Thomas Kinkade CHRISTMAS AT THE AHWAHNEE

Victor glanced up. Several of the blocks were dipping ominously.
‘You’re right,’ he said. He grabbed the arm of the protesting Ginger and hustled her along the passage. The trolls gathered up the fallen compatriot who did not know how to behave in polite company and plodded after them.
‘That was disgusting, giving them the impression that‑‘ Ginger hissed.
‘Shut ‘Come on, let’s get back to town. Afterwards I might just have time to have a couple of hours’ sleep.’
‘What do you mean, afterwards?’
‘We’re going to have to buy these lads a big drink‑‘
There was a low rumble from the hill. A cloud of dust billowed out of the doorway and covered the trolls. The rest of the roof had gone.up!’ snapped Victor. ‘What did you want me to say, hmm? I mean, what sort of explanation do you think would fit? What would you like people to know?’She hesitated.‘Well, all right,’ she conceded. ‘But you could have thought of something else. You could have said we were exploring, or looking for, for fossils‑‘ her voice trailed off.‘Yes, in the middle of the night with you in a silk neggleliggle,’ said Victor. ‘What is a neggleliggle, anyway?’‘He meant negligee,’ said Ginger.

Jean Beraud Pont des arts

symbolic landmark.’
‘It certainly is,’ said Soll. ‘Very important. So important, in fact, that I sent some lads up it at lunchtime just to make sure it was all OK.’
‘You did?’ said Dibbler, guiltily.
‘Yes. And do you know what they found? They found someone had nailed some fireworks to the outside. Lots and lotsgot a laugh, anyway,’ he said.
‘Look, Uncle, this can’t go on,’ said Soll. ‘No more of this commercial messing about, right?’
‘Oh, all right.’
‘Sure?’
Dibbler nodded. ‘I’ve said all right, haven’t I?’
‘I want a bit more than that, Uncle.’ of fireworks, on fuses. It’s a good thing they found them because if the things had gone off it would have ruined the shot and we’d never be able to do it again. And, do you know, they said it looked as though the fireworks would spell out words?’ Soll added.‘What words?’‘Never crossed my mind to ask them,’ said Soll. ‘Never crossed my mind.’He stuck his hands in his pockets and began to whistle under his breath. After a while he glanced sidelong at his uncle.‘ "Hottest ribs in town",’ he muttered. ‘Really!’Dibbler looked sulky. ‘It would have

Vincent van Gogh View of Arles with Irises

know what the greatest tragedy is in the whole world?’ said Ginger, not paying him the least attention. ‘It’s all the peoplewent on. ‘It’s a chance for all of us. The people who aren’t wizards and kings and heroes. Holy Wood’s like a big bubbling stew but this time different ingredients float to the top. Suddenly there’s all these new things for people to do. Do you know the who never find out what it is they really want to do or what it is they’re really good at. It’s all the sons who become blacksmiths because their fathers were blacksmiths. It’s all the people who could be really fantastic flute players who grow old and die without ever seeing a musical instrument, so they become bad ploughmen instead. It’s all the people with talents who never even find out. Maybe they are never even born in a time when it’s even possible to find out.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s all the people who never get to know what it is they can really be. It’s all the wasted chances. Well, Holy Wood is my chance, do you understand? This is my time for getting!’ Victor nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. Magic for ordinary people, Silverfish had called it. A man turned a handle, and your life got changed. ‘And not just for me,’ Ginger

Raphael Madonna and Child with Book

That’s right!’ said Dibbler. He beamed at Victor.
‘And a man who could sell Mr Dibbler’s sausages twice could sell anything,’ said Victor.

