The Colour of Magic   ::   Пратчетт Терри

“And what have you got to say for yourself?”

It was rumoured that an entire wing of the Patrician’s palace was filled with clerks who spenttheir days collating and updating all the information collected by their master’s exquisitely organized spy system. Rincewind didn’t doubt it. He glanced towards the balcony that ran down one side of the audience room. A sudden run, a nimble jump—a sudden hail of crossbow quarrels. He shuddered. The Patrician cradled his chins in a beringed hand, and regarded the wizard with eyes as small and hard as beads.

“Let me see,” he said. “Oathbreaking, the theft of a horse, uttering false coinage—yes, I think it’s the Arena for you, Rincewind.”

This was too much.

“I didn’t steal the horse! I bought it fairly!”

“But with false coinage. Technical theft, you see.”

“But those rhinu are solid gold!”

“Rhinu?” The Patrician rolled one of them around in his thick fingers. “is that what they are called? How interesting. But, as you point out, they are not very similar to dollars…”

“Well, of course they’re not—”

“Ah you admit it, then?”

Rincewind opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and shut it again.

“Quite so. And on top of these there is, of course, the moral obloquy attendant on the cowardly betrayal of a visitor to this shore. For shame, Rincewind!” The Patrician waved a hand vaguely. The guards behind Rincewind backed away, and their captain took a few paces to the right. Rincewind suddenly felt very alone.

It is said that when a wizard is about to die Death himself turns up to claim him (instead of delegating the task to a subordinate, such as Disease or Famine, as is usually the case). Rincewind looked around nervously for a tall figure in black [ 3 ].

Was that a flickering shadow in the corner?

“Of course,” said the Patrician, “I could be merciful.” The shadow disappeared. Rincewind looked up an expression of insane hope on his face.

“Yes?” he said.

The Patrician waved a hand again. Rincewind saw the guards leave the chamber. Alone with the lord of the twin cities, he almost wished they would come back.

“Come hither, Rincewind,” said the Patrician. He indicated a bowl of savouries on a low onyx table by the throne. “Would you care for a crystallised jellyfish? No?”

“Um,” said Rincewind, “no.”

“Now I want you to listen very carefully to what I am about to say,” said the Patrician amiably, “otherwise you will die. In an interesting fashion. Over a period. Please stop fidgetting like that.