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looked down at his foot, and said, 'Ow.'
He'd almost reached the fire when the blast from the last spell reached them. It had been aimed at the tower in Al Khali, 'Oh, that,' said Rincewind. 'Just the backwash of a spell. They probably hit the tower in Al Khali.'
'It must have been pretty big to affect us here.'
'It probably was.'
'Hey, that was my palace,' said Creosote weakly. 'I mean, I know it was a lot, but it was all I had.'
'Sorry.'
'But there were people in the city!'which was twenty miles away, and by now the wavefront was extremely diffuse. It was hardly affecting the nature of things as it surged over the dunes with a faint sucking noise; the fire burned red and green for a second, one of Nijel's sandals turned into a small and irritated badger, and a pigeon flew out of the Seriph's turban.Then it was past and boiling out over the sea.'What was that?' said Nijel. He kicked the badger, who was sniffing at his foot.'Hmm?' said Rincewind.'That!'

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shut up, all right?'
The haze still hung over the city, its curtains of silver and gold turned to blood by the light of the setting sun which thoughts, which at the moment was more than he did.
His skin prickled as the two wizards crossed the floor and felt the blast of a raw magic flowing outwards from the seated figure.
Several dozen of the most senior wizards were clus­tered around the stool, staring in awe at the floor.
Spelter craned to see, and saw-
The world.streamed in through the windows of the hall.Coin was sitting on a stool with his staff across his knees. It occurred to Spelter that he had never seen the boy without it, which was odd. Most wizards kept their staves under the bed, or hooked up over the fireplace.He didn't like this staff. It was black, but not because that was its colour, more because it seemed to be a move­able hole into some other, more unpleasant set of dimensions. It didn't have eyes but, nevertheless, it seemed to stare at Spelter as if it knew his innermost

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Billias grinned at the boy, who returned it with a stare that focused on a point a few inches beyond the back of the old wizard's head.
Somewhat spell, it couldn't move mountains, but achieving the fine detail built into Maligree's complex syllables took a finely tuned skill.
'You will observe,' Billias added, 'nothing up my sleeve.'
His lips began to move. His hands flickered through the air. A pool of golden sparks sizzled in the palm of his hand, curved up, formed a faint sphere, began to fill in the detail ...
Legend had it that Maligree, one of the last of the true sourcerers, created the Garden disconcerted, Billias flexed his fingers. Suddenly this wasn't quite the game he had intended, and he felt an overpowering urge to impress. It was swiftly overtaken by a surge of annoyance at his own stupidity in being unnerved.'I shall show you,' he said, and took a deep breath, 'Maligree's Wonderful Garden.'There was a susurration from the diners. Only four wizards in the entire history of the University had ever succeeded in achieving the complete Garden. Most wizards could create the trees and flowers, and a few had managed the birds. It wasn't the most powerful

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Windle clapped his hands together, and rubbed them thoughtfully.
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘that’s where we’re ahead of the game.’
He walked into the glow.
He’d never seen such bright light. It seemed to emanate from everywhere, hunting down every last shadow and eradicating it ruthlessly. It was much brighter than daylight without being anything like it - there was a blue edge to it that cut vision like a knife.
‘You all right, Count?’ he said.
‘Fine, fine,’ said Arthur.
Lupine growled.
Ludmilla . They wanted nearly seventy dollars to do our vault. Didn’t they, Arthur?’
‘Nearly seventy dollars,’ said Arthur.
‘I don’t think anyone built it,’ said Windle quietly. Cracks. There should be cracks, he thought. Edges and things, where one slab joins another. It shouldn’t be all one piece. And slightly sticky. ‘So Arthur did it himself.’
‘I did it myself.’pulled at a tangle of metal.‘There’s something under this, you know. It looks like . . . marble. Orange-coloured marble.’ She ran her hand over it. ‘But warm. Marble shouldn’t be warm, should it?’‘It can’t be marble. There can’t be this much marble in the whole world . . . vorld, ‘ said Doreen. ‘We tried to get marble for the vault,’ she tasted the sound of the word and nodded to herself, ‘the vault, yes. Those dwarfs should be shot, the prices they charge. It’s a disgrace.’ ‘I don’t think dwarfs built this,’ said Windle. He knelt down awkwardly to examine the floor.‘I shouldn’t think so, the lazy little buggers

