　a　lot　of　time　and　trouble　has　been　spent　in　trying　to　establish　it　once　and　for　all。
　In　fact；　as　the　great　dark　shape　drifts　past　like　an　endless　tortoiseshell　hairbrush；　the　results　of　the　latest　effort　are　just　ing　into　view。
　Tumbling　past；　totally　out　of　control；　is　the　bronze　shell　of　the　Potent　Voyager；　a　sort　of　neolithic　spaceship　built　and　pushed　over　the　edge　by　the　astronomer…priests　of　Krull；　which　is　conveniently　situated　on　the　very　rim　of　the　world　and　proves；　whatever　people　say；　that　there　is　such　a　thing　as　a　free　launch。
　Inside　the　ship　is　Twoflower；　the　Disc's　first　tourist。　He　had　recently　spent　some　months　exploring　it　and　is　now　rapidly　leaving　it　for　reasons　that　are　rather　plicated　but　have　to　do　with　an　attempt　to　escape　from　Krull。
　This　attempt　has　been　one　thousand　per　cent　successful。
　But　despite　all　the　evidence　that　he　may　be　the　Disc's　last　tourist　as　well；　he　is　enjoying　the　view。
　Plunging　along　some　two　miles　above　him　is　Rincewind　the　wizard；　in　what　on　the　Disc　passes　for　a　spacesuit。　Picture　it　as　a　diving　suit　designed　by　men　who　have　never　seen　the　sea。　Six　months　ago　he　was　a　perfectly　ordinary　failed　wizard。　Then　he　met　Twoflower；　was　employed　at　an　outrageous　salary　as　his　guide；　and　has　spent　most　of　the　intervening　time　being　shot　at；　terrorised；　chased　and　hanging　from　high　places　with　no　hope　of　salvation　or；　as　is　now　the　case；　dropping　from　high　places。
　He　isn't　looking　at　the　view　because　his　past　life　keeps　flashing　in　front　of　his　eyes　and　getting　in　the　way。　He　is　learning　why　it　is　that　when　you　put　on　a　spacesuit　it　is　vitally　important　not　to　forget　the　helmet。
　A　lot　more　could　be　included　now　to　explain　why　these　two　are　dropping　out　of　the　world；　and　why　Twoflower's　Luggage；　last　seen　desperately　trying　to　follow　him　on　hundreds　of　little　legs；　is　no　ordinary　suitcase；　but　such　questions　take　time　and　could　be　more　trouble　than　they　are　worth。　For　example；　it　is　said　that　someone　at　a　party　once　asked　the　famous　philosopher　Ly　Tin　Weedle　'Why　are　you　here？'　and　the　reply　took　three　years。
　What　is　far　more　important　is　an　event　happening　way　overhead；　far　above　A'Tuin；　the　elephants　and　the　rapidly…expiring　wizard。　The　very　fabric　of　time　and　space　is　about　to　be　put　through　the　wringer。
　

　The　air　was　greasy　with　the　distinctive　feel　of　magic；　and　acrid　with　the　smoke　of　candles　made　of　a　black　wax　whose　precise　origin　a　wise　man　wouldn't　inquire　about。
　There　was　something　very　strange　about　this　room　deep　in　the　cellars　of　Unseen　University；　the　Disc's　premier　college　of　magic。　For　one　thing　it　seemed　to　have　too　many　dimensions；　not　exactly　visible；　just　hovering　out　of　eyeshot。　The　walls　were　covered　with　occult　symbols；　and　most　of　the　floor　was　taken　up　by　the　Eightfold　Seal　of　Stasis；　generally　agreed　in　magical　circles　to　have　all　the　stopping　power　of　a　well…aimed　half　brick。
　The　only　furnishing　in　the　room　was　a　lectern　dark　wood；　carved　into　the　shape　of　a　bird　…　well；　to　be　frank；　into　the　shape　of　a　winged　thing　it　is　probably　best　not　to　examine　too　closely　…　and　on　the　lectern；　fastened　to　it　by　a　heavy　chain　covered　in　padlocks；　was　a　book。
　A　large；　but　not　particularly　impressive；　book。　Other　books　in　the　University's　libraries　had　covers　inlaid　with　rare　jewels　and　fascinating　wood；　or　bound　with　dragon　skin。　This　one　was　just　a　rather　tatty　leather。　It　looked　the　sort　of　book　described　in　library　catalogues　as　'slightly　foxed'；　although　it　would　be　more　honest　to　admit　that　it　looked　as　though　it　had　been　badgered；　wolved　and　possibly　beared　as　well。
　Metal　clasps　held　it　shut。　They　weren't　decorated；　they　were　just　very　heavy　…　like　the　chain；　which　didn't　so　much　attach　the　book　to　the　lectern　as　tether　it。
　They　looked　like　the　work　of　someone　who　had　a　pretty　definite　aim　in　mind；　and　who　had　spent　most　of　his　life　making　training　harness　for　elephants。
　The　air　thickened　and　swirled。　The　pages　of　the　book　began　to　crinkle　in　a　quite　horrible；　deliberate　way；　and　blue　light　spilled　out　from　between　them。　The　silence　of　the　room　crowded　in　like　a　fist；　slowly　being　clenched。
　Half　a　dozen　wizards　in　their　nightshirts　were　taking　turns　to　peer　in　through　the　little　grille　in　the　door。　No　wizard　could　sleep　with　this　sort　of　thing　going　on　…　the　build…up　of　raw　magic　was　rising　through　the　university　like　a　tide。
　'Right；'　said　a　voice。　What's　going　on？　And　why　wasn't　I　summoned？'
