Colour of Magic, The

Synopsis:
Year:
2008
79 Views


In a distant

and second-hand set of dimensions,

through wavering star mists,

see the Great A 'Tuin.

Drifting onwards through space

atop the shell of the great turtle

are four giant elephants,

upon whose broad shoulders

rests the Discworld.

For the people on the Disc,

the turtle was a mere hypothesis,

untiI one day, the island kingdom of Krull,

whose rim-most mountains

project over the rim fall,

lowered over the edge a brass vesseI

containing severaI astrozoologists.

Their mission did indeed prove

the existence of the turtle.

Unfortunately,

owing to a minor malfunction,

they were unable to answer

an even more fundamentaI question.

What is the sex of the turtle?

The remaining astrozoologists

are never short of a question.

Why does it matter?

So we're gonna look at a turtle's bottom?

- That won't be very nice, will it?

- No.

Since the failure of the last mission,

this vital question

cannot possibly be answered

without sending a new expedition

over the edge of the Disc

in this.

It's a bit small.

It will be somewhat bigger.

Yeah, but where in the world

are you gonna find someone

stupid enough to go in that?

SeveraI thousand miles

hubwards from the rim,

in Ankh Morpork, the Disc's oldest city,

the ship arriving in its dock

is carrying Twoflower,

the Discworld's first tourist.

He is looking forward

to all its sights and smells.

And, of course, no tour would be complete

without a visit to the city's

Unseen University for Wizards,

and its famous Tower of Art.

When our story begins,

wizards are not very nice.

Carrying the finaI remains

of one of their number,

the eight heads of the orders of wizardry

have demonstrated

great powers of survivaI, because

behind every wizard of the eighth rank,

there is at least one seventh-rank wizard

trying to bump him off.

Old Rumlet, he never saw it coming,

you know, Trymon.

Well, you know what they say,

Arch Chancellor.

"When a wizard is tired of looking

for broken glass in his dinner,

"he is tired of life. "

I'm just speculating, obviously.

We are gathered here today

to pay our respects to Old Rumlet,

a wizard...

Sorry. Sorry.

I'm not late, am I?

- Who is that?

- Rincewind, Arch Chancellor.

Rincewind?

Oh!

Have him sent to my office in ten minutes.

Oh, get on with it, Weatherwax.

My back's killing me.

Run along, Rincewind.

Oh, yes, sir. Yes, sir.

Oh! Sorry, Narrowbolt.

Mr Rincewind, there are,

as you know, eight levels of wizardry

to which the aspiring young...

To which the student can aspire.

In your not inconsiderable time here

at the Unseen University,

you have failed to reach even level one.

- Ah, yes, but you see...

- What the Arch Chancellor is trying to say

is that, after decades of teaching you,

patience seems not so much a virtue

as a life sentence.

- Oh, yes, but...

- There is simply no room

for your kind of person

in a modern university.

- I feel...

- So you leave the Arch Chancellor

no other course of action but to expel you.

But it's only been 40 years.

The hat.

Goodbye, Mr Rincewind.

In the competitive world

of wizardry,

the way to the top

is via dead men's pointy shoes.

Even if you have to empty them yourself.

Ashburn, Narrowbolt.

- You can't...

- And don't come back!

Now, let me tell you...

Ah, thank you very much.

Deep in its very bowels,

the departure of the Disc's worst wizard

from the Unseen University

has stirred magic.

Good day to thee, sire.

Right.

Goodbye, world.

Disappointing.

"Hello! "

Hello, yourself.

"I wish

"to be directed

"to an hotel

"tavern,

"lodging house in hospice.

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