The next morning was bright and clear, like all Holy Wood days, and they made a start on The Interestinge and Curious in a canvas chair, ‘what you do is, you fight the trolls, rush up and untie the girl from the stake, fight the other trolls, and then run off behind that other rock over there. That’s the way I see it. What do you say, Tommy?’
‘Well, I–’ Silverfish began.
‘That’s great,’ said Dibbler. ‘OK. Yes, Victor?’
‘You mentioned trolls. What trolls?’ said Victor.
The two rocks unfolded themselves. Adventures of Cohen the Barbarian. Dibbler had worked on it all evening, he said. The title, however, was Silverfish’s. Although Dibbler had assured him that Cohen the Barbarian was practically historical and certainly educational, Silverfish had held out against Valley of Blud! Victor was handed what looked like a leather purse but which turned out to be his costume. He changed behind a couple of rocks. He was also given a large, blunt sword. ‘Now,’ said Dibbler, who was sitting

Sung Kim Point

was then that he noticed a figure standing by the water’s edge, looking out to sea. It was leaning on a scythe. The wind whipped at its black robes.
He started to hobble towards it, remembered he was dead, and began to stride. He hadn’t stridden for decades, but it was amazing how it all came back to you.
Before he be invested by the High Priestess,’ he said. ‘And there ain’t been a High Priestess for thousands o’ years. See, I just learned it all from old Tento, who lived here before me. He jus’ said to me one day, "Deccan, it looks as though I’m dyin’, so it’s up to you now, ‘cos if there’s no-one left that remembers properly it’ll all start happening again and you know what that means." Well, fair enough. But that’s not what you’d call a proper investmenting, I’d say.’ was halfway to the dark figure, it spoke to him. DECCAN RIBOBE, it said. ‘That’s me.’ LAST KEEPER OF THE DOOR. ‘Well, I suppose so.’ Death hesitated. YOU ARE OR YOU AREN’T, he said. Deccan scratched his nose. Of course, he thought, you have to be able to touch yourself. Otherwise you’d fall to bits. ‘Technic’ly, a Keeper has to

Salvador Dali Leda Atomica

Dios stared up at the creatures jostling one another as they waded the river. There were too many teeth, too many lolling tongues. The bits of them that were human were sloughing away. A lion-headed god of justice - Put, Dios intended.
Chefet, Chefet, thought Dios. Maker of rings, weaver of metal. Now he's out of our heads, and see how his nails grow into claws . . .
This is not how I imagined him.
'Stop,' he instructed. 'I order you to stop! You will obey me. I made you!'
They also lack gratitude.recalled the name - was using its scales as a flail to beat one of the river gods. Chefet, the Dog-Headed God of metalwork, was growling and attacking his fellows at random with his hammer; this was Chefet, Dios thought, the god that he had created to be an example to men in the art of wire and filigree and small beauty. Yet it had worked. He'd taken a desert rabble and shown them all he could remember of the arts of civilisation and the secrets of the pyramids. He'd needed gods then. The trouble with gods is that after enough people start believing in them, they begin to exist. And what begins to exist isn't what was originally

Dante Gabriel Rossetti Venus Verticordia

The sun rose and, because this wasn't the Old Kingdom out here, it was a mere ball of flaming gas. The purple night of the high desert evaporated under its blowlamp glare. Lizards scuffled into cracks in the rocks. You Bastard struck like a hammer, but he strode out over the rocks as though three hundred square miles could perhaps have been hiding under a pebble or behind a bush.
The fact was that the track dipped between the cliffs, but almost immediately rose again and continued across the dunes into what was quite clearly Tsort. He'd recognised a wind-eroded sphinx that had been set up as a boundary marker; legend said it prowled the borders in times of dire national need, although legend wasn't sure why.settled himself down in the sparse shadow of what was left of the syphacia bushes, peered haughtily at the landscape, and began to chew cud and calculate square roots in base seven. Teppic and Ptraci eventually found the shade of a limestone overhang, and sat glumly staring out at the waves of heat wobbling off the rocks. 'I don't understand,' said Ptraci. 'Have you looked everywhere?' 'It's a country! It can't just bloody well fall through a hole in the ground!' 'Where is it, then?' said Ptraci evenly. Teppic growled. The heat

