Rewritten 9-22-02
Same Bat Disclaimer, Same Bat Site, Same Bat Author.
* * *
Zaxton was looking at a book. It was called Majikal Implimentes and Howe to Use Them. He turned to page 842:
And thew menny armys whent agenst it, it seemed Hivold had built the strongest of eny Magykal Implimant yet. For none could match the fury of Vic, thew menny tried. It hadde a light weapon which couldde set fyres.
Zaxton patted the device on the table next to him.
This ray weapon is in fygur 10-9. As you can see, it was simple yet dedly, thew this diyagram is incompleat, as the blew prints were never found.
Well, Zaxton had finished them himself. His prototype was finished, and he had tested it. Still, with all the fighting going on down below, no one would notice that he had just blown a hole through the top of the Tower of Art. His device was finished. Now all he needed were some more magical implements to stir up trouble while he went and got the original. Hivold had been smart and buried it. And Zaxton was the possessor of one of two copies of the book. The other was in the library of Unseen University.
* * *
"Where are we? What happened?"
Twoflower sat up, slowly.
"Ook."
"Father, are you all right?"
"Lotus Blossom- is that you?"
"Yes, father," she said.
"Where are we?"
"Inside." This was a third voice, from a figure seated in a corner of the room.
"That you, Mr. Bursar?"
"Maybe. I think we are in a position not favorable for elk."
"Where are we, father?"
"Can't tell. There's a light above us, a grate made of, I'd guess Octiron, a curved stone wall behind, and some rubble and a huge cross-beam to sit on. There's a roof on the cage, and cobbles below. And I think that about covers it."
"Ook."
"No, you can eat your bananas. The Bursar gave me some of his sandwich. Tell me, does he often work with heavy metals?"
* * *
"How did you make suits of magical armor? You need to have all sorts of books and baubles and stuff."
"Well, it's interesting. I'm reading this book I got out of Unseen. It talks about magical implements through the ages. He held up an ancient tome the lettering on which was faded.
"This book shows some of the great magical implements of all time, dating back ever before Tacticus."
In the ruined city that is Rincewind's mind, a boulder suddenly shifted, revealing a piece of information. And then it all clicked, piece-by-piece, into place.
"May I see that article? The one that talks about this armor." Click.
"Certainly." Q flipped to a page towards the back of the book. It showed a sketchy diagram of a suit of armor exactly like Rincewind's. Click.
"'This armer was the onlee thyng that Vic cudde nottee stoppe.' Who's Vic?"
"Oh, very interesting. I plan to build a copy of that soon too. Not who," said Q, "But what." On the page he had flipped to, there was a tower. Well, sort of. It had huge wheels on the bottom, and the walls appeared to be made of metal. On the side of the page were smaller pictures of mounted crossbows and flamethrowers, apparently some of the weapons Vic had. Click, click, and click. He looked out the window. As if on cue, a bright blue line of electroctarine shot through the roof of the Tower of Art from the inside. He knew he was going to regret asking the next question. * * *
Zaxton was looking through his assorted weapons for something that looked dangerous. He came up with a pair of morning stars welded together at the bases of the handles. A good start. He took his primer sheets and fed it into a metal box on a table. When nothing happened, he rapped on the box a few times till the imp woke up and began to copy the paper. A duplicate came out the side, followed by the original. He pushed this last back in and told the box to make twenty more.
He took his copy and threw it into a large metal chest. He picked up the morning star and threw it in with it. He picked up a large metal cylinder and put on a gas mask. This would be tricky. The cylinder was, like the box, made of depolarized Octiron, which could keep high magic at bay, well, not as well as leadrobium, but that had been invented only recently and was too expensive anyway. The gas mask was completely worthless, because the gas he would be working anyway affected anything it touched, and he knew it. But old habits die hard. For Zaxton had in his possession a large amount of the horribly potent octogen, a substance valued in magical science and warfare. Magical implementing hinged on its existence.
Raw octogen was untamed and dangerous. But someone, somewhen, had realized that this, when sealed up with an inanimate object and a spell, make the object do when the spell said. A magical implement took about ten minutes to make- the amount of time that it took for the object to absorb the octogen. That was it.
By now the morning star was done. Zaxton opened the box, stepped back, and watched the object sail out one of the windows of the Tower of Art. Right. A sapient sandstorm was in order right about now.
* * *
This is the disc of- you know all that. But watch it spiral around slowly underneath you, and focus on the Hub. You can hear the ice giants and the gods arguing, if you can really strain to hear over that music. What? No, what did you say? NO, WHAT DID YOU SAY!? I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THE DAMN MUSIC'S TOO LOUD!!
