Between the Lines: Tales of the Discworld
Created by Terry Pratchett
Written by The Mighty Floyd
"Rincewind's Folly"
In the beginning was nothing. Then, the Words were spoken, and, slowly, the Universe came into being. Stars flared to life. Big balls of rock came together and made bigger balls of rock, with little balls of rock floating around them. And, in one far-flung corner of the Universe, there was a Disc, supported on the backs of four elephants, in turn supported on the back of a giant turtle. And a Voice spoke thus: "Oh, bugger. That wasn't right..."
This is the Discworld...
Rincewind hid. He was good at hiding. He was even better at running, to tell the truth, but in such a small space there wasn't enough room to really pick up speed. So, hiding was definitely the better option.
He didn't know why so many people seemed to chase him. It had been that way since he could remember. He would be minding his own business, when behind him would come that terrible shout: "Oi! Let's pound that little bugger!" Invariably it would be followed by cheers and the sound of rapidly approaching feet.
He wasn't really sure why he was being chased this time. It wasn't as though he'd meant to leave that flask over the flame while he went to check on something on the other side of the classroom. Was it his fault if those chemicals were highly unstable?
But there you had it. He could never seem to get a break. It wasn't even as if he was particularly good at being a wizard. Just because no one else would take him, he'd been sent to Unseen University to "become a man" or, failing that, a toad or something.
The sound of pounding feet faded into the distance, but he decided to stay in the little room he had taken refuge in. He knew of too many instances where mobs had doubled back without warning to take the unwary by surprise. He felt that this wasn't right. Mobs should be straightforward, unthinking masses. They shouldn't have some bright guy to say, "Hey! What if he got behind us?" He felt with the firm conviction of the oft harrassed that mobs should never cover the same ground twice.
For the first time, he heard a humming. It was low and deep, a throbbing that didn't enter the mind through the ears, but through the whole body. He turned around, and nearly bolted when he saw where he was.
The Book was held down by the heaviest of chains. The room was kept icy cold to make it sluggish. It still strained against its bonds, seeming at any moment to be i danger of breaking free. This was the Octavo, which held the eight spells spoken to create the Universe.
Rincewind tried to back away, but his feet failed him. Soon, so did his instinct for self-preservation. A whispering seemed to penetrate his mind through the hum.
Open me, it said. Read me. Speak me.
He started to move toward the book. He couldn't stop himself. He strained against the force, but kept going, so that soon he was walking nearly parallel to the ground, bent over backward, trying not to approach the book, it was so inviting, Open me, he reached out, undid the clasp, turned the cover...
The door burst open, and several senior wizards burst in, just as Rincewind fell gasping to the floor. One slammed the book shut, but it was too late. A spell had wormed into Rincewind's head, and nothing except saying it would get it out.
And that's where his troubles really began...