But this street was deathly quiet, that particularly unpleasant quiet that comes when hundreds of frightened and angry people are standing very still.
A man at the edge of the crowd turned around and scowled at the newcomers. He had a red star painted on his forehead.
'What's—' Rincewind began, and stopped as his voice seemed far too loud, 'what's this?'
'You're strangers?' said the man.
'Actually we know one another quite—' Twoflower egan, and fell silent. Bethan pointed up the street.
Every temple had a star painted on it. There was a particularly big one daubed across the stone eye outside the temple of Blind Io, leader of the gods.
'Urgh,' said Rincewind. 'Io is going to be really pissed when he sees that. I don't think we ought to hang around here, friends.'
The crowd was facing a crude platform that had been built in the centre of the wide street. A big banner had been draped across the front of it.
'I always heard that Blind Io can see everything that happens everywhere,' said Bethan quietly. 'Why hasn't —'
'Quiet!' said the man beside them. 'Dahoney speaks!'
A figure had stepped up on the platform, a tall thin man with hair like a dandelion. There was no cheer from the crowd, just a collective sigh. He began to speak.
Rincewind listened in mounting horror. Where were the gods? said the man. They had gone. Perhaps they had never been. Who, actually, could remember seeing them? And now the star had been sent —
It went on and on, a quiet, clear voice that used words like 'cleanse' and 'scouring' and 'purify' and drilled into the brain like a hot sword. Where were the wizards? Where was magic? Had it ever really worked, or had it all been a dream?
Rincewind began to be really afraid that the gods might get to hear about this and be so angry that they'd take it out on anyone who happened to have been around at the time.
But somehow even the wrath of the gods would have been better than the sound of that voice. The star was coming, it seemed to say, and its fearful fire could only be averted by – by – Rincewind couldn't be certain, but he had visions of swords and banners and blank-eyed warriors. The voice didn't believe in gods, which in Rincewind's book was fair enough, but it didn't believe in people either.
A tall hooded stranger on Rincewind's left jostled him. He turned – and looked up into a grinning skuli nder a black hood.
Wizards, like cats, can see Death.
Compared to the sound of that voice, Death seemed almost pleasant. He leaned against a wall, his scythe propped up beside him. He nodded at Rincewind.
'Come to gloat?' whispered Rincewind. Death shrugged.
I HAVE COME TO SEE THE FUTURE, he said.
'This is the future?'
A FUTURE, said Death.
'It's horrible,' said Rincewind.
I'M INCLINED TO AGREE, said Death.
'I would have thought you'd be all for it I'
NOT LIKE THIS. THE DEATH OF THE WARRIOR OR THE OLD MAN OR THE LITTLE CHILD, THIS I UNDERSTAND, AND I TAKE AWAY THE PAIN AND END THE SUFFERING. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS DEATH-OF-THE-MIND.
'Who are you talking to?' said Twoflower. Several members of the congregation had turned around and were looking suspiciously at Rincewind.
'Nobody,' said Rincewind. 'Can we go away? I've got a headache.'
Now a group of people at the edge of the crowd were muttering and pointing to them. Rincewind grabbed the other two and hurried them around the corner.
'Mount up and let's go,' he said. 'I've got a bad feeling that —'
A hand landed on his shoulder. He turned around. A pair of cloudy grey eyes set in a round bald head on top of a large muscular body were staring hard at his left ear. The man had a star painted on his forehead.
'You look like a wizard,' he said, in a tone of voice that suggested this was very unwise and quite possibly fatal.
'Who, me? No, I'm – a clerk. Yes. A clerk. That's right,' said Rincewind.
He gave a little laugh.
The man paused, his lips moving soundlessly, as though he was listening to a voice in his head. Several ther star people had joined him. Rincewind's left ear began to be widely regarded.
'I think you're a wizard,' said the man.
'Look,' said Rincewind, 'if I was a wizard I'd be able to do magic, right? I'd just turn you into something, and I haven't, so I'm not.'
'We killed all our wizards,' said one of the men. 'Some ran away, but we killed quite a lot. They waved their hands and nothing came out.'
Rincewind stared at him.
'And we think you're a wizard too,' said the man holding Rincewind in an ever-tightening grip. 'You've got the box on legs and you look like a wizard.'
Rincewind became aware that the three of them and the Luggage had somehow become separated from their horses, and that they were now in a contracting circle of grey-faced, solemn people.
Bethan had gone pale. Even Twoflower, whose ability to recognise danger was as good as Rincewind's ability to fly, was looking worried.
Rincewind took a deep breath.
He raised his hands in the classic pose he'd learned years before, and rasped, 'Stand back! Or I'll fill you full of magic!'
'The magic has faded,' said the man. 'The star has taken it away. All the false wizards said their funny words and then nothing happened and they looked at their hands in horror and very few of them, in fact, had the sense to run away.'
'I mean it!' said Rincewind.
He's going to kill me, he thought. That's it. I can't even bluff any more. No good at magic, no good at bluffing, I'm just a —
The Spell stirred in his mind. He felt it trickle into his brain like iced water and brace itself. A cold tingle coursed down his arm.
His arm raised of its own volition, and he felt his own mouth opening and shutting and his own tongue moving as a voice that wasn't his, a voice that sounded old and dry, said syllables that puffed into the air like steam clouds.