Ford Madox Brown Romeo and Juliet

the biggest existing pyramid look like something a child might construct in a sand tray. It was going to be surrounded by marble gardens and granite obelisks. It was going to be the greatest memorial ever built by a son for his father.
The king gave his father a brief nod.
Ptaclusp hurried back to the king, who was standing with his retinue on the cliff overlooking the quarry, the sun gleaming off the mask. A royal visit, on top of everything else
'We're ready, if it please you, O arc of the sky,' he said, breaking into a sweat, hoping against hope that Oh gods. The king was going to Put Him at his Ease again.groaned. Ptaclusp groaned. It had been better in his father's day. You just needed a bloody great heap of log rollers and twenty years, which was useful because it kept everyone out of trouble during Inundation, when all the fields were flooded. Now you just needed a bright lad with a piece of chalk and the right incantations. Mind you, it was impressive, if you liked that kind of thing. Ptaclusp IIb walked around the great stone block, tidying an equation here, highlighting a hermetic inscription there. He glanced up and

Jack Vettriano There's Always Someone Watching You

Teppic examined himself critically. The outfit had cost him his last penny, and was heavy on the black silk. It whispered as he moved. It was pretty good.
At least the headache was going. It had nearly crippled him all day; he'd been in dread of having to start the run with purple spots in front of his eyes.
He sighed he opened his sock drawer and took a pistol crossbow, a flask of oil, a roll of lockpicks and, after some consideration, a punch dagger, a bag of assorted caltraps and a set of brass knuckles.
Teppic picked up his hat and checked its lining for the coil of cheesewire. He placed it on his head at a jaunty angle, took a last satisfied look at himself in the mirror, turned on his heel and, very slowly, fell over.and opened the black box and took out his rings and slipped them on. Another box held a set of knives of Klatchian steel, their blades darkened with lamp black. Various cunning and intricate devices were taken from velvet bags and dropped into pockets. A couple of long-bladed throwing tlingo's were slipped into their sheaths inside his boots. A thin silk line and folding grapnel were wound around his waist, over the chain-mail shirt. A blowpipe was attached to its leather thong and dropped down his back under his cloak; Teppic pocketed a slim tin container with an assortment of darts, their tips corked and their stems braille-coded for ease of selection in the dark. He winced, checked the blade of his rapier and slung the baldric over his right shoulder, to balance the bag of lead slingshot ammunition. As an afterthought

Vincent van Gogh Vase with Twelve Sunflowers

alderman looked distractedly at the rest of the benches, which were filling up fast, and then down at the clearly empty space in front of him. He hitched up his robes with a determined expression.
'I think the fellow in the tights?'
'He's the Prologue,' said Nanny. 'You have to have him at the beginning so everyone knows what the play's about.'
'Can't understand a word of it,' muttered Granny. 'What's a gentle, anyway?'
'Type of maggot,' said Nanny.
'That's nice, isn't it? "Hallo maggots, welcome to the show." Puts people in a nice frame of mind, doesn't that since the play is commencing to start, your friends must find a seat elsewhere, when they arrive,' he said, and sat down.Within seconds his face went white. His teeth began to chatter. He clutched at his stomach'I told you,' said Nanny, as he lurched away. 'What's the good of asking if you're not going to listen?' She leaned towards the empty seat. 'Walnut?''No, thank you,' said King Verence, waving a spectral hand. 'They go right through me, you know.''Pray, gentles all, list to our tale . . .''What's this?' hissed Granny. 'Who's

Edward Hopper First Row Orchestra

In fact calling for silence was a sufficiently rare event in the middle of a tavern brawl that silence was what Tomjon got. And silence was what he filled.
Hwel started as he heard the boy's voice ring out, full of confidence and absolutely first-class projection.
'Brothers! he'd written those words. He'd slaved half a night over them, years ago, when Vitoller had declared that they needed another five minutes in Act III of The King of Ankh.
'Scribble us something with a bit of spirit in it,' he'd said. 'A bit of zip and sizzle, y'know. Something to summon up the blood and put a bit of backbone in our friends in the ha'penny seats. And just long enough to give us time to change the set.'
He'd been a bit ashamed of that play at the time. The famous Battle of MorporkAnd yet may I call all men brother, for on this night—'The dwarf craned up to see Tomjon standing on a chair, one hand raised in the prescribed declamatory fashion. Around him men were frozen in the act of giving one another a right seeing-to, their faces turned to his.Down at tabletop height Hwel's lips moved in perfect synchronisation with the words as Tomjon went through the familiar speech. He risked another look.The fighters straightened up, pulled themselves together, adjusted the hang of their tunics, glanced apologetically at one another. Many of them were in fact standing to attention.Even Hwel felt a fizz in his blood, and