Ahem.
They are still at it. And now, look a few thousand miles to the south, where the octarine grass grows. Hubwards and Widdershins of Ankh-Morpork lies the forgotten city of Hivold. Its only mention in any book is of course in a very old and select book on magical implements. And here is Zaxton. He shot over the Sto plains on the remnants of a flying carpet. It was now thread bare enough and had acquired enough holes to apply for the title of flying rag. But it wouldn't have to fly much farther. It flopped listlessly to the ground in the main street of what had been the greatest menace to Ankh-Morpork ever.
* * *
"Heave!"
"Ook!"
"Heave!"
"Ook."
It was no use. The giant collapsed support beam too heavy for Zaxton to move out of the cell when he built it was certainly big enough, but, with the available humanoid power, the only thing they could do was drop it.
"Father, will we ever escape?"
"Do not worry." Twoflower smiled, and the lines around his four eyes crinkled. He realized that for the moment, keeping everyone happy would be best until Rincewind came. He could wait.
* * *
Zaxton wandered through the streets and ally ways of an almost completely razed section of the city. The barracks should have been around here somewhere. Ah! He rushed over to a building which was complete in the sense that none of the pieces were missing, and began to dig through what had once been a wall three stories up. Yes! There was the lead plate, and there was-
The inscription had been mostly eroded by the wind, but Zaxton knew what it was. He stepped back out of the rubble and pulled the book out of his robes. Ahem.
"Engage!"
Somewhere below Zaxton, a long patient audio receiver picked up the word. And a gear slid down an axle that still had some oil on it and woke up its companions.
"Rage of the machine, hear me, for I am you master: I am Windward Zaxton, Last of the magical- okay, not last, but our numbers are dwindling, and besides- I am The one who has spoken you name, you are mine to command!
A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky[1]
And underground, the bane of the Discworld awoke.
----------------------- [1] Yes, I know Blind Io was currently being deafened by the music of the Ice Giants, but all gods have a sixth sense that tells them when is a good time to show off. Who says gods can't multitask. I SAID, WHO SAYS GODS CAN'T MULTITASK! NO, WHAT DID YOU SAY? I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE MUSIC AND THE LAUGHTER OF THE READERS!
Same Bat Disclaimer, Same Bat Site, Same Bat Author.
* * *
Zaxton was looking at a book. It was called Majikal Implimentes and Howe to Use Them. He turned to page 842:
And thew menny armys whent agenst it, it seemed Hivold had built the strongest of eny Magykal Implimant yet. For none could match the fury of Vic, thew menny tried. It hadde a light weapon which couldde set fyres.
Zaxton patted the device on the table next to him.
This ray weapon is in fygur 10-9. As you can see, it was simple yet dedly, thew this diyagram is incompleat, as the blew prints were never found.
Well, Zaxton had finished them himself. His prototype was finished, and he had tested it. Still, with all the fighting going on down below, no one would notice that he had just blown a hole through the top of the Tower of Art. His device was finished. Now all he needed were some more magical implements to stir up trouble while he went and got the original. Hivold had been smart and buried it. And Zaxton was the possessor of one of two copies of the book. The other was in the library of Unseen University.
* * *
"Where are we? What happened?"
Twoflower sat up, slowly.
"Ook."
"Father, are you all right?"
"Lotus Blossom- is that you?"
"Yes, father," she said.
"Where are we?"
"Inside." This was a third voice, from a figure seated in a corner of the room.
"That you, Mr. Bursar?"
"Maybe. I think we are in a position not favorable for elk."
"Where are we, father?"
"Can't tell. There's a light above us, a grate made of, I'd guess Octiron, a curved stone wall behind, and some rubble and a huge cross-beam to sit on. There's a roof on the cage, and cobbles below. And I think that about covers it."
"Ook."
"No, you can eat your bananas. The Bursar gave me some of his sandwich. Tell me, does he often work with heavy metals?"
* * *
"How did you make suits of magical armor? You need to have all sorts of books and baubles and stuff."
"Well, it's interesting. I'm reading this book I got out of Unseen. It talks about magical implements through the ages. He held up an ancient tome the lettering on which was faded.
"This book shows some of the great magical implements of all time, dating back ever before Tacticus."
In the ruined city that is Rincewind's mind, a boulder suddenly shifted, revealing a piece of information. And then it all clicked, piece-by-piece, into place.
"May I see that article? The one that talks about this armor." Click.
