‘There isn’t,’ said Rincewind flatly, but with just the faintest twinge of satisfaction. ‘The wizards will fight each other until there’s one victor. There isn’t anything anyone else can do.’
‘I could do with a drink,’ said Creosote. ‘I suppose we couldn’t stop somewhere where I could buy an inn?’
‘What with?’ said Nijel. ‘You’re poor, remember?’
‘Poor I don’t mind,’ said the Seriph. ‘It’s sobriety that is giving me difficulties.’
Conina prodded Rincewind gently in the ribs.
‘Are you steering this thing?’ she said.
No.’
‘Then where is it going?’
Nijel peered downwards.
‘By the look of it,’ he said, ‘it’s going hubwards. Towards the Circle Sea.’
‘Someone must be guiding it.’
Hallo, said a friendly voice in Rincewind’s head.
You’re not my conscience again, are you? thought Rincewind.
I’m feeling really bad.
Well, I’m sorry, Rincewind thought, but none of this is my fault. I’m just a victim of circuses. I don’t see why I should take the blame.
Yes, but you could do something about it.
Like what?
You could destroy the sourcerer. All this would collapse then.
I wouldn’t stand a chance.
Then at least you could die in the attempt. That might be preferable to letting magical war break out.
‘Look, just shut up, will you?’ said Rincewind.
‘What?’ said Conina.
‘Um?’ said Rincewind, vaguely. He looked down blankly at the blue and gold pattern underneath him, and added, ‘You’re flying this, aren’t you?’ Through me! That’s sneaky!’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Oh. Sorry. Talking to myself.’
‘I think,’ said Conina, ‘that we’d better land.’
They glided down towards a crescent of beach where the desert reached the sea. In a normal light it would have been blinding white with a sand made up of billions of tiny shell fragments, but at this time of day it was blood-red and primordial. Ranks of driftwood, carved by the waves and bleached by the sun, were piled up on the tideline like the bones of ancient fish or the biggest floral art accessory counter in the universe. Nothing stirred, apart from the waves. There were a few rocks around, but they were firebrick hot and home to no mollusc or seaweed.
Even the sea looked arid. If any proto-amphibian emerged on to a beach like this, it would have given up there and then, gone back into the water and told all its relatives to forget the legs, it wasn’t worth it. The air felt as though it had been cooked in a sock.
Even so, Nijel insisted that they light a fire.
‘It’s more friendly,’ he said. ‘Besides, there could be monsters.’