Tamara de Lempicka Saint Moritz

the king expectantly.
'There's plenty of mice and things in here, d'you see,' said Verence. 'And the rain blows in through the broken window. Plus there's all these tapestries to sleep on.'
'Sorry,' the ectoplasm had left him in better shape than he had ever been, apart from being dead.
Then he'd started out small, with dust motes. The first onepersevered and progressed to sand grains, then whole dried peas; he still didn't dare venture into the kitchens, but he had amused himself by oversalting Felmet's food a pinch at a time until he pulled himself together and told himself that poisoning wasn't honourable, even against vermin.
Now he leaned all his weight on the door, and with every microgramme of his being forced himself to become as king added, and turned to the door.This was what he had been working on all these months. When he was alive he had always taken a lot of care of his body, and since being dead he had taken care to preserve its shape. It was too easy to let yourself go and become all fuzzy around the edges; there were ghosts in the castle who were mere pale blobs. But Verence had wielded iron self-control and exercised – well, had thought hard about exercise – and fairly bulged with spectral muscles. Months of pumping

Paul Cezanne Apples Peaches Pears and Grapes

'What's going on now?' she said. 'Why're all them kings and people up there?'
'It's a banquet, see,' said Nanny Ogg authoritatively. 'Because of the dead king, him in the boots, as was, only now if you look, you'll see he's pretending to be a soldier, and everyone's making speeches about how good he was and a good play on the whole, they decided, although not very easy to follow. But it had been a jolly good laugh when all the kings had run off, and the woman in black had jumped up and did all the shouting. That alone had been well worth the ha'penny admission.
The three witches sat alone on the edge of the stage.
'I wonder how they get all them kings and lords to come here and do this?' said wondering who killed him.''Are they?' said Granny, grimly. She cast her eyes along the cast, looking for the murderer.She was making up her mind.Then she stood up.Her black shawl billowed around her like the wings of an avenging angel, come to rid the world of all that was foolishness and pretence and artifice and sham. She seemed somehow a lot bigger than normal. She pointed an angry finger at the guilty party.'He done it!' she shouted triumphantly. 'We all seed 'im! He done it with a dagger!' The audience filed out, contented. It had been

Vincent van Gogh Wheatfield with a Lark

gingerly so as not to bring the whole edifice down.
'Say that again?' she said quietly.
'I said I what colour your eyes were,' she said, 'because —'
'If you two have quite had enough of each other!' bellowed Albert above the roar of the sand. 'This way!'
'Brown,' said Mort to Ysabell. 'They're brown. Why?'
'Hurry up!'
'You'd better go and help him,' said Ysabell. 'He seems to be getting quite upset.'
Mort left her, his mind a sudden swamp of uneasiness, and stalked across the tiled know. There's nothing I can do about it. Haven't you been in here before?''No.' She had withdrawn slightly, and was staring at his eyes.'It's no worse than the library,' said Mort, and almost believed it. But in the library you only read about it; in here you could see it happening.'Why are you looking at me like that?' he added.'I was just trying to remember

Vincent van Gogh Orchard in Blossom

They heard the sound of hooves outside, and Albert pushed the door open and came in rubbing his hands.
'Right, lad, no time to —'
Mort 'Not with me.'
There was an agreement! Where would we be if we could not honour an agreement?'
'I don't know where I would be,' said Mort softly.
BUT I KNOW WHERE YOU WOULD GO. That's not fair!' Now it was a whine. THERE'S swung the sword at arm's length. It scythed through the air with a noise like ripping silk and buried itself in the doorpost by Albert's ear.ON YOUR KNEES, ALBERTO MALICH.Albert's mouth dropped open. His eyes rolled sideways to the shimmering blade a few inches from his head, and then narrowed to tight little lines.'You surely wouldn't dare, boy,' he said.MORT. The syllable snapped out as fast as a whiplash and twice as vicious.There was a pact,' said Albert, but there was the barest gnat-song of doubt in his voice. There was an agreement.'

