‘Yes?’
‘You’re not actually very good at them, are you?’
Rincewind glared at her. He tried to think of what to say next, and a small receptor area opened in his mind at the same time as an inspiration particle, its path bent and skewed by a trillion random events, screamed down through the atmosphere and burst silently just at the right spot.
‘Talent just defines what you do,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t define what you are. Deep down, I mean. When you know what you are, you can do anything.’
He thought a bit more and added, ‘That’s what makes sourcerers so powerful. The important thing is to know what you really are.’
There was a pause full of philosophy.
‘Rincewind?’ said Conina, kindly.
‘Hmm?’ said Rincewind, who was still wondering how the words got into his head.
‘You really are an idiot. Do you know that?’
‘You will all stand very still.’
Abrim the vizier stepped out of a ruined archway. He was wearing the Archchancellor’s hat.
The desert fried under the flame of the sun. Nothing moved except the shimmering air, hot as a stolen volcano, dry as a skull. >Deep in its heartwood the Luggage was troubled. It had been spurned. It had been told to go away. It had been rejected. It had also drunk enough orakh to poison a small country.
If there is one thing a travel accessory needs more than anything else, it is someone to belong to. The Luggage set off unsteadily across the scorching sand, full of hope.
‘I don’t think we’ve got time for introductions,’ said Rincewind, as a distant part of the palace collapsed with a thump that vibrated the floor. ‘It’s time we were-’
He realised he was talking to himself.
Nijel let go of the sword.
Conina stepped forward.
‘Oh, no,’ said Rincewind, but it was far too late. The world had suddenly separated into two parts - the bit which contained Nijel and Conina, and the bit which contained everything else. The air between them crackled. Probably, in their half, a distant orchestra was playing, bluebirds were tweeting, little pink clouds were barrelling through the sky, and all the other things that happen at times like this. When that sort of thing is going on, mere collapsing palaces in the next world don’t stand a chance.
‘Look, perhaps we can just get the introductions over with,’ said Rincewind desperately. ‘Nijel-’
‘- the Destroyer-’ said Nijel dreamily.
‘All right, Nijel the Destroyer,’ said Rincewind, and added, ‘Son of Harebut the-’
‘Mighty,’ said Nijel. Rincewind gaped a bit, and then shrugged.
‘Well, whoever,’ he conceded. ‘Anyway, this is Conina. Which is rather a coincidence, because you’ll be interested to know that her father was mmph.’
Conina, without turning her gaze, had extended a hand and held Rincewind’s face in a gentle grip which, with only a slight increase in finger pressure, could have turned his head into a bowling ball.
‘Although I could be mistaken,’ he added, when she took her hand away. ‘Who knows? Who cares? What does it matter?’
They didn’t take any notice.
‘I’ll just go and see if I can find the hat, shall I?’ he said.
‘Good idea,’ murmured Conina.
‘I expect I shall get murdered, but I don’t mind,’ said Rincewind.
‘Jolly good,’ said Nijel.