Sourcery

breath of a furnace. After a certain amount of rocking the Luggage managed to get most of its feet pointing the right way, and stood doing a complicated slow-motion jig to keep as few of them on the burning sand as possible.
    It wasn’t lost. It always knew exactly where it was. It was always here .
    It was just that everywhere else seemed to have been temporarily mislaid.
    After some deliberation the Luggage turned and walked very slowly, into a boulder.
    It backed away and sat down, rather puzzled. It felt as though it had been stuffed with hot feathers, and it was dimly aware of the benefits of shade and a nice cool drink.
    After a few false starts it walked to the top of a nearby sand dune, which gave it an unrivalled view of hundreds of other dunes.
    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 realized 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.
    “I don’t expect anyone will even notice I’m gone,” said Rincewind.
    “Fine, fine,” said Conina.
    “I shall be chopped into small pieces, I expect,” said Rincewind, walking toward the door at the speed of a dying snail.
    Conina blinked.
    “What hat?” she said, and then, “Oh, that hat.”
    “I suppose there’s no possible chance that you two might be of some assistance?” Rincewind ventured.
    Somewhere inside Conina and Nijel’s private world the bluebirds went to roost, the little pink clouds drifted away and the orchestra packed up and sneaked off to do a private gig at a nightclub somewhere. A bit of reality reasserted itself.
    Conina dragged her admiring gaze away from Nijel’s rapt face and turned it onto Rincewind, where it grew slightly cooler.
    She sidled across the floor and grabbed the wizard by the arm.
    “Look,” she said, “you won’t tell him who I really am, will you? Only boys get funny ideas and—well, anyway, if you do I will personally break all your—”
    “I’ll be far too busy,” said Rincewind, “what with you helping me get the hat and everything. Not that I can imagine what you see in him,” he added, haughtily.
    “He’s nice. I don’t seem to meet many nice people.”
    “Yes, well—”
    “He’s looking at us!”
    “So what? You’re not frightened of him, are you?”
    “Suppose he talks to me!”
    Rincewind looked blank. Not for the first time in his life, he felt that there were whole areas of human experience that had passed him by, if