Guards! Guards!

sound of a boiling geyser, but at any rate a long, dry roar of a sound, like the bellows in the forges of the Titans—
    —but it was not so bad as the light, which was blue-white and the sort of light to print the pattern of your eyeballs’ blood vessels on the back of the inside of your skull.
    They both went on for hundreds of years and then, instantly, stopped.
    The dark aftermath was filled with purple images and, once the ears regained an ability to hear, a faint, clinkery sound.
    The guards remained perfectly still for some time.
    “Well, well,” said the captain weakly.
    After a further pause he said, very clearly, every consonant slotting perfectly into place, “Sergeant, take some men and investigate that, will you?”
    “Investigate what, sir?” said Colon, but it had already dawned on the captain that if the sergeant took some men it would leave him, Captain Vimes, all alone.
    “No, I’ve a better idea. We’ll all go,” he said firmly. They all went.
    Now that their eyes were used to the darkness they could see an indistinct red glow ahead of them.
    It turned out to be a wall, cooling rapidly. Bits of calcined brickwork were falling off as they contracted, making little pinging noises.
    That wasn’t the worst bit. The worst bit was what was on the wall.
    They stared at it.
    They stared at it for a long time.
    It was only an hour or two till dawn, and no one even suggested trying to find their way back in the dark. They waited by the wall. At least it was warm.
    They tried not to look at it.
    Eventually Colon stretched uneasily and said, “Chin up, Captain. It could have been worse.”
    Vimes finished the bottle. It didn’t have any effect. There were some types of sobriety that you just couldn’t budge.
    “Yes,” he said. “It could have been us.”

    The Supreme Grand Master opened his eyes.
    “Once again,” he said, “we have achieved success.”
    The Brethren burst into a ragged cheer. The Brothers Watchtower and Fingers linked arms and danced an enthusiastic jig in their magic circle.
    The Supreme Grand Master took a deep breath.
    First the carrot, he thought, and now the stick. He liked the stick.
    “Silence!” he screamed.
    “Brother Fingers, Brother Watchtower, cease this shameful display!” he screeched. “The rest of you, be silent!”
    They quietened down, like rowdy children who have just seen the teacher come into the room. Then they quietened down a lot more, like children who have just seen the teacher’s expression .
    The Supreme Grand Master let this sink in, and then stalked along their ragged ranks.
    “I suppose,” he said, “that we think we’ve done some magic, do we? Hmm ? Brother Watchtower?”
    Brother Watchtower swallowed. “Well, er, you said we were, er, I mean—”
    “You haven’t done ANYTHING yet!”
    “Well, er, no, er—” Brother Watchtower trembled.
    “Do real wizards leap about after a tiny spell and start chanting ‘Here we go, here we go, here we go,’ Brother Watchtower? Hmm ?”
    “Well, we were sort of—”
    The Supreme Grand Master spun on his heel.
    “And do they keep looking apprehensively at the woodwork, Brother Plasterer?”
    Brother Plasterer hung his head. He hadn’t realized anyone had noticed.
    When the tension was twanging satisfactorily, like a bowstring, the Supreme Grand Master stood back.
    “Why do I bother?” he said, shaking his head. “I could have chosen anyone . I could have picked the best . But I’ve got a bunch of children .”
    “Er, honest,” said Brother Watchtower, “we was making an effort, I mean, we was really concentrating. Weren’t we, lads?”
    “Yes,” they chorused. The Supreme Grand Master glared at them.
    “There’s no room in this Brotherhood for Brothers who are not behind us all the way,” he warned.
    With almost visible relief the Brethren, like panicked sheep who see that a hurdle has been opened in the fold, galloped toward the opening.
    “No worries about that, your supremity,” said Brother Watchtower fervently.
    “Commitment must be our watchword!” said the Supreme Grand Master.
    “Watchword. Yeah,” said Brother Watchtower. He nudged Brother Plasterer, whose eyes had strayed to the skirting board again.
    “Wha? Oh. Yeah. Watchword. Yeah,” said Brother Plasterer.
    “And trust and fraternity,” said the Supreme Grand Master.
    “Yeah. And them, too,” said Brother Fingers.
    “So,” said the Supreme Grand Master, “if there be any one here not anxious,