(Discworld and all characters, places, and events therein are owned by Terry Pratchett, where applicable. No profit was gained from this work.)
Finis
Things had changed.
That, of course, was an obvious fact. After all, things changed on a daily basis, especially in the Unseen University. Wizards came and go, but, somehow, the Library was always close to the same. Shelves switched around sometimes, yes, and the old Librarian had long since retired, but it wasn't surprising. Things in the Unseen U. were nice and slow, just like the nice, slow magic that shuffled around in carpet slippers. Everything was predictable and wonderfully boring- the kind of boredom that Rincewind loved to save and never seemed to get enough of.
Rincewind was older, as well. Old enough for his hair to be white-gray and wispier than before, and for his knees to creak a bit and his back to ache on rainy days. He was also the Head Librarian, known to the students as the tall, thin, and quiet man that fixed the books and didn't leave the Library much, except to get potatoes. He mostly walked slowly around, and, although he was quite clearly old and his hearing wasn't exactly what it used to be, the wizzard was still sharp as a tack and could outrun the younger students with ease. Not that he did so very much, anymore. But he still could, if there was ever the need. Which there wasn't. From what he knew, some other poor sod was going on the dangerous errands and having adventures- and good riddance to adventure. Rincewind had seen quite enough of them to last him well into the afterlife.
He had finished rebinding the books, the students weren't there, the potatoes were eaten... Rincewind was left with nothing to do, and was thoroughly enjoying it. He decided to have a stroll through the uneventful areas of the Library. He counted his shuffling steps until he lost track of them, listened to the soft fizzle of magical discharge, and thought of nothing more important than whether he felt like another baked potato or not. He also thought back to those infamous adventures and how uncomfortable they were, which only made his mundane and above all comfortable routine all the more pleasant.
While lost in such thoughts, Rincewind made one slight error. It isn't unusual for someone, in their old age, to lose track of where they wander. In the Library, such a mistake could be fatal, or worse.
After a while, Rincewind noticed that he wasn't where he planned to be. He had wandered into one of the more dangerous spots of the Library, where the books were vicious to everybody and the magical discharges were particularly violent. The wizzard grumbled to himself under his breath, cursing his moment of nostalgia. When he turned to go back the way he came, he found that the path went somewhere completely different. He gulped. This wasn't going to end well. He was up the metaphorical creek without the metaphorical paddle.
Hell, he didn't even have the bloody boat.
Turning quickly, Rincewind looked for an escape, or just any way to go. He found one that passed between two bookshelves, although it seemed to be only half and inch in width. Thin as he was, he wasn't that thin.
However, as he approached, it grew until he had to crane his head up to try and see the top- and found that the shelves continued upwards and onwards until they went out of view. Shrugging, he walked on.
He found a familiar sensation returning to him- one that he hadn't felt in quite a few years, and really hadn't missed much. It was a sense of fearful dread, a wondering of just what was going to happen this time.
He checked the shadows for a black robed figure, just in case. He didn't see Him at first, then gulped when Death came into view. He was there only a moment, but Rincewind got a clear view of a scythe blade and a golden lifetimer. Rincewind shook his head, shivering, but kept going.
The further he went, the more lost he was. The wizard was beginning to think he'd never find the right way, and that he'd just walk through L-Space forever...
He shook his head to clear out those thoughts. After all, he'd always pulled through somehow in all the other situations like this. Now was just as good a time as any to come out of it alive.
Too bad he wasn't quite as strong as he used to be, and walking through a high magical field was like going through molasses. Rincewind found that, after a good while of walking, he needed a bit of a rest. Not that he really wanted to stop- the discharges were getting stronger and more frequent. The air was so oily he half expected his hair to be dripping with it, and it tasted like an old tin can. As he moved, his limbs were surrounded with an octarine corona and fat blue sparks fell from his wispy hair and beard, and the occasional greenish one would pop from the top of his sagging pointy hat. Nevertheless, he leaned up against a shelf of sleeping books, and waited for his breath to catch back up.
