Disclaimer:
I don't claim any ownership in Terry Pratchett's
Discworld novels & stories,
Nor do I claim any ownership of Dan Brown's
The Da Vinci Code.
The Da Quirm Code
By
Runt Thunderbelch
Chapter 1: The Woman in White
"Tra la la, la la la la la," sang Cecil Seychelles happily as he puttered around his shop in the fading light of the sun. His feather duster danced lightly over his beloved inventory of beautiful seashells.
The silver bell over the door tinkled merrily as what must be the final customer of the day entered. She was a young lady, all dressed in white. She was most beautiful, her startling pale skin being accentuated by impossibly deep blue eyes. "I beg your pardon, sir. Is this establishment called Cecil Seychelles Sells Seashells Down by the Seashore to Seasick Sailors and Shell-Shocked Soldiers?"
Cecil's jaw dropped. "Blimey, miss. You're the first customer I've ever had who's been able to pronounced the name of me shop properly."
"And are you Cecil Seychelles?"
"I am; I am. I most truly am. What can I do for you?"
Her hand came up. In it was a miniature crossbow. "You can die." She fired. The bolt hit Cecil in his chest.
"Uuuuh," he said and fell over backwards.
The beautiful young lady who was dressed all in white picked up a large, spiral-shaped nautilus shell, turned and left the shop to the merry tinkle of the silver bell over the door.
dQC
Havelock Vetinari entered into the spacious jail cell located high in the walls of the Patrician's Palace. He was still beating out the persistent embers in his black cloak.
Leonard of Quirm glanced up from the collection of steaming metal tubes and boilers he was working on near one of the many barred windows. The longest, straightest tube protruded boldly out the window. Steam was leaking out everywhere. "Oh. Good evening, Patrician," he said, dripping in sweat.
"Good evening, Leonard," replied the tall, rapier thin man dressed in black. "I see you've added a few new booby traps to the tunnel leading up here."
"Oh yes," the ancient man replied. "Do you like them?"
"Leonard, has it ever occurred to you to tell me about new traps before you put them in?"
"Why would I want to do that?"
"So that maybe they wouldn't kill me."
Leonard chuckled. "No chance of that. You're Havelock Vetinari."
"I know who I am. I also know that I am made of flesh and blood, have a beating heart, and am just as mortal as the next man. One of these days, one of your little tricks could kill me."
Leonard chuckled again. "My my my. Aren't we the worry wart?"
The Patrician tried glowering, but Leonard was too concentrated on his pipes to notice, and so the thin man in black continued. "I'll make you a little deal. You can design all the booby traps you want. You can even build them. But let me install them, all right."
"But you're a very busy man."
"I like knowing what you're doing. You have a fascinating mind. For instance, what are you working on there?'
Leonard grinned. "I'm making tea."
"Tea?"
"Would you like a cup?"
The Patrician regarded the complicated device. Metal pipes led everywhere; steam squealed out from many of the joints; and the whole thing sat on a low, wooden platform mounted on wheels. "Are there biscuits?"
"Delicious ones, with the little sugary things on top."
"Well then, of course."
"Coming right up. Well, first I have to bleed off some pressure." With a wobbly shove, Leonard of Quirm rolled the device away from the window. He searched around and finally located a fist-sized stone ball and slipped it into the longest tube. Then he rolled the device back to where the long tube was sticking out of the window. Next he retrieved a pair of porcelain cups and saucers, set them under a pair of short spouts, and turned the value above each of the spouts. "Now watch this. This is my favorite part."
Leonard pulled the big handle. There was an incredibly loud BANG, the stone ball went sailing high out over the city, and with a joyous whistle, delicious-smelling tea poured out of the two spouts and into the porcelain cups.
The Patrician ignored the tea and watched the high arc of the stone ball. He did take time to glance quickly over at Leonard, who had produced a spyglass through which he was watching to flight of the ball.
"Oh phooey, gosh darn it, and fiddle sticks!" cursed the old inventor.
"Is something wrong?"
"I missed by a good six inches!"
"Missed? Missed what?" The Patrician padded over and took the spyglass. He pointed it to where Leonard had been looking. A broad board had been set up outside the city walls. A red bull's-eye had been painted on it. Six inches away was a round hole. "How far away is that board?"
"Oh, about three miles."
"And you missed the target by six inches?"
"Yes," moped Leonard. "If I'd have been shooting at a skinny man, I'd have missed him all together. This thing is a failure!"
"Yes. Just exactly what is this 'thing'."
"I call it a hydrothermal device for the distant transit of stone spheres with tea kettle."
"I see."
"And it's a failure, failure, failure! I'll destroy it tonight!"
"No, no! Don't do that. Don't trouble yourself. I'll have a couple of my men come up here and take it away from your sight forever."
"But Patrician. How will they ever make it passed my booby traps?"
"That's my problem, Leonard, not yours. Now, shall we have some of that delicious-smelling tea?"
dQC
Deep in abandoned mineshafts under the Loko Mountains of Uberwald, Runt Thunderbelch was hunting the ultra-rare glass spider. These tiny creatures were almost impossible to find. They were nearly extinct, and their glass bodies made them almost invisible. They had diamond mandibles, which could deliver a most painful bite, and their webs were spun from strands of crystal-clear silicon dioxide. An unobservant person could walk right by one and never see it.
But Runt was wearing a pair of large-lensed 8-D spectacles, which Rosaline Wing had lent to him. When an over-bold glass spider happened to wander out of its crack in the wall, the thaumic lenses showed one clear glass leg as red, one as orange, one as yellow, one as green, one as blue, one as indigo, one as violet, and one as octorine.(fn1) The spider looked like a walking rainbow.
Runt silently reached for his thaumic sphere. He snapped it in half and crept slowly up on the spider. As quickly as the snap of a whip, he clapped the two halves together over the spider. The little beastie realized it has been captured and attempted to sink its diamond mandibles into the sphere. But the thaumic walls caused the mandibles to harmlessly slip off. There was no way that spider was ever going to escape. Miss Wing was going to pay Runt a fortune for this little guy.
dQC
The silver bell over the door of the little shop jingled merrily as a lady dressed all in white entered. This customer had the palest of skin and eyes of a darker blue than the deepest ocean. "Good evening. Is this establishment called Rosaline Wing's Flights of Fancy, an Emporium of Pet Exotica?"
The woman behind the counter smiled. "It is. We have the rarest of pets for the discerning pet owner."
The impossibly dark blue eyes of the woman swept around the shop. "Ah, I see you still have glass spiders."
"A half dozen, yes, and I am expecting more."
"Oh, a half dozen shall be sufficient for my purposes." Her hand came up. In it was a miniature crossbow. She fired. The bolt hit Rosaline in her throat.
The shopkeeper's voice wordlessly gurgled as she grasp at the deadly shaft. She fell to her knees as if praying, and then over onto her side.
The beautiful young lady who was dressed all in white went over and opened the thaumically protected mesh cage holding the six glass spiders. She swept them into her hand and, ignoring their bites, turned and left the shop to the merry tinkle of the silver bell over the door.
1 According to Terry Pratchett, these are the eight colors of the spectrum. Octorine is the color of magic.
