Here we go. I rewrote chapters 5&6, and have now finished the seventh
chapter. Please read it, it took a long time to write!
* * *
"Okay. Now, I have one more touch to add, if I may."
Q scuttled off into an antechamber and emerged with three buckets of paint.
"What are you doing?" asked Rincewind.
"You call yourself Magic Man, right?"
"Well. Look, I am NOT the Great Wizard, understand!"
"No, no, I mean, that is you saving the world title, is it not?"
"Well. I suppose."
"Good." Q pried the top of one of the paint cans with a piece of metal on the floor, pulled a paintbrush out of his pocket, and began to slap octarine paint onto the chest plate.
"What are you doing?"
'Trying out my fast drying paint. Yes, it works! Come have a look at yourself!"
Rincewind was pointed at a mirror. It showed a man cloaked in a set of armor that had a large octagon painted on its chest, and inside that octagon two capital letter M's.
"Wonderful, isn't it? Now for you two."
Q popped the top off the black paint and in about thirty seconds Butterfly was looking at herself in the mirror and trying to puzzle out the paisley shape on her chest. It was Eric who figured it out first.
"It's half of the Agatean symbol for peace, um, what's it called."
"Ling-Lang," said Butterfly. "Yes, you're absolutely right." She looked again at the black symbol on her white armor. "This half is Power, and your half is-
"Cowardice. Together they equal peace." This was Rincewind.
"I am not a coward!"
"No, you are not. Someday I may forgive you. But Butterfly is considerably more headstrong than you are. Besides, that kind of armor will strengthen your magical abilities. I know you have some. Try turning that piece of metal there into a dove."
Rincewind held up the fragment of metal Q had used to open the paint cans. Two seconds later, Rincewind was holding a fresh lemon. Q slapped some white paint onto Eric's armor.
"Right. You three are now suitable for saving the world. Rincewind, you are now a super-hero, and Ms. Butterfly, Mr. Eric- you two can be his kick- sides."
"Kick-sides?"
"The people who stand next to the hero and kick everyone who is not coming at the hero head on. You can leave through this hole you made. You should all be able to fly."
They shot out the hole and into the city. A few moments later, a man entered the room.
"You think it'll work?" asked Leonard of Quirm
"I do hope so. And now I must see how the Watch is getting along," replied Lord Vetinari.
* * *
Rincewind was having a really bad day. He had been dragged, quite literally, through hell and back, by Eric, and lived. Then, he had been proclaimed all over the Counterweight Continent as The Great Wizard. He had survived that, too. But now they had banded forces, he suspected they were in love, or at least Eric was in love with Butterfly, and some madman chose THIS as a good time to attack the city? Rincewind wanted to kill him, then realized that this was probably his adversary's plan as well. He gulped.
"Oh, come on, could you put me down?" he pleaded. Eric and Butterfly exchanged contemplative glances.
"Promise not to try and run off again?" asked Butterfly.
"Yes." Said Rincewind miserably.
"Okay," said Eric.
They each dropped one end of the stick that Rincewind was tied to, and he flopped on his face into the ashes that had precipitated from at least a hundred burning buildings. He hadn't seen a fire this big-not counting Hell- since when Twoflower had in-sewered the Broken, now Mended, soon to be Scorched-Drum. Rincewind coughed and rolled onto his back. Above him the midday sky was completely obscured by the smoke of really greasy combustibles combusting. And explosion rumbled in the distance.
Out in the Octarine grasslands, a storm was gathering both overhead and underground. A machine predating the unification of Ankh-Morpork was flashing piece by piece into life. Zaxton, standing as close as he though wise, was nearly hit when a wall of an adjacent building toppled over. Elsewhere in the dead city the few remaining buildings were toppling to the ground without grace or pride.
Someone had done a number on this city years ago.
There was a metallic groan from under the ground. And then it surfaced. Vic, ageless and angry rose out of the rubble, indistinct in the twilight of the storm. It was some sort of tower, that much was sure, for its shape could be seen against the flashing lightning that extended all the way out from the hub in an odd curl.
