Chapter 1
There is a world, slowly travelling through the great cosmos aback the great turtle A-Tuin. It is a world of magic, where ideas have power. One such idea is, even now, looking for a way to be realised. It needs a very special person, simple, impressionable with a mind uncluttered by trivialities such as morality or conscience. It is an idea born on another world, out of needs and desires, tin and rubber…… Oh, and, did I mention, it smells vaguely like…….vanilla.
John Dimswick was as honest as the day is long. A curious expression as, in Johns case, all it meant was that the longer the day, the more he did wrong. He wasn't necessarily a bad man; he had dedicated his life to helping the poor. The only problem with that being that John himself was poor, so he helped himself to as much as he could. Anyone meeting him, found John to be a likeable man. He stumbled over his words, tripped over his own feet, and pondered over the questions; why, where and when. This was, admittedly, when the Watch was asking the question; why were you where you were when the crime was committed? Somehow though, this far, John had avoided the Tanty and, even more amazingly, he had also avoided the attentions of the Thieves Guild as an unlicensed thief. Most importantly however, at least for the purposes of narrative, John was a man without morals. He never considered the implications of his actions; indeed he never considered anything beyond the moment. So here he was, John Dimswick, a no-body. A criminal so petty he should wear a collar and name-tag. He was a man who, up until now, had led a life of opportunist crime, never thinking of the victim and half the time not even thinking at all.
The idea floated above the Discworld, searching, searching, until one day it twitched its metaphorical nose, locked onto the scent of the one it was searching for and swooped down into the impressionable mind of the man who was to head the Discworlds first used kart emporium.