Sourcery

rolled when he hit the floor, and something nicked his foot at the same time as a loud thump deafened him.
    The entire roof, a huge block of stone four feet thick, had dropped into the tunnel.
    Rincewind crawled forward through the dust clouds and, with a trembling finger, traced the lettering on the side of the slab.
    “ Laugh This One Off , he said,
    He sat back.
    “That’s grandad,” said Creosote happily, “always a—”
    He intercepted Conina’s gaze, which had the force of a lead pipe, and wisely shut up.
    Nijel emerged from the clouds, coughing.
    “I say, what happened?” he said. “Is everyone all right? It didn’t do that when I went through.”
    Rincewind sought for a reply, and couldn’t find anything better than, “Didn’t it?”
    Light filtered into the deep room from tiny barred windows up near the roof. There was no way out except by walking through the several hundred tons of stone that blocked the tunnel or, to put it in another way, which was the way Rincewind put it, they were undoubtedly trapped. He relaxed a bit.
    At least there was no mistaking the magic carpet. It lay rolled up on a raised slab in the middle of the room. Next to it was a small, sleek oil lamp and—Rincewind craned to see—a small gold ring. He groaned. A faint octarine corona hung over all three items, indicating that they were magical.
    When Conina unrolled the carpet a number of small objects tumbled onto the floor, including a brass herring, a wooden ear, a few large square sequins and a lead box with a preserved soap bubble in it.
    “What on earth are they?” said Nijel.
    “Well,” said Rincewind, “before they tried to eat that carpet, they were probably moths.”
    “Gosh.”
    “That’s what you people never understand,” said Rincewind, wearily. “You think magic is just something you can pick up and use, like a, a—”
    “Parsnip?” said Nijel.
    “Wine bottle?” said the Seriph.
    “Something like that,” said Rincewind cautiously, but rallied somewhat and went on, “But the truth is, is—”
    “Not like that?”
    “More like a wine bottle?” said the Seriph hopefully.
    “Magic uses people,” said Rincewind hurriedly. “It affects you as much as you affect it, sort of thing. You can’t mess around with magical things without it affecting you. I just thought I’d better warn you.”
    “Like a wine bottle,” said Creosote, “that—”
    “— drinks you back ,” said Rincewind. “So you can put down that lamp and ring for a start, and for goodness’ sake don’t rub anything.”
    “My grandfather built up the family fortunes with them,” said Creosote wistfully. “His wicked uncle locked him in a cave, you know. He had to set himself up with what came to hand. He had nothing in the whole world but a magic carpet, a magic lamp, a magic ring and a grotto full of assorted jewels.”
    “Came up the hard way, did he?” said Rincewind.
    Conina spread the carpet on the floor. It had a complex pattern of golden dragons on a blue background. They were extremely complicated dragons, with long beards, ears and wings, and they seemed to be frozen in motion, caught in transition from one state to another, suggesting that the loom which wove them had rather more dimensions than the usual three, but the worst thing about it was that if you looked at it long enough the pattern became blue dragons on a gold background, and a terrible feeling stole over you that if you kept on trying to see both types of dragon at once your brains would trickle out of your ears.
    Rincewind tore his gaze away with some difficulty as another distant explosion rocked the building.
    “How does it work?” he said.
    Creosote shrugged. “I’ve never used it,” he said. “I suppose you just say ‘up’ and ‘down’ and things like that.”
    “How about ‘fly through the wall’?” said Rincewind.
    All three of them looked up at the high, dark and, above all, solid walls of the room.
    “We could try sitting on it and saying ‘rise,’” Nijel volunteered. “And then, before we hit the roof, we could say, well, ‘stop.’” He considered this for a bit, and then added, “If that’s the word.”
    “Or, ‘drop,’” said Rincewind, “or ‘descend,’ ‘dive,’ ‘fall,’ ‘sink.’ Or ‘plunge.’”
    “‘Plummet,’” suggested Conina gloomily.
    “Of course,” said Nijel, “with all this wild magic floating around, you could try using some of it.”
    “Ah—” said Rincewind,