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struck . . . split . . . slid . . .
Not that the wizard would have paid much attention, because he’d be too busy worrying about the five-thousand-mile walk back home.
Miss Flitworth panted up as the new day streamed past. Bill Door was absolutely still, only the blade moving between ‘Sudl )oodle-riod!’
)-a~n)
Then he lowered the blade.
THAT’S SHARP.
His grin faded, or at least faded as much as it was able to. Miss Flitworth turned, following the line of his gaze until it intersected a ?kint? haze over the cornfields.
It looked like a pale grey robe, empty but still somehow maintaining his fingers as he angled it against the light. Finally he seemed satisfied. He turned around and swished stuck her hands on her hips.’Oh, come on,’ she said,‘No-one can ) ) 9ny- ) )on day )) sharpen ) ) thing) She paused.He waved the blade again.‘Go / )ief.’) od gr) Down in the yard. Cyril stretched his bald neck for another 90~ Bill Door grinned, and sivung the blade towards the sound.

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The wizards fell silent. The frost in the octogram began to sublime back into air.
‘Oh-oh, ‘ said the Bursar.
‘Short go.’
‘Not just people,’ said the Senior Wrangler.’It must be everything. Every thing that dies.’
‘Filling up the wadd with life force,’ said Ridcully. The wizards were speaking in a monotone, everyone’s mind running ahead of the conversation to the distant horror of the conclusion. ‘Hanging around with nothing to do,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
‘Ghosts.’transitional period? Is that what this is?’ said the Dean.The floor shook.‘Oh-oh, ‘ said the Bursar again.‘That doesn’t explain why everything is Living a life of its own,’ said the Senior Wrangler.‘Hold on . . . hold on,’ said Ridcully, ‘If people are coming to the end of their life and leaving their bodies and everything, but Death isn’t taking them away -‘ ‘Then that means they’re queuing up here,’ said the Dean. ‘With nowhere to

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need something that’s in blood. Hemogoblins, I think it’s called.’
The other wizards looked at him.
The Dean shrugged.’Search me,’ he said.’Hemo-goblins. That’s what it said. It’s all to do with people having iron in their blood.’ ‘I’m damn sure I’ve got no iron goblins in my blood,’ said the Senior-Wrangler.
‘At least they’re better than zombies,’ said the Dean.’A much better class of people. Vampires don’t go shuffling around the whole time.’ ‘People can be turned into zombies, you know,’ said the Lecturer in Recent work. No. 95, Spikefish liver and Dum-dum root . . . didn’t work. No. 96 -‘ ‘What are you talking about?’ the Archchancellor demanded. ‘I was simply pointing out the intrinsic unlikelihood of -‘ ‘Shut up,’ said the Archchancellor, matter-of-factly.’Seems to me . . . seems to me . . . look, death must be going on, right? Death has to happen. That’s what bein’ alive is all about. You’re alive, and then you’re dead. It can’t just stop happening.’
‘But he didn’t turn up for Windle, ‘ the Dean pointed out.Runes, in conversational tones.’You don’t even need magic. Just the liver of a certain rare fish and the extract of a particular kind of root. One spoonful, and when you wake up, you ‘re a zombie.’ ‘What type of fish?’ said the Senior Wrangler.‘How shauld I know?’‘How should anyone know, then?’ said the Senior Wrangler nastily.’Did someone wake up one morning and say, hey, here’s an idea, I’ll just turn someone into a zombie, all I’ll need is some rare fish liver and a piece of root, it’s just a matter of finding the right one? You can see the queue outside the hut, can’t you? No. 94, Red Stripefish liver and Maniac root . . . didn’t