"Certainly." Q flipped to a page towards the back of the book. It showed a sketchy diagram of a suit of armor exactly like Rincewind's. Click.
"'This armer was the onlee thyng that Vic cudde nottee stoppe.' Who's Vic?"
"Oh, very interesting. I plan to build a copy of that soon too. Not who," said Q, "But what." On the page he had flipped to, there was a tower. Well, sort of. It had huge wheels on the bottom, and the walls appeared to be made of metal. On the side of the page were smaller pictures of mounted crossbows and flamethrowers, apparently some of the weapons Vic had. Click, click, and click. He looked out the window. As if on cue, a bright blue line of electroctarine shot through the roof of the Tower of Art from the inside. He knew he was going to regret asking the next question. * * *
Zaxton was looking through his assorted weapons for something that looked dangerous. He came up with a pair of morning stars welded together at the bases of the handles. A good start. He took his primer sheets and fed it into a metal box on a table. When nothing happened, he rapped on the box a few times till the imp woke up and began to copy the paper. A duplicate came out the side, followed by the original. He pushed this last back in and told the box to make twenty more.
He took his copy and threw it into a large metal chest. He picked up the morning star and threw it in with it. He picked up a large metal cylinder and put on a gas mask. This would be tricky. The cylinder was, like the box, made of depolarized Octiron, which could keep high magic at bay, well, not as well as leadrobium, but that had been invented only recently and was too expensive anyway. The gas mask was completely worthless, because the gas he would be working anyway affected anything it touched, and he knew it. But old habits die hard. For Zaxton had in his possession a large amount of the horribly potent octogen, a substance valued in magical science and warfare. Magical implementing hinged on its existence.
Raw octogen was untamed and dangerous. But someone, somewhen, had realized that this, when sealed up with an inanimate object and a spell, make the object do when the spell said. A magical implement took about ten minutes to make- the amount of time that it took for the object to absorb the octogen. That was it.
By now the morning star was done. Zaxton opened the box, stepped back, and watched the object sail out one of the windows of the Tower of Art. Right. A sapient sandstorm was in order right about now.
* * *
This is the disc of- you know all that. But watch it spiral around slowly underneath you, and focus on the Hub. You can hear the ice giants and the gods arguing, if you can really strain to hear over that music. What? No, what did you say? NO, WHAT DID YOU SAY!? I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THE DAMN MUSIC'S TOO LOUD!!
Ahem.
They are still at it. And now, look a few thousand miles to the south, where the octarine grass grows. Hubwards and Widdershins of Ankh-Morpork lies the forgotten city of Hivold. Its only mention in any book is of course in a very old and select book on magical implements. And here is Zaxton. He shot over the Sto plains on the remnants of a flying carpet. It was now thread bare enough and had acquired enough holes to apply for the title of flying rag. But it wouldn't have to fly much farther. It flopped listlessly to the ground in the main street of what had been the greatest menace to Ankh-Morpork ever.
* * *
"Heave!"
"Ook!"
"Heave!"
"Ook."
It was no use. The giant collapsed support beam too heavy for Zaxton to move out of the cell when he built it was certainly big enough, but, with the available humanoid power, the only thing they could do was drop it.
"Father, will we ever escape?"
"Do not worry." Twoflower smiled, and the lines around his four eyes crinkled. He realized that for the moment, keeping everyone happy would be best until Rincewind came. He could wait.
* * *
Zaxton wandered through the streets and ally ways of an almost completely razed section of the city. The barracks should have been around here somewhere. Ah! He rushed over to a building which was complete in the sense that none of the pieces were missing, and began to dig through what had once been a wall three stories up. Yes! There was the lead plate, and there was-
The inscription had been mostly eroded by the wind, but Zaxton knew what it was. He stepped back out of the rubble and pulled the book out of his robes. Ahem.
"Engage!"
Somewhere below Zaxton, a long patient audio receiver picked up the word. And a gear slid down an axle that still had some oil on it and woke up its companions.
"Rage of the machine, hear me, for I am you master: I am Windward Zaxton, Last of the magical- okay, not last, but our numbers are dwindling, and besides- I am The one who has spoken you name, you are mine to command!
A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky[1]
And underground, the bane of the Discworld awoke.
----------------------- [1] Yes, I know Blind Io was currently being deafened by the music of the Ice Giants, but all gods have a sixth sense that tells them when is a good time to show off. Who says gods can't multitask. I SAID, WHO SAYS GODS CAN'T MULTITASK! NO, WHAT DID YOU SAY? I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE MUSIC AND THE LAUGHTER OF THE READERS!