Sourcery

and, “Well—”
    “You’ve got ‘wizzard’ written on your hat,” said Creosote.
    “Anyone can write things on their hat,” said Conina. “You don’t want to believe everything you read.”
    “Now hold on a minute,” said Rincewind hotly.
    They held on a minute.
    They held on for a further seventeen seconds.
    “Look, it’s a lot harder than you think,” he said.
    “What did I tell you?” said Conina. “Come on, let’s dig the mortar out with our fingernails.”
    Rincewind waved her into silence, removed his hat, pointedly blew the dust off the star, put the hat on again, adjusted the brim, rolled up his sleeves, flexed his fingers and panicked.
    In default of anything better to do, he leaned against the stone.
    It was vibrating. It wasn’t that it was being shaken; it felt like the throbbing was coming from inside the wall.
    It was very much the same sort of trembling he had felt back at the University, just before the sourcerer arrived. The stone was definitely very unhappy about something.
    He sidled along the wall and put his ear to the next stone, which was a smaller, wedge-shaped stone cut to fit an angle of the wall, not a big, distinguished stone, but a bantam stone, patiently doing its bit for the greater good of the wall as a whole. It was also shaking.
    “Shh!” said Conina.
    “I can’t hear anything,” said Nijel loudly. Nijel was one of those people who, if you say ‘don’t look now,’ would immediately swivel his head like an owl on a turntable. These are the same people who, when you point out, say, an unusual crocus just beside them, turn around aimlessly and put their foot down with a sad little squashy noise. If they were lost in a trackless desert you could find them by putting down, somewhere on the sand, something small and fragile like a valuable old mug that had been in your family for generations, and then hurrying back as soon as you heard the crash.
    Anyway.
    “That’s the point! What happened to the war?”
    A little cascade of mortar poured down from the ceiling onto Rincewind’s hat.
    “Something’s acting on the stones,” he said quietly. “They’re trying to break free.”
    “We’re right underneath quite a lot of them,” observed Creosote.
    There was a grinding noise above them and a shaft of daylight lanced down. To Rincewind’s surprise it wasn’t accompanied by sudden death from crushing. There was another silicon creak, and the hole grew. The stones were falling out, and they were falling up .
    “I think,” he said, “that the carpet might be worth a try at this point.”
    The wall beside him shook itself like a dog and drifted apart, its masonry giving Rincewind several severe blows as it soared away.
    The four of them landed on the blue and gold carpet in a storm of flying rock.
    “We’ve got to get out of here,” said Nijel, keeping up his reputation for acute observation.
    “Hang on,” said Rincewind. “I’ll say—”
    “You won’t,” snapped Conina, kneeling beside him. “ I’ll say. I don’t trust you.”
    “But you’ve—”
    “Shut up,” said Conina. She patted the carpet.
    “Carpet—rise,” she commanded.
    There was a pause.
    “Up.”
    “Perhaps it doesn’t understand the language,” said Nijel.
    “Lift. Levitate. Fly.”
    “Or it could be, say, sensitive to one particular voice—”
    “Shut. Up.”
    “You tried up,” said Nijel. “Try ascend.”
    “Or soar,” said Creosote. Several tons of flagstone swooped past an inch from his head.
    “If it was going to answer to them it would have done so, wouldn’t it?” said Conina. The air around her was thick with dust as the flying stones ground together. She thumped the carpet.
    “Take off, you blasted mat! Arrgh!”
    A piece of cornice clipped her shoulder. She rubbed the bruise irritably, and turned to Rincewind, who was sitting with his knees under his chin and his hat pulled down over his head.
    “Why doesn’t it work?” she said.
    “You’re not saying the right words,” he said.
    “It doesn’t understand the language?”
    “Language hasn’t got anything to do with it. You’ve neglected something fundamental.”
    “Well?”
    “Well what?” sniffed Rincewind.
    “Look, this isn’t the time to stand on your dignity!”
    “You keep on trying, don’t you mind me.”
    “Make it fly!”
    Rincewind pulled his hat further over his ears.
    “Please?” said Conina.
    The hat rose a bit.
    “We’d all be terribly bucked,” said