Edward Hopper House by the Railroad

Mort caught his bridle, patted him on the nose, and fumbled in his pocket for a rather grubby sugar lump. He was aware that he was in the presence of something important, but he wasn't yet quite sure what it was.
There was a road running between an avenue of damp and gloomy willow trees. Mort remounted and steered Binky across the field into the dripping darkness under the branches.
In the distancewhat passed for a good time if you were a peasant who spent most of your time closely concerned with cabbages. Compared to brassicas, practically anything is fun.
There were human beings in there, doing uncomplicated human things like getting drunk and forgetting the words of songs.
Mort had never reallypossibly because his mind he could see the lights of Sto Helit, which really wasn't much more than a small town, and a faint glow on the edge of sight must be Sto Lat. He looked at it longingly.The barrier worried him. He could see it creeping across the field behind the trees.Mort was on the point of urging Binky back into the air when he saw the light immediately ahead of him, warm and beckoning. It was spilling from the windows of a large building set back from the road. It was probably a cheerful sort of light in any case, but in these surroundings and compared with Mort's .As he rode nearer he saw shadows moving against it, and made out a few snatches of song. It was an inn, and inside there were people having a good time, or

Brent Heighton After the Rain

Lat coat of arms, was complete. She looked back at Mort.
'Never mind thirdly,' she said, 'let's get back to secondly.'
An hour later dawn reached the city. Daylight on the Disc flows rather than rushes, because light is slowed right down by the world's standing magical field, and it rolled across the flat lands like a golden sea. The city on the mound Mort looked at her in horror.
'Did you want to die?'
'Of course I didn't. But it looks as though what people stood out like a sandcastle in the tide for a moment, until the day swirled around it and crept onwards.Mort and Keli sat side by side on her bed. The hourglass lay between them. There was no sand left in the top bulb.From outside came the sounds of the castle waking up.'I still don't understand this,' she said. 'Does it mean I'm dead, or doesn't it?''It means you ought to be dead,' he said, 'according to fate or whatever. I haven't really studied the theory,''And you should have killed me?''No! I mean, no, the assassin should have killed you. I did try to explain all that,' said Mort.'Why didn't you let him?'

Lord Frederick Leighton Leighton Flaming June

the stables where Death had lodged his horse. He tried an experimental swagger; he felt his new suit and haircut rather demanded it. It didn't quite work.

Mort awoke.
He lay looking at the ceiling while his memory did a fast-rewind and the events of the previous day crystallised in his mind like little ice cubes.
He couldn't and crackled electrically as he padded through it. And everything had been designed in shades of purple and black.
He looked down at his own body, which was wearing a long white nightshirt. His clothes have met Death. He couldn't have eaten a meal with a skeleton with glowing blue eyes. It had to be a weird dream. He couldn't have ridden pillion on a great white horse that had cantered up into the sky and then went . . .. . . where?The answer flowed into his mind with all the inevitability of a tax demand.Here.His searching hands reached up to his cropped hair, and down to sheets of some smooth slippery material. It was much finer than the wool he was used to at and dry, dry as old tombs under ancient deserts. The air tasted as though it had been cooked for hours and then allowed to cool. The carpet under his feet was deep enough to hide a tribe of pygmies