Octarine fire flashed from under his fingernails. It wrapped itself around the horrified man until he was lost in a cold, spitting cloud that rose above the street, hung there for a long moment, and then exploded into nothingness.
There wasn't even a wisp of greasy smoke.
Rincewind stared at his hand in horror.
Twoflower and Bethan each grabbed him by an arm and hustled him through the shocked crowd until they reached the open street. There was a painful moment as they each chose to run down a different alley, but they hurried on with Rincewind's feet barely touching the cobbles.
'Magic,' he mumbled excitedly, drunk with power. 'I did magic . . .'
'That's right,' said Twoflower soothingly.
'Would you like me to do a spell?' said Rincewind. He pointed a finger at a passing dog and said 'Wheeee!' It gave him a hurt look.
'Making your feet run a lot faster'd be favourite,' said Bethan grimly.
'Sure!' slurred Rincewind. 'Feet! Run faster! Hey, look, they're doing it!'
'They've got more sense than you,' said Bethan. 'Which way now?'
Twoflower peered at the maze of alleyways around them. There was a lot of shouting going on, some way off.
Rincewind lurched 6ut of their grasp, and tottered uncertainly down the nearest alley.
'I can do it!' he shouted wildly. 'Just you all watch out —'
'He's in shock,' said Twoflower.
'Why?'
'He's never done a spell before.'
'But he's a wiizard!'
'It's all a bit complicated,' said Twoflower, running after Rincewind. 'Anyway, I'm not sure that was actually him. it certainly didn't sound like him. Come along, old fellow.'
Rincewind looked at him with wild, unseeing eyes.
'I'll turn you into a rosebush,' he said.
'Yes, yes, jolly good. Just come along,' said Twoflower soothingly, pulling gently at his arm.
There was a pattering of feet from several alleyways and suddenly a dozen star people were advancing on them.
Bethan grabbed Rincewind's limp hand and held it up threateningly.
'That's far enough!' she screamed.
'Right!' shouted Twoflower. 'We've got a wizard and we're not afraid to use him!'
'I mean it!' screamed Bethan, spinning Rincewind around by his arm, like a capstan.
'Right! We're heavily armed! What?' said Twoflower.
'I said, where's the Luggage?' hissed Bethan behind Rincewind's back.
Twoflower looked around. The Luggage was missing.
Rincewind was having the desired effect of the star people, though. As his hand waved vaguely around they treated it like a rotary scythe and tried to hide behind one another.
'Well, where's it gone?'
'How should I know?' said Twoflower.
'It's your Luggage!'
'I often don't know where my Luggage is, that's what being a tourist is all about,' said Twoflower. 'Anyway, it often wanders off by itself. It's probably best not to ask why.'
It began to dawn on the mob that nothing was actually happening, and that Rincewind was in no condition to hurl insults, let alone magical fire. They advanced, watching his hands cautiously.
Twoflower and Bethan backed away. Twoflower looked around.
'Bethan?'
'What?' said Bethan, not taking her eyes off the advancing figures.
'This is a dead end.'
'Are you sure?'
'I think I know a brick wall when I see one,' said Twoflower reproachfully.
'That's about it, then,' said Bethan.
'Do you think perhaps if I explain – ?'
'No.'
'Oh.'
'I don't think these are the sort of people who listen to explanations,' Bethan added.
Twoflower stared at them. He was, as has been mentioned, usually oblivious to personal danger. Against the whole of human experience Twoflower believed that if only people would talk to each other, have a few drinks, exchange pictures of their grandchildren, maybe take in a show or something, then everything could be sorted out. He also believed that people were basically good but sometimes had their bad days. What was coming down the street was having about the same effect on him as a gorilla in a glass factory.
There was the faintest of sounds behind him, not so much a sound in fact as a change in the texture of the air.
The faces in front of him gaped open, turned, and disappeared rapidly down the alley.
'Eh?' said Bethan, still propping up the now unconscious Rincewind.
Twoflower was looking the other way, at a big glass window full of strange wares, and a beaded doorway, and a large sign above it all which now said, after its characters had finished writhing into position:
'Skillet, Wang, Yrxle!yt, Bunglestiff, Cwmlad and Patel'
'Estblshd: various'
'PURVEYORS'
The jeweller turned the gold slowly over the tiny anvil, tapping the last strangely-cut diamond into place.
'From a troll's tooth, you say?' he muttered, squinting losely at his work.
'Yesh,' said Cohen, 'and as I shay, you can have all the resht.' He was fingering a tray of gold rings.
'Very generous,' murmured the jeweller, who was dwar-vish and knew a good deal when he saw one. He sighed.
'Not much work lately?' said Cohen. He looked out through the tiny window and watched a group of empty-eyed people gathered on the other side of the narrow street.
'Times are hard, yes.'
'Who are all theshe guysh with the starsh painted on?' said Cohen.
The dwarf jeweller didn't look up.
'Madmen,' he said. 'They say I should do no work because the star comes. I tell them stars have never hurt me, I wish I could say the same about people.'
Cohen nodded thoughtfully as six men detached themselves from the group and came towards the shop. They were carrying an assortment of weapons, and had a driven, determined look about them.
'Strange,' said Cohen.
'I am, as you can see, of the dwarvish persuasion,' said the jeweller. 'One of the magical races, it is said. The star people believe that the star will not destroy the Disc if we turn aside from magic. They're probably going to beat me up a bit. So it goes.'