Sourcery

hammer-headed cloud, in whose roiling depths weird shapes could be heard and strange sounds were seen. Occasional misses seared across the city. Where they landed things were… different .
    For example, a large part of the soak had turned into an impenetrable forest of giant yellow mushrooms. No one knew what effect this had on its inhabitants, although possibly they hadn’t noticed.
    The temple of Offler the Crocodile God, patron deity of the city, was now a rather ugly sugary thing constructed in five dimensions. But this was no problem because it was being eaten by a herd of giant ants.
    On the other hand, not many people were left to appreciate this statement against uncontrolled civic alteration, because most of them were running for their lives. They fled across the fertile fields in a steady stream. Some had taken to boats, but this method of escape had ceased when most of the harbor area turned into a swamp in which, for no obvious reason, a couple of small pink elephants were building a nest.
    Down below the panic on the roads the Luggage paddled slowly up one of the reed-lined drainage ditches. A little way ahead of it a moving wave of small alligators, rats and snapping turtles was pouring out of the water and scrambling frantically up the bank, propelled by some vague but absolutely accurate animal instinct.
    The Luggage’s lid was set in an expression of grim determination. It didn’t want much out of the world, except for the total extinction of every other lifeform, but what it needed more than anything else now was its owner.

    It was easy to see that the room was a treasury by its incredible emptiness. Doors hung off hooks. Barred alcoves had been smashed in. Lots of smashed chests lay around, and this gave Rincewind a pang of guilt and he wondered, for about two seconds, where the Luggage had got to.
    There was a respectful silence, as there always is when large sums of money have just passed away. Nijel wandered off and prodded some of the chests in a forlorn search for secret drawers, as per the instructions in Chapter Eleven.
    Conina reached down and picked up a small copper coin.
    “How horrible,” said Rincewind eventually. “A treasury with no treasure in it.”
    The seriph stood and beamed. “Not to worry,” he said.
    “But all your money has been stolen!” said Conina.
    “The servants, I expect,” said Creosote. “Very disloyal of them.”
    Rincewind gave him an odd look. “Doesn’t it worry you?”
    “Not much. I never really spent anything. I’ve often wondered what being poor was like.”
    “You’re going to get a huge opportunity to find out.”
    “Will I need training?”
    “It comes naturally,” said Rincewind. “You pick it up as you go along.” There was a distant explosion and part of the ceiling turned to jelly.
    “Erm, excuse me,” said Nijel, “this carpet…”
    “Yes,” said Conina, “the carpet.”
    Creosote gave them a benevolent, slightly tipsy smile.
    “Ah, yes. The carpet. Push the nose of the statue behind you, peach-buttocked jewel of the desert dawn.”
    Conina, blushing, performed this act of minor sacrilege on a large green statue of Offler the Crocodile God.
    Nothing happened. Secret compartments assiduously failed to open.
    “Um. Try the left hand.”
    She gave it an experimental twist. Creosote scratched his head.
    “Maybe it was the right hand…”
    “I should try and remember, if I were you,” said Conina sharply, when that didn’t work either. “There aren’t many bits left that I’d care to pull.”
    “What’s that thing there?” said Rincewind.
    “You’re really going to hear about it if it isn’t the tail,” said Conina, and gave it a kick.
    There was a distant metallic groaning noise, like a saucepan in pain. The statue shuddered. It was followed by a few heavy clonks somewhere inside the wall, and Offler the Crocodile God grated ponderously aside. There was a tunnel behind him.
    “My grandfather had this built for our more interesting treasure,” said Creosote. “He was very”—he groped for a word—“ingenious.”
    “If you think I’m setting foot in there—” Rincewind began.
    “Stand aside,” said Nijel, loftily. “I will go first.”
    “There could be traps—” said Conina doubtfully. She shot the Seriph a glance.
    “Oh, probably, O gazelle of Heaven,” he said. “I haven’t been in there since I was six. There were some slabs you shouldn’t tread on, I think.”
    “Don’t worry