Piet Mondrian Composition with Red Yellow and Blue

see you hiring a new servant - you do hire the servants here, don't you? Right - and this one is a young girl, very economical, very good worker, can turn her hand to anything."
"What about her, then?" said Mrs Whitlow, already savouring Granny's surprisingly graphic descriptions of her future and drunk with curiosity.
"The spirits are a little unclear on this point," said Granny, "But it is very important that you hire her."
"No going to arrive?"
"Oh, soon, soon - that's what the spirits say."
A faint suspicion clouded the housekeeper's face. "This isn't the sort of thing spirits normally say. Where do they say that, exactly?"
"Here," said Granny. "Look, the little cluster of tea-leaves between the sugproblem there," said Mrs Whitlow, "can't keep servants here, you know, not for long. It's all the magic. It leaks down here, you know. Especially from the library, where they keep all them magical books. Two of the top floor maids walked out yesterday, actually, they said they were fed up going to bed not knowing what shape they would wake up in the morning. The senior wizards turn them back, you know. But it's not the same." "Yes, well, the spirits say this young lady won't be any trouble as far as that is concerned," said Granny grimly. "If she can sweep and scrub she's welcome, Aye'm sure," said Mrs Whitlow, looking puzzled. "She even brings her own broom. According to the spirits, that is." "How very helpful. When is this young lady ar

Caravaggio The Musicians

Granny let the both of them drift with the crowd. The stalls were puzzling her as well. She peered among them, although never for one minute relaxing her vigilance against pickpockets, earthquakes and traffickers in the erotic, until she spied something vaguely familiar.
There was a small covered stall, black draped and musty, that had been wedged into a narrow space between two houses. Inconspicuous though it was, it nevertheless seemed to be doing a very busy trade. Its customers were mainly women, of all ages, although she did notice a few men. They all had one thing in common, though. didn't know was there should be quite so popular.
"What's in there?" said Esk. "What's everyone buying?"

"There must be a lot of very sick people in towns," said Esk gravely.
Inside, the stall was a mass of velvet shadows and the herbal scent was thick enough to bottle. Granny poked a few bundles of dry leaves with an expert finger. Esk pulled away from her and tried to read the scrawled labels on the bottles in front of her. She was expert at most of Granny's preparations, but she didn't recognise anything here. The No one approached it directly. They all sort of strolled almost past it, then suddenly ducked under its shady canopy. A moment later and they would be back again, hand just darting away from bag or pocket, competing for the world's Most Nonchalant Walk title so effectively that a watcher might actually doubt what he or she had just seen. It was quite amazing that a stall so many people

Jean Beraud La Rue de la Paix

was nearly noon when Twoflower awoke. He couldn't remember why he was in a hayloft, or why he was wearing someone else's coat, but he did wake up with one idea right in the forefront of his mind.
He decided it was vitally important to tell Rincewind about it.
He fell out of the hay and landed on the Luggage.
'Oh, you're here, are you?' he said. 'I hope you're ashamed of yourself.'
The . Everything seemed fresh and new, even the smells, but there didn't seem to be many people up yet. It had been a long night.
He found Rincewind at the foot of the Tower of Art, upervising a team of workmen who had rigged up a gantry of sorts on the roof and were lowering the stone wizards to the ground. He seemed to be assisted by a monkey, but Twoflower was in no mood to be surprised at anything.Luggage looked bewildered.'Anyway, I want to comb my hair. Open up,' said Twoflower.The Luggage obligingly flipped its lid. Twoflower rooted around among the bags and boxes inside until he found a comb and mirror and repaired some of the damage of the night. Then he looked hard at the Luggage.'I suppose you wouldn't like to tell me what you've done with the Octavo?'The Luggage's expression could only be described as wooden.'All right. Come on, then.'Twoflower stepped out into the sunlight, which was slightly too bright for his current tastes, and wandered aimlessly along the street

Leroy Neiman Jour du Soleil

no,' said Twoflower, always anxious to enlighten. 'Where you hang your hat is a hatstand. A Hoe is —'
'I'll just go and see about setting you on your way,' said the shopkeeper hurriedly, as Bethan came in. He scooted past her.
Here is the blackness of space, the myriad stars gleaming like diamond dust or, as some people would say, like great balls of exploding hydrogen a very long way off. But then, some people would Twoflower followed him.On the other side of the curtain was a room with a small bed, a rather grubby stove, and a three-legged table. Then the shopkeeper did something to the table, here was a noise like a cork coming reluctantly out of a bottle, and the room contained a wall-to-wall universe.'Don't be frightened,' said the shopkeeper, as stars streamed past.'I'm not frightened,' said Twoflower, his eyes sparkling.'Oh,' said the shopkeeper, slightly annoyed. 'Anyway, it's just imagery generated by the shop, it's not real.''And you can go anywhere?''Oh no,' said the shopkeeper, deeply shocked. 'There's all kinds of fail-safes built in, after all, there'd be no point in going somewhere with insufficient per capita disposable income. And there's got to be a suitable wall, of course. Ah, here we are, this is your universe. Very bijou, I always think. A sort of universette . . .'

