The Light Fantastic - Terry Pratchett [41]
Magic! So that’s what it felt like! No wonder wizards didn’t have much truck with sex!
Rincewind knew what orgasms were, of course, he’d had a few in his time, sometimes even in company, but nothing in his experience even approximated to that tight, hot moment when every nerve in his body streamed with blue-white fire and raw magic had blazed forth from his fingers. It filled you and lifted you and you surfed down the rising, curling wave of elemental force. No wonder wizards fought for power…
And so on. The Spell in his head had been doing it, though, not Rincewind. He was really beginning to hate that Spell. He was sure that if it hadn’t frightened away all the other spells he’d tried to learn he could have been a decent wizard in his own right.
Somewhere in Rincewind’s battered soul the worm of rebellion flashed a fang.
Right, he thought. You’re going back into the Octavo, first chance I get.
He sat up.
“Where the hell is this?” he said, grabbing his head to stop it exploding.
“A shop,” said Twoflower mournfully.
“I hope it sells knives because I think I’d like to cut my head off,” said Rincewind. Something about the expression of the two opposite him sobered him up.
“That was a joke,” he said. “Mainly a joke, anyway. Why are we in this shop?”
“We can’t get out,” said Bethan.
“The door’s disappeared,” added Twoflower helpfully.
Rincewind stood up, a little shakily.
“Oh,” he said. “One of those shops?”
“All right,” said the shopkeeper testily. “It’s magical, yes, it moves around, yes, no, I’m not telling you why—”
“Can I have a drink of water, please?” said Rincewind.
The shopkeeper looked affronted.
“First no money, then they want a glass of water,” he snapped. “That’s just about—”
Bethan snorted and strode across to the little man, who tried to back away. He was too late.
She picked him up by his apron straps and glared at him eye to eye. Torn though her dress was, disarrayed though her hair was, she became for a moment the symbol of every woman who has caught a man with his thumb on the scales of life.
“Time is money,” she hissed. “I’ll give you thirty seconds to get him a glass of water. I think that’s a bargain, don’t you?”
“I say,” Twoflower whispered. “She’s a real terror when she’s roused, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” said Rincewind, without enthusiasm.
“All right, all right,” said the shopkeeper, visibly cowed.
“And then you can let us out,” Bethan added.
“That’s fine by me, I wasn’t open for business anyway, I just stopped for a few seconds to get my bearings and you barged in!”
He grumbled off through the bead curtains and returned with a cup of water.
“I washed it out special,” he said, avoiding Bethan’s gaze.
Rincewind looked at the liquid in the cup. It had probably been clean before it was poured in, now drinking it would be genocide for thousands of innocent germs.
He put it down carefully.
“Now I’m going to have a good wash!” stated Bethan, and stalked off through the curtain.
The shopkeeper waved a hand vaguely and looked appealingly at Rincewind and Twoflower.
“She’s not bad,” said Twoflower. “She’s going to marry a friend of ours.”
“Does he know?”
“Things not so good in the starshop business?” said Rincewind, as sympathetically as he could manage.
The little man shuddered. “You wouldn’t believe it,” he said. “I mean, you learn not to expect much, you make a sale here and there, it’s a living, you know what I mean? But these people you’ve got these days, the ones with these star things painted on their faces, well, I hardly have time to open the store and they’re threatening to burn it down. Too magical, they say. So I say, of course magical, what else?”
“Are there a lot of them about, then?” said Rincewind.
“All over the Disc, friend. Don’t ask me why.”
“They believe a star is going to crash into the Disc,” said Rincewind.
“Is it?”
“Lots of people think so.”
“That’s a shame. I’ve done good business here. Too magical, they say! What’s wrong with magic,