The Colour of Magic

overlooked the cloud sea that boiled up from the Rimfall, far below, and now every seat was occupied. And the crowd was growing restive. It had come to see a double sacrifice and also the launching of the great bronze space ship. Neither event had yet materialized.
    The Arch-astronomer beckoned the Master Launchcontroller to him.
    “Well?” he said, filling a mere four letters with a full lexicon of anger and menace. The Master Launchcontroller went pale.
    “No news, lord,” said the Launchcontroller, and added with a brittle brightness, “except that your prominence will be pleased to hear that Garhartra has recovered.”
    “That is a fact he may come to regret,” said the Arch astronomer.
    “Yes, lord.”
    “How much longer do we have?”
    The Launchcontroller glanced at the rapidly climbing sun.
    “Thirty minutes, your prominence. After that Krull will have revolved away from Great A’Tuin’s tail and the Potent Voyager will be doomed to spin away into the interterrapene gulf. I have already set the automatic controls, so—”
    “All right, all right,” the Arch-astronomer said, waving him away. “The launch must go ahead. Maintain the watch on the harbor, of course. When the wretched pair are caught I will personally take a great deal of pleasure in executing them myself.”
    “Yes, lord. Er—”
    The Arch-astronomer frowned. “What else have you got to say, man?”
    The Launchcontroller swallowed. All this was very unfair on him, he was a practical magician rather than a diplomat, and that was why some wiser brains had seen to it that he would be the one to pass on the news.
    “A monster has come out of the sea and it’s attacking the ships in the harbor,” he said. “A runner just arrived from there.”
    “A big monster?” said the Arch-astronomer.
    “Not particularly, although it is said to be exceptionally fierce, lord.”
    The ruler of Krull and the Circumfence considered this for a moment, then shrugged.
    “The sea is full of monsters,” he said. “It is one of its prime attributes. Have it dealt with. And—Master Launchcontroller?”
    “Lord?”
    “If I am further vexed, you will recall that two people are due to be sacrificed. I may feel generous and increase the number.”
    “Yes, lord.” The Master Launchcontroller scuttled away, relieved to be out of the autocrat’s sight.
    The Potent Voyager , no longer the blank bronze shell that had been smashed from the mold a few days earlier, rested in its cradle on top of a wooden tower in the center of the arena. In front of it a railway ran down toward the Edge, where for the space of a few yards it turned suddenly upward.
    The late Dactylos Goldeneyes, who had designed the launching pad as well as the Potent Voyager itself, had claimed that this last touch was merely to ensure that the ship would not snag on any rocks as it began its long plunge. Maybe it was merely coincidental that it would also, because of that little twitch in the track, leap like a salmon and shine theatrically in the sunlight before disappearing into the cloud sea.
    There was a fanfare of trumpets at the edge of the arena. The chelonauts’ honor guard appeared, to much cheering from the crowd. Then the white-suited explorers themselves stepped out into the light.
    It immediately dawned on the Arch-astronomer that something was wrong. Heroes always walked in a certain way, for example. They certainly didn’t waddle, and one of the chelonauts was definitely waddling.
    The roar of the assembled people of Krull was deafening. As the chelonauts and their guards crossed the great arena, passing between the many altars that had been set up for the various wizards and priests of Krull’s many sects to ensure the success of the launch, the Arch-astronomer frowned. By the time the party was halfway across the floor his mind had reached a conclusion. By the time the chelonauts were standing at the foot of the ladder that led to the ship—and was there more than a hint of reluctance about them?—the Arch-astronomer was on his feet, his words lost in the noise of the crowd. One of his arms shot out and back, fingers spread dramatically in the traditional spell-casting position, and any passing lip-reader who was also familiar with the standard texts on magic would have recognized the opening words of Vestcake’s Floating Curse, and would then have prudently run away.
    Its final words remained unsaid, however. The Arch-astronomer turned in astonishment as a