　Galder　Weatherwax；　Supreme　Grand　Conjuror　of　the　Order　of　the　Silver　Star；　Lord　Imperial　of　the　Sacred　Staff；　Eighth　Level　Ipsissimus　and　304th　Chancellor　of　Unseen　University；　wasn't　simply　an　impressive　sight　even　in　his　red　nightshirt　with　the　hand…embroidered　mystic　runes；　even　in　his　long　cap　with　the　bobble　on；　even　with　the　Wee　Willie　Winkie　candlestick　in　his　hand。　He　even　managed　to　very　nearly　pull　it　off　in　fluffy　pompom　slippers　as　well。
　Six　frightened　faces　turned　towards　him。
　'Um；　you　were　summoned；　lord；'　said　one　of　the　under…wizards。
　'That's　why　you're　here；'　he　added　helpfully。
　'I　mean　why　wasn't　I　summoned　before？'　snapped　Galder；　pushing　his　way　to　the　grille。
　'Um；　before　who；　lord？'　said　the　wizard。
　Galder　glared　at　him；　and　ventured　a　quick　glance　through　the　grille。
　The　air　in　the　room　was　now　sparkling　with　tiny　flashes　as　dust　motes　incinerated　in　the　flow　of　raw　magic。　The　Seal　of　Stasis　was　beginning　to　blister　and　curl　up　at　the　edges。
　The　book　in　question　was　called　the　Octavo　and；　quite　obviously；　it　was　no　ordinary　book。
　There　are　of　course　many　famous　books　of　magic。　Some　may　talk　of　the　Necrotelinicon；　with　its　pages　made　of　ancient　lizard　skin；　some　may　point　to　the　Book　of　Going　Forth　Around　Elevenish；　written　by　a　mysterious　and　rather　lazy　Llamaic　sect；　some　may　recall　that　the　Bumper　Fun　Grimoire　reputedly　contains　the　one　original　joke　left　in　the　universe。　But　they　are　all　mere　pamphlets　when　pared　with　the　Octavo；　which　the　Creator　of　the　Universe　reputedly　left　behind　…　with　characteristic　absent…mindedness　…　shortly　after　pleting　his　major　work。
　The　eight　spells　imprisoned　in　its　pages　led　a　secret　and　plex　life　of　their　own；　and　it　was　generally　believed　that　…
　Galder's　brow　furrowed　as　he　stared　into　the　troubled　room。　Of　course；　there　were　only　seven　spells　now。　Some　young　idiot　of　a　student　wizard　had　stolen　a　look　at　the　book　one　day　and　one　of　the　spells　had　escaped　and　lodged　in　his　mind。　No…one　had　ever　managed　to　get　to　the　bottom　of　how　it　had　happened。　What　was　his　name；　now？　Winswand？
　Octarine　and　purple　sparks　glittered　on　the　spine　of　the　book。　A　thin　curl　of　smoke　was　beginning　to　rise　from　the　lectern；　and　the　heavy　metal　clasps　that　held　the　book　shut　were　definitely　beginning　to　look　strained。
　'Why　are　the　spells　so　restless？'　said　one　of　the　younger　wizards。
　Galder　shrugged。　He　couldn't　show　it；　of　course；　but　he　was　beginning　to　be　really　worried。　As　a　skilled　eighth…level　wizard　he　could　see　the　half…imaginary　shapes　that　appeared　momentarily　in　the　vibrating　air；　wheedling　arid　beckoning。　In　much　the　same　way　that　gnats　appear　before　a　thunderstorm；　really　heavy　build…ups　of　magic　always　attracted　things　from　the　chaotic　Dungeon　Dimensions　…　nasty　Things；　all　misplaced　organs　and　spittle；　forever　searching　for　any　gap　through　which　they　might　sidle　into　the　world　of　men。　＇1＇
　This　had　to　be　stopped。
　'I　shall　need　a　volunteer；'　he　said　firmly。
　There　was　a　sudden　silence。　The　only　sound　came　from　behind　the　door。　It　was　the　nasty　little　noise　of　metal　parting　under　stress。
　'Very　well；　then；'　he　said。　'In　that　case　I　shall　need　some　silver　tweezers；　about　two　pints　of　cat's　blood；　a　small　whip　and　a　chair　…'
　It　is　said　that　the　opposite　of　noise　is　silence。　This　isn't　true。　Silence　is　only　the　absence　of　noise。　Silence　would　have　been　a　terrible　din　pared　to　the　sudden　soft　implosion　of　noiselessness　that　hit　the　wizards　with　the　force　of　an　exploding　dandelion　clock。
　A　thick　column　of　spitting　light　sprang　up　from　the　book；　hit　the　ceiling　in　a　splash　of　flame；　and　disappeared。
　Galder　stared　up　at　the　hole；　ignoring　the　smouldering　patches　in　his　beard。　He　pointed　dramatically。
　To　the　upper　cellars！'　he　cried；　and　bounded　up　the　stone　stairs。　Slippers　flapping　and　nightshirts　billowing　he　other　wizards　followed　him；　falling　over　one　another　in　their　eagerness　to　be　last。
　Nevertheless；　they　were　all　in　time　to　see　the　fireball　of　occult　potentiality　disappear　into　the　ceiling　of　the　room　above。
　'Urgh；'　said　the　youngest　wizard；　and　pointed　to　the　floor。
　The　room　had　been　part　of　the　library　until　the　magic　had　drifted　through；　violently　reassembling　the　possibility　particles　of　everything　in　its　path。　So　it　was　reasonable　to　assume　that　the　small　purple　newts　had　been　part　of　the　floor　and　the　pineapple　custard　may　once　have　been　some　books。　And　several　of　the　wizards　later　swo