Free The Wit And Wisdom Of Discworld by Stephen Briggs Terry Pratchett Page A

sinners, but a sort of mass-produced darkness of the soul. Sin, you might say, without a trace of originality. They accept evil not because they say yes, but because they don’t say no. I’m sorry if this offends you,’ he added, patting the captain’s shoulder, ‘but you fellows really need us. We’re the only ones who know how to make things work.You see, the only thing the good people are good at is overthrowing the bad people. And you’re good at that, I’ll grant you. But the trouble is that it’s the only thing you’re good at. One day it’s the ringing of the bells and the casting down of the evil tyrant, and the next it’s everyone sitting around complaining that ever since the tyrant was overthrown no one’s been taking out the trash. Because the bad people know how to plan. It’s part of the specification, you might say. Every evil tyrant has a plan to rule the world. The good people don’t seem to have the knack.’
    † And mime artists. It was a strange aversion, but there you are. Anyone in baggy trousers and a white face who tried to ply their art anywhere within Ankh’s crumbling walls would very quickly find themselves in a scorpion pit, on one wall of which was painted the advice: Learn The Words.

 
    E RIC Discworld’s only demonology backer. Pity he’s not very good at it. All he wants is his three wishes granted. Nothing fancy – to be immortal, rule the world, have the most beautiful woman in the world fall madly in love with him, the usual stuff.
    But instead of a tractable demon, he calls tip Rincewind, probably the most incompetent wizard in the Universe, and the extremely in tractable and hostile form of travel accessory known as the Luggage.
    With them on his side, Eric’s in for a ride through space and time that is bound to make him wish (quite fervently) again – this time that he’d never been born.

    Like all beekeepers, Death wore a veil.

    It wasn’t that he had anything to sting, but sometimes a bee would get inside his skull and buzz around and give him a headache.
    No enemies had ever taken Ankh-Morpork. Well, technically they had, quite often; the city welcomed free-spending barbarian invaders, but somehow the puzzled raiders always found, after a few days, that they didn’t own their own horses any more, and within a couple of months they were just another minority group with its own graffiti and food shops.
    *
    ‘All right. I give in. We will try the Rite of AshkEnte.’
    The Rite of AshkEnte is the most serious ritual eight wizards can undertake. It summons Death …
    It took place in the mid-night in the University’s Great Hall, in a welter of incense, candlesticks, runic inscriptions and magic circles, none of which was strictly necessary but which made the wizards feel better. Magic flared, the chants were chanted, the invocations were truly invoked.
    The wizards stared into the magic octogram, which remained empty. After a while the circle of robed figures began to mutter amongst themselves.
    ‘We must have done something wrong.’
    ‘Oook.’
    ‘Maybe He is out.’
    ‘Or busy …’
    ‘Do you think we could give up and go back to bed?’
    W HO ARE WE WAITING FOR, EXACTLY ?
    *
    Rincewind wanted to say: Look, what you should do is stop all this messing around with chemicals in dark rooms and have a shave, a haircut, a bath, make that two baths, buy yourself a new wardrobe and get out of an evening and then - but he’d have to be honest, because even washed, shaved and soaked in body splash Thursley wasn’t going to win any prizes - and then you could have your face slapped by any woman of your choice.
    I mean, it wouldn’t be much, but it would be body contact.
    *
    If there is one thing a wizard would trade his grandmother for, it is power. But .. . any wizard bright enough to survive for five minutes was also bright enough to realize that if there was any power in demonology then it lay with the demons. Using it for your own purposes would be like