Sourcery

together like puppies in a basket. Perhaps the tower had been washed up on the waves of rock, from somewhere else. Maybe it had been there before the Disc itself, but Rincewind didn’t like to consider that, because it raised uncomfortable questions about who built it and what for.
    He examined his conscience.
    It said: I’m out of options. Please yourself.
    Rincewind stood up and brushed the dust and ash off his robe, removing quite a lot of the moulting red plush as well. He removed his hat, made a preoccupied attempt at straightening the point, and replaced it on his head.
    Then he walked unsteadily toward the Tower of Art.
    There was a very old and quite small door at the base. He wasn’t at all surprised when it opened as he approached.

    “Strange place,” said Nijel. “Funny curve to the walls.”
    “Where are we?” said Conina.
    “And is there any alcohol?” said Creosote. “Probably not,” he added.
    “And why is it rocking?” said Conina. “I’ve never been anywhere with metal walls before.” She sniffed. “Can you smell oil?” she added, suspiciously.
    The genie reappeared, although this time without the smoke and erratic trapdoor effects. It was noticeable that he tried to keep as far away from Conina as politely possible.
    “Everyone okay?” he said.
    “Is this Ankh?” she said. “Only when we wanted to go there, we rather hoped you’d put us somewhere with a door.”
    “You’re on your way,” said the genie.
    “In what?”
    Something about the way in which the spirit hesitated caused Nijel’s mind to leap a tall conclusion from a standing start. He looked down at the lamp in his hands.
    He gave it an experimental jerk. The floor shook.
    “Oh, no,” he said. “It’s physically impossible.”
    “We’re in the lamp ?” said Conina.
    The room trembled again as Nijel tried to look down the spout.
    “Don’t worry about it,” said the genie. “In fact, don’t think about it if possible.”
    He explained—although “explained” is probably too positive a word, and in this case really means failed to explain but at some length—that it was perfectly possible to travel across the world in a small lamp being carried by one of the party, the lamp itself moving because it was being carried by one of the people inside it, because of a) the fractal nature of reality, which meant that everything could be thought of as being inside everything else and b) creative public relations. The trick relied on the laws of physics failing to spot the flaw until the journey was complete.
    “In the circumstances it is best not to think about it, yuh?” said the genie.
    “Like not thinking about pink rhinoceroses,” said Nijel, and gave an embarrassed laugh as they stared at him.
    “It was a sort of game we had,” he said. “You had to avoid thinking of pink rhinoceroses.” He coughed. “I didn’t say it was a particularly good game.”
    He squinted down the spout again.
    “No,” said Conina, “not very.”
    “Uh,” said the genie, “Would anyone like coffee? Some sounds? A quick game of Significant Quest? *
    “Drink?” said Creosote.
    “White wine?”
    “Foul muck.”
    The genie looked shocked.
    “Red is bad for—” it began.
    “—but any port in a storm,” said Creosote hurriedly. “Or sauterne, even. But no umbrella in it.” It dawned on the Seriph that this wasn’t the way to talk to the genie. He pulled himself together a bit. “No umbrella, by the Five Moons of Nasreem. Or bits of fruit salad or olives or curly straws or ornamental monkeys, I command thee by the Seventeen Siderites of Sarudin.”
    “I’m not an umbrella person,” said the genie sulkily.
    “It’s pretty sparse in here,” said Conina, “Why don’t you furnish it.”
    “What I don’t understand,” said Nijel, “is, if we’re all in the lamp I’m holding, then the me in the lamp is holding a smaller lamp and in that lamp—”
    The genie waved his hands urgently.
    “Don’t talk about it!” he commanded. “Please!”
    Nijel’s honest brow wrinkled. “Yes, but,” he said, “is there a lot of me, or what?”
    “It’s all cyclic, but stop drawing attention to it, yuh?…Oh, shit.”
    There was the subtle, unpleasant sound of the universe suddenly catching on.

    It was dark in the tower, a solid core of antique darkness that had been there since the dawn of time and resented the intrusion of the upstart daylight that nipped in around Rincewind.
    He felt the air move as