The Colour of Magic

purple).
    Was that a flickering shadow in the corner?
    “Of course,” said the Patrician, “I could be merciful.”
    The shadow disappeared. Rincewind looked up, an expression of insane hope on his face.
    “Yes?” he said.
    The Patrician waved a hand again. Rincewind saw the guards leave the chamber. Alone with the overlord of the twin cities, he almost wished they would come back.
    “Come hither, Rincewind,” said the Patrician. He indicated a bowl of savories on a low onyx table by the throne. “Would you care for a crystallized jellyfish? No?”
    “Um,” said Rincewind, “no.”
    “Now I want you to listen very carefully to what I am about to say,” said the Patrician amiably, “otherwise you will die. In an interesting fashion. Over a period. Please stop fidgeting like that.
    “Since you are a wizard of sorts, you are of course aware that we live upon a world shaped, as it were, like a disc? And that there is said to exist, toward the far rim, a continent which though small is equal in weight to all the mighty land-masses in this hemi-circle? And that this, according to ancient legend, is because it is largely made of gold?”
    Rincewind nodded. Who hadn’t heard of the Counterweight Continent? Some sailors even believed the childhood tales and sailed in search of it. Of course, they returned either empty-handed or not at all. Probably eaten by giant turtles, in the opinion of more serious mariners. Because, of course, the Counterweight Continent was nothing more than a solar myth.
    “It does, of course, exist,” said the Patrician. “Although it is not made of gold, it is true that gold is a very common metal there. Most of the mass is made up by vast deposits of octiron deep within the crust. Now it will be obvious to an incisive mind like yours that the existence of the Counterweight Continent poses a deadly threat to our people here—” he paused, looking at Rincewind’s open mouth. He sighed. He said, “Do you by some chance fail to follow me?”
    “Yarrg,” said Rincewind. He swallowed, and licked his lips. “I mean, no. I mean—well, gold…”
    “I see,” said the Patrician sweetly. “You feel, perhaps, that it would be a marvelous thing to go to the Counterweight Continent and bring back a shipload of gold?”
    Rincewind had a feeling that some sort of trap was being set.
    “Yes?” he ventured.
    “And if every man on the shores of the Circle Sea had a mountain of gold of his own? Would that be a good thing? What would happen? Think carefully.”
    Rincewind’s brow furrowed. He thought. “We’d all be rich?”
    The way the temperature fell at his remark told him that it was not the correct one.
    “I may as well tell you, Rincewind, that there is some contact between the Lords of the Circle Sea and the Emperor of the Agatean Empire, as it is styled,” the Patrician went on. “It is only very slight. There is little common ground between us. We have nothing they want, and they have nothing we can afford. It is an old Empire, Rincewind. Old and cunning and cruel and very, very rich. So we exchange fraternal greetings by albatross mail. At infrequent intervals.
    “One such letter arrived this morning. A subject of the Emperor appears to have taken it into his head to visit our city. It appears he wishes to look at it. Only a madman would possibly undergo all the privations of crossing the Turnwise Ocean in order to merely look at anything. However.
    “He landed this morning. He might have met a great hero, or the cunningest of thieves, or some wise and great sage. He met you. He has employed you as a guide. You will be a guide, Rincewind, to this looker , this Twoflower. You will see that he returns home with a good report of our little homeland. What do you say to that?”
    “Er. Thank you, Lord,” said Rincewind miserably.
    “There is another point, of course. It would be a tragedy should anything untoward happen to our little visitor. It would be dreadful if he were to die, for example. Dreadful for the whole of our land, because the Agatean Emperor looks after his own and could certainly extinguish us at a nod. A mere nod. And that would be dreadful for you, Rincewind, because in the weeks that remained before the Empire’s huge mercenary fleet arrived certain of my servants would occupy themselves about your person in the hope that the avenging captains, on their arrival, might find their anger tempered by the sight of your still living body. There are certain