The Folklore of Discworld

is the Stone of Scone, on which generations of medieval kings of Scotland were crowned. Some say it originally came from Ireland, and is identical with the legendary Liafail, which screamed a greeting when a rightful high king of Ireland stood on it; if so, it is at least 2,300 years old. It does not, however, bear any imprints. It was removed from the castle of Scone, near Perth, in 1296 by Edward I of England after his victory over the Scots; for centuries it was kept in Westminster Abbey, built into an ornate wooden throne on which every monarch (including the present Queen) has sat for her or his coronation. In 1950 it was stolen, and recovered a few months later – or was it? Some say what was recovered was only a replica. In any case, real or replica, the Westminster stone was returned to Scotland in 1996, and is now in Edinburgh Castle. Clearly the Stone of Scone and the Scone of Stone echo one another across the multiverse.
    Curiously, and we advance it with some caution, our world may offer a more direct parallel with the Scone of Stone. In her book Footprints in Stone Janet Bord mentions a local legend that there’s said to be a stone behind the main altar in Reims cathedral with the marks of Christ’s buttocks . He was helping masons build the main doorway, and felt a bit tired. So many comments spring to mind, but the only one we will allow to spring further is that stories of Jesushelping in the construction were endemic during the cathedral-building era, and this one has the feel of a workmen’s legend, especially the sort which would be told to wide-eyed apprentices.
    Let us return to the Discworld. There, dwarfs are famous workmen. As Captain of the City Watch, Vimes had to learn about the folkways of this important ethnic minority. When one of the city dwarfs was murdered, and later when one who had joined the multiracial City Watch was killed in the course of his duties, Vimes learned a good deal. For one thing, a dead dwarf’s tools are always melted down, however fine they are, since no one else would want to use them:
    ‘What, use another dwarf’s actual tools?’ Carrot’s mouth twisted in distaste. ‘Oh no, that’s not … right. I mean, they’re … part of him. I mean … someone else using them, after he’s used them all these years, I mean … urrgh!’ [ Men at Arms ]
    And a weapon, of the finest quality, will be placed in his grave. Vimes, examining the murdered Bjorn Hammerhock’s workshop, noticed a particularly heavy axe etched with intricate patterns. This, Carrot explains, is a burial weapon:
    ‘It’s made to be buried with a dwarf. Every dwarf is buried with a weapon. You know? To take with him to … wherever he’s going.’
    ‘But it’s fine workmanship! And it’s got an edge like— aargh,’ Vimes sucked his finger, ‘like a razor!’
    Carrot looked shocked. ‘Of course. It would be no good facing them with an inferior weapon.’
    ‘What them are you talking about?’
    ‘Anything bad he encounters on his journey after death,’ said Carrot, a shade awkwardly.
    This is so essential that Cuddy, the dwarf watchman, flatlyrefuses to depart into the afterlife because his axe has been shattered in the fall that killed him. He protests to Death that he needs a good weapon:
    ‘If I’m not going to be properly buried, I ain’t going. My tortured soul will walk the world in torment.’
    I T DOESN’T HAVE TO.
    ‘It can if it wants to,’ snapped the ghost of Cuddy.
    Many, many human societies in this world have agreed with the dwarfs that the dead should be given their weapons, and anything else they might need on the journey. And archaeologists are very grateful to them – especially to the ones who carefully laid the stuff in the grave, rather than those who tossed it on to a funeral pyre, even if from the ghost’s point of view both methods are equally good. Obviously, archaeologists can’t tell from material remains whether in these old societies the living also felt (as Carrot does) that there’s something disgusting about using weapons and tools that had belonged to the dead, but it would not be surprising if they did. In the modern world, Gypsies traditionally approve of the idea of burning a dead man’s caravan and all its contents, though this means such financial loss to the family that nowadays it is rarely done. So too on the Disc, the Chalkland shepherds burned Granny Aching’s hut after her death, knowing none of them would dare use something