Interesting Times

Yes, but can anyone see…that…you know…with the…feet? ”
    Rincewind’s eyebrows waggled. A sort of choking noise came from his throat.
    “ Can’t see…it. Will you lot stop huffing on my crystal ball? ”
    “And, of course, if you were to come with us we could promise you…earthly and sensual pleasures such as those of which you may have dreamed…”
    “ All right. On the count of three —”
    The coconut dropped away. Rincewind swallowed. There was a hungry, dreamy look in his eyes.
    “Can I have them mashed?” he said.
    “ NOW! ”

    First there was the sensation of pressure. The world opened up in front of Rincewind and sucked him into it.
    Then it stretched out thin and went twang .
    Cloud rushed past him, blurred by speed. When he dared open his eyes again it was to see, far ahead of him, a tiny black dot.
    It got bigger.
    It resolved itself into a tight cloud of objects. There were a couple of heavy saucepans, a large brass candlestick, a few bricks, a chair, and a large brass blancmange mold in the shape of a castle.
    They hit him one after the other, the blancmange mold making a humorous clang as it bounced off his head, and then whirled away behind him.
    The next thing ahead of him was an octagon. A chalked one.
    He hit it.

    Ridcully stared down.
    “A shade less than 125 pounds, I fancy,” he said. “All the same…well done, gentlemen.”
    The disheveled scarecrow in the center of the circle staggered to its feet and beat out one or two small fires in its clothing. Then it looked around blearily and said, “Hehehe?”
    “He could be a little disorientated,” the Archchancellor went on. “More than six hundred miles in two seconds, after all. Don’t give him a nasty shock.”
    “Like sleepwalkers, you mean?” said the Senior Wrangler.
    “What do you mean, sleepwalkers?”
    “If you wake sleepwalkers, their legs drop off. So my grandmother used to aver.”
    “And are we sure it’s Rincewind?” said the Dean.
    “Of course it’s Rincewind,” said the Senior Wrangler. “We spent hours looking for him.”
    “It could be some dangerous occult creature,” said the Dean stubbornly.
    “With that hat?”
    It was a pointy hat. In a way. A kind of cargocult pointy hat, made out of split bamboo and coconut leaves, in the hope of attracting passing wizardliness. Picked out on it, in seashells held in place with grass, was the word WIZZARD.
    Its wearer gazed right through the wizards and, as if driven by some sudden recollection of purpose, lurched abruptly out of the octagon and headed towards the door of the hall.
    The wizards followed cautiously.
    “I’m not sure I believe her. How many times did she see it happen?”
    “I don’t know. She never said.”
    “The Bursar sleepwalks most nights, you know.”
    “Does he? Tempting…”
    Rincewind, if that was the creature’s name, headed out into Sator Square.
    It was crowded. The air shimmered over the braziers of chestnut sellers and hot potato merchants and echoed with the traditional street cries of Old Ankh-Morpork. *
    The figure sidled up to a skinny man in a huge overcoat who was frying something over a little oilheater in a wide tray around his neck.
    The possibly-Rincewind grabbed the edge of the tray.
    “Got…any…potatoes?” it growled.
    “Potatoes? No, squire. Got some sausages inna bun.”
    The possibly-Rincewind froze. And then it burst into tears.
    “Sausage inna buuunnnnn! ” it bawled. “Dear old sausage inna inna inna buuunnn! Gimme saussaaage inna buunnnnn! ”
    It grabbed three off the tray and tried to eat them all at once.
    “Good grief!” said Ridcully.
    The figure half ran, half capered away, fragments of bun and pork-product debris cascading from its unkempt beard.
    “I’ve never seen anyone eat three of Throat Dibbler’s sausages inna bun and look so happy,” said the Senior Wrangler.
    “ I’ve never seen someone eat three of Throat Dibbler’s sausages inna bun and look so upright,” said the Dean.
    “I’ve never seen anyone eat anything of Dibbler’s and get away without paying,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
    The figure spun happily around the square, tears streaming down its face. The gyrations took it past an alley mouth, whereupon a smaller figure stepped out behind it and with some difficulty hit it on the back of the head.
    The sausage-eater fell to his knees, saying, to the world in general, “Ow!”
    “No no no no no no no!”
    A rather older man stepped out and