Why the gods allow this sort of thing to continue is a mystery.
Actually, the flash of inspiration needed to explain it clearly and precisely has taken place, but the creature who received it -a small female bluetit - has never been able to make the position clear, even after some really strenuous coded messages on the tops of milk bottles. By a strange coincidence, a philosopher who had been devoting some sleepless nights to the same mystery woke up that morning with a wonderful new idea for getting peanuts out of bird tables.
Which brings us rather neatly on to the subject of magic.
A long way out in the dark gulfs of interstellar space, one single inspiration particle is clipping along unaware of its destiny, which is just as well, because its destiny is to strike, in a matter of hours, a tiny area of Rincewind’s mind.
It would be a tough destiny even if Rincewind’s creative node was a reasonable size, but the particle’s karma had handed it the problem of hitting a moving target the size of a small raisin over a distance of several hundred lightyears. Life can be very difficult for a little subatomic particle in a great big universe.
If it pulls it off, however, Rincewind will have a serious philosophic idea. If it doesn’t, a nearby brick will have an important insight which it will be totally unequipped to deal with.
The Seriph’s palace, known to legend as the Rhoxie, occupied most of the centre of Al Khali that wasn’t occupied by the wilderness. Most things connected with Creosote were famed in mythology and the arched, domed, many-pillared palace was said to have more rooms than any man had been able to count. Rincewind didn’t know which number he was in.
‘It’s magic, isn’t it?’ said Abrim the vizier.
He prodded Rincewind in the ribs.
‘You’re a wizard,’ he said. ‘Tell me what it does.’
‘How do you know I’m a wizard?’ said Rincewind desperately.
‘It’s written on your hat,’ said the vizier.
‘Ah.’
‘And you were on the boat with it. My men saw you.’
‘The Seriph employs slavers?’ snapped Conina. ‘That doesn’t sound very simple!’
‘Oh, I employ the slavers. I am the vizier, after all,’ said Abrim. ‘It is rather expected of me.’
He gazed thoughtfully at the girl, and then nodded at a couple of the guards.
‘The current Seriph is rather literary in his views,’ he said. ‘I, on the other hand, am not. Take her to the seraglio, although,’ he rolled his eyes and gave an irritable sigh, ‘I’m sure the only fate that awaits her there is boredom, and possibly a sore throat.’
He turned to Rincewind.
‘Don’t say anything,’ he said. ‘Don’t move your hands. Don’t try any sudden feats of magic. I am protected by strange and powerful amulets.’
‘Now just hold on a minute-’ Rincewind began, and Conina said, ‘All right. I’ve always wondered what a harem looked like.’
Rincewind’s mouth went on opening and shutting, but no sounds came out. Finally he managed, ‘Have you?’
She waggled an eyebrow at him. It was probably a signal of some sort. Rincewind felt he ought to have understood it, but peculiar passions were stirring in the depths of his being. They weren’t actually going to make him brave, but they were making him angry. Speeded up, the dialogue behind his eyes was going something like this:
Ugh.
Who’s that?
Your conscience. I feel terrible. Look, they’re marching her off to the harem.
Rather her than me, thought Rincewind, but without much conviction.
Do something!
There’s too many guards! They’ll kill me!
So they’ll kill you, it’s not the end of the world.