Sourcery

bad!”
    Coin went pale, turned and ran toward the light. He moved as though through treacle, fighting against the entropy slope. The distorted image of the world turned inside out hovered a few feet away, then inches, wavering uncertainly…
    A tentacle curled around his leg, tumbling him forward.
    He flung his hands out as he fell, and one of them touched snow. It was immediately grabbed by something else that felt like a warm, soft leather glove, but under the gentle touch was a grip as tough as tempered steel and it tugged him forward, also dragging whatever it was that had caught him.
    Light and grainy dark flicked around him and suddenly he was sliding over cobbles slicked with ice.
    The Librarian let go his hold and stood over Coin with a length of heavy wooden beam in his hand. For a moment the ape reared against the darkness, the shoulder, elbow and wrist of his right arm unfolding in a poem of applied leverage, and in a movement as unstoppable as the dawn of intelligence brought it down very heavily. There was a squashy noise and an offended screech, and the burning pressure on Coin’s leg vanished.
    The dark column wavered. There were squeals and thumps coming from it, distorted by distance.
    Coin struggled to his feet and started to run back into the dark, but this time the Librarian’s arm blocked his path.
    “We can’t just leave him in there!”
    The ape shrugged.
    There was another crackle from the dark, and then a moment of almost complete silence.
    But only almost complete. Both of them thought they heard, a long way off but very distinct, the sound of running feet fading into the distance.
    They found an echo in the outside world. The ape glanced around, and then pushed Coin hurriedly to one side as something squat and battered and with hundreds of little legs barrelled across the stricken courtyard and, without so much as pausing in its stride, leapt into the disappearing darkness, which flickered for one last time and vanished.
    There was a sudden flurry of snow across the air where it had been.
    Coin wrenched free of the Librarian’s grip and ran into the circle, which was already turning white. His feet scuffed up a sprinkle of fine sand.
    “He didn’t come out!” he said.
    “Oook,” said the Librarian, in a philosophic manner.
    “I thought he’d come out. You know, just at the last minute.”
    “Oook?”
    Coin looked closely at the cobbles, as if by mere concentration he could change what he saw. “Is he dead?”
    “Oook,” observed the Librarian, contriving to imply that Rincewind was in a region where even things like time and space were a bit iffy, and that it was probably not very useful to speculate as to his exact state at this point in time, if indeed he was at any point in time at all, and that, all in all, he might even turn up tomorrow or, for that matter, yesterday, and finally that if there was any chance at all of surviving then Rincewind almost certainly would.
    “Oh,” said Coin.
    He watched the Librarian shuffle around and head back for the Tower of Art, and a desperate loneliness overcame him.
    “I say!” he yelled.
    “Oook?”
    “What should I do now?”
    “Oook?”
    Coin waved vaguely at the desolation.
    “You know, perhaps I could do something about all this?” he said in a voice tilting on the edge of terror. “Do you think that would be a good idea? I mean, I could help people. I’m sure you’d like to be human again, wouldn’t you?”
    The Librarian’s everlasting smile hoisted itself a little further up his face, just enough to reveal his teeth.
    “Okay, perhaps not,” said Coin hurriedly, “but there’s other things I could do, isn’t there?”
    The Librarian gazed at him for some time, then dropped his eyes to the boy’s hand. Coin gave a guilty start, and opened his fingers.
    The ape caught the little silver ball neatly before it hit the ground and held it up to one eye. He sniffed it, shook it gently, and listened to it for a while.
    Then he wound up his arm and flung it away as hard as possible.
    “What—” Coin began, and landed full length in the snow when the Librarian pushed him over and dived on top of him.
    The ball curved over at the top of its arc and tumbled down, its perfect path interrupted suddenly by the ground. There was a sound like a harp string breaking, a brief babble of incomprehensible voices, a rush of hot wind, and the gods of the Disc were free.
    The were very angry.

    “There is nothing we can do, is