Albert Bierstadt the oregon trail

sheer horror of this so appalled him he hardly felt his feet touch the ground. Some ground, anyway; he decided that it almost certainly wasn't the ground, which as far as he could remember wasn't black and didn't swirl in such a disconcerting way.
He took a look around.
Sheer sharp mountains speared up around him into a frosty sky hung with cruel stars, stars which appeared on no celestial chart in the multiverse, but right in there amongst them was a malevolent red disc. Rincewind shivered, and looked away. The land ahead of him sloped down sharply, and a dry wind whispered across the frost-his fingers in his ears, until he saw a sight seen by very few living men.
The ground dipped sharply until it became a vast funnel, ully a mile across, into which the whispering wind of the souls of the dead blew with a vast, echoing susurration, as though the Disc itself was breathing. But a narrow spur of rock arched out and over the hole, ending in an outcrop perhaps a hundred feet across.
There was a, with orchards and flowerbeds, and a quite small black cottage.
A little path led up to it.cracked rocks.It really did whisper. As grey eddies caught at his robe and tugged at his hair Rincewind thought he could hear voices, faint and far off, saying things like 'Are you sure those were mushrooms in the stew? I feel a bit —,' and There's a lovely view if you lean over this —,' and 'Don't fuss, it's only a scratch —,' and Watch where you're pointing that bow, you nearly—' and so on.He stumbled down the slope, with
Rincewind looked behind him. The shiny blue line was still there.

Camille Pissarro Still Life with Apples and Pitcher

and the Potent Voyager will be doomed to spin away into the interterrapene gulf. I have already set the automatic controls, so-"
"All right, all right," the Arch-astronomer said, waving him away. "The launch must go ahead. Maintain the watch on the harbour, of course. When the wretched pair are caught I will personally take a great deal of pleasure in executing them myself."
"Yes, lord. Er-"
The Arch-astronomer frowned. "What else have you got to say, man?"
The Launchcontroller swallowed. All this was very unfair on him, he was a practical magician rather than a diplomat,he said. It is one of its prime attributes. Have it dealt with. And-Master Launchcontroller?"
"Lord?"
"If I am further vexed, you will recall that two people are due to be sacrificed. I may feel generous and increase the number."
"Yes, lord. The Master Launchcontroller scuttled away, relieved to be out of the and that was why some wiser brains had seen to it that he would be the one to pass on the news."A monster has come out of the sea and it's attacking the ships in the harbour," he said. "A runner just arrived from there.""A big monster?" said the Arch-astronomer."Not particularly, although it is said to be exceptionally fierce, lord."The ruler of Krull and the Circumfence considered this for a moment, then shrugged."The sea is full of monsters,"

Leroy Neiman April at Augusta

He clung desperately to Twoflower's waist as the dragon circled slowly, tilting the world at a dangerous angle. The new knowledge that the scaley back he was astride only existed as a sort of threedimensional daydream did not, he had soon realised, do anything at all for his ankle-wrenching sensations of vertigo. His mind kept straying edge of the disc. Instantly the gloomy blues and greys of pre-dawn were transformed into a bright bronze river that flowed across the world, flaring into gold where it struck ice or water or a light-dam. (Owing to the density of the magical field surrounding the disc, light itself moved at sub-sonic speeds; this interesting property was well utilized by the Sorca people of the Great towards the possible results of Twoflower losing his concentration."Not even Hrun could have prevailed against those crossbows," said Twoflower stoutly.As the dragon rose higher above the patch of woodland, where the three of them had slept a damp and uneasy sleep, the sun rose over the