That number was eight.
* * *
R & R!
* * *
"Okay. Now, I have one more touch to add, if I may."
Q scuttled off into an antechamber and emerged with three buckets of paint.
"What are you doing?" asked Rincewind.
"You call yourself Magic Man, right?"
"Well. Look, I am NOT the Great Wizard, understand!"
"No, no, I mean, that is you saving the world title, is it not?"
"Well. I suppose."
"Good." Q pried the top of one of the paint cans with a piece of metal on the floor, pulled a paintbrush out of his pocket, and began to slap octarine paint onto the chest plate.
"What are you doing?"
'Trying out my fast drying paint. Yes, it works! Come have a look at yourself!"
Rincewind was pointed at a mirror. It showed a man cloaked in a set of armor that had a large octagon painted on its chest, and inside that octagon two capital letter M's.
"Wonderful, isn't it? Now for you two."
Q popped the top off the black paint and in about thirty seconds Butterfly was looking at herself in the mirror and trying to puzzle out the paisley shape on her chest. It was Eric who figured it out first.
"It's half of the Agatean symbol for peace, um, what's it called."
"Ling-Lang," said Butterfly. "Yes, you're absolutely right." She looked again at the black symbol on her white armor. "This half is Power, and your half is-
"Cowardice. Together they equal peace." This was Rincewind.
"I am not a coward!"
"No, you are not. Someday I may forgive you. But Butterfly is considerably more headstrong than you are. Besides, that kind of armor will strengthen your magical abilities. I know you have some. Try turning that piece of metal there into a dove."
Rincewind held up the fragment of metal Q had used to open the paint cans. Two seconds later, Rincewind was holding a fresh lemon. Q slapped some white paint onto Eric's armor.
"Right. You three are now suitable for saving the world. Rincewind, you are now a super-hero, and Ms. Butterfly, Mr. Eric- you two can be his kick- sides."
"Kick-sides?"
"The people who stand next to the hero and kick everyone who is not coming at the hero head on. You can leave through this hole you made. You should all be able to fly."
They shot out the hole and into the city. A few moments later, a man entered the room.
"You think it'll work?" asked Leonard of Quirm
"I do hope so. And now I must see how the Watch is getting along," replied Lord Vetinari.
* * *
Rincewind was having a really bad day. He had been dragged, quite literally, through hell and back, by Eric, and lived. Then, he had been proclaimed all over the Counterweight Continent as The Great Wizard. He had survived that, too. But now they had banded forces, he suspected they were in love, or at least Eric was in love with Butterfly, and some madman chose THIS as a good time to attack the city? Rincewind wanted to kill him, then realized that this was probably his adversary's plan as well. He gulped.
"Oh, come on, could you put me down?" he pleaded. Eric and Butterfly exchanged contemplative glances.
"Promise not to try and run off again?" asked Butterfly.
"Yes." Said Rincewind miserably.
"Okay," said Eric.
They each dropped one end of the stick that Rincewind was tied to, and he flopped on his face into the ashes that had precipitated from at least a hundred burning buildings. He hadn't seen a fire this big-not counting Hell- since when Twoflower had in-sewered the Broken, now Mended, soon to be Scorched-Drum. Rincewind coughed and rolled onto his back. Above him the midday sky was completely obscured by the smoke of really greasy combustibles combusting. And explosion rumbled in the distance.
Out in the Octarine grasslands, a storm was gathering both overhead and underground. A machine predating the unification of Ankh-Morpork was flashing piece by piece into life. Zaxton, standing as close as he though wise, was nearly hit when a wall of an adjacent building toppled over. Elsewhere in the dead city the few remaining buildings were toppling to the ground without grace or pride.
Someone had done a number on this city years ago.
There was a metallic groan from under the ground. And then it surfaced. Vic, ageless and angry rose out of the rubble, indistinct in the twilight of the storm. It was some sort of tower, that much was sure, for its shape could be seen against the flashing lightning that extended all the way out from the hub in an odd curl.
That number was eight.
* * *
R & R!