There was a sudden loud crack, and a huge amount of magic suddenly was released. It was two milliPrime at least, large enough for triple-ended squares and circles with seven points to pop into existence. Strange things gibbered in a half-life for an instant before falling into some dark dimension, and quite a few books were suddenly turned into purple-flavored custard and one chewed up pencil stub. The magical field was so huge and sudden that, throughout the University, magic failed completely as it was sucked into it. Spells fizzled out without even puffs of smoke, potions turned into impure water, staffs turned into bits of old stick, and Hex's ant farm cracked in the middle of a problem. In the spot that Rincewind occupied, there was only a pair of gently smoking boots.
There always was, in situations like that.
RINCEWIND?
The wizzard in question blinked, and looked around. The Library had dimmed already to a sort of bluish haze. He gazed sadly down at his smoldering boots, and sighed.
"I didn't see that one coming."
NO ONE EVER DOES, Death said, not unkindly, in his leaden voice.
"I suppose they'll have to get a new Librarian," he continued. "Shame. I was just beginning to understand that filing system."
I'M SURE YOU'LL SOON FORGET ABOUT IT.
Rincewind smirked mirthlessly. "I'm sure I'll be forgetting a lot of things in a moment."
IT'S REALLY NOT THAT BAD. YOU WIZARDS GET PROCESSED PRETTY QUICKLY.
"Yaar," he replied. "So there is reincarnation."
PERHAPS. IT DEPENDS. ARE YOU VERY RELIGIOUS?
"Not really."
THEN YOU'LL PROBABLY BE PICKING UP A NEW BODY IN A BIT. YOU STILL HAVE TO CROSS THE DESERT, THOUGH. NO ONE REALLY GETS OUT OF THAT ONE.
Rincewind looked up, and watched as the Library's domed ceiling faded into darkness studded with cold stars and the floor changed to sable sand. He turned towards Death, looking at Him for the first time since he'd died.
Death was as He usually was, in the robe that made the blackest inks look pale, the scythe blade humming as it sliced through the air, sharp enough to split molecules. There was also the gold lifetimer resting in His bony grip. Death handed the timer to Rincewind.
The wizzard looked at the thing in some surprise. It was large, made of faultless gold, with his name clearly engraved in it. The sand in the bottom bulb was fine and silvery. Somehow, he had expected his lifetimer to be nondescript and rather cheap.
He also didn't expect to see his reflection to show himself as younger. It was his inner age, in a manner of speaking- the age where he could run the fastest and the furthest. It some ways, it only made sense that he'd be like that.
ALL HEROES' LIFETIMERS ARE GOLD, Death said, feeling that some explanation was necessary. AND NOW, PERHAPS IT IS TIME THAT YOU WENT ONWARDS, RINCEWIND.
"It took you a long time to get me, didn't it," Rincewind said as he began to fade.
I CAN BE ROBBED BUT NEVER DENIED. Death shrugged. YOU COULDN'T LIVE FOREVER, I REALIZED. I JUST HAD TO BE PATIENT.
"Er..." Rincewind said.
BUT YOU HAVEN'T GOT ANY MORE TIME, RINCEWIND, Death said. IT WAS GOOD HAVING THIS CHAT, THOUGH. I'LL SEE YOU IN YOUR NEXT INCARNATION.
Rincewind shuddered. "You can be late for that appointment; I won't mind."
I AM NEVER LATE. I ALWAYS ARRIVE PRECISELY ON TIME.
Rincewind the Wizzard finally faded to only a pale outline, which was blown away in a quiet breeze that stirred Death's robe but failed to move a single atom in the air or a particle of the dark sand.
Somewhere else, in a dimension that was neither Here nor There, in a Library that was never silent, there was a book. It was a long book spanning over three thick volumes, all filled with thin black writing, depicting the life and adventures of a wizard. It went from his birth to the time he went into a forbidden room to glance at a powerful spellbook, and stretched up to the last words he heard. Then, at the very bottom of that final page (and there were no more pages afterwards), there was one final sentence.
The end.