The Colour of Magic   ::   Пратчетт Терри

“Look,” said Rincewind, “this isn’t gettingus anywhere.” He inched sideways. The Luggage followed faithfully, lid half open and menacing. Rincewind briefly considered making a desperate leap to safety. The lid smacked in anticipation. In any case, he told himself with sinking heart, the damn thing would only follow him again. It had that dogged look about it. Even if he managed to get to a horse, he had a nasty suspicion that it would follow him at its own pace. Endlessly. Swimming rivers and oceans. Gaining slowly every night, while he had to stop to sleep. And then one day, in some exotic city and years hence, he’d hear the sound of hundreds of tiny feet accelerating down the road behind him…

“You’ve got the wrong man!” he moaned. “it’s not my fault! I didn’t kidnap him!”

The box moved forward slightly. Now there was just a narrow strip of greasy jetty between Rincewind’s heels and the river. A flash of precognition told him that the box would be able to swim faster than he could. He tried not to imagine what it would be like to drown in the Ankh.

“It won’t stop until you give in, you know,” said a small voice conversationally.

Rincewind looked down at the iconograph, still hanging around his neck. Its trapdoor was open and the homunculus was leaning against the trap, smoking a pipe and watching the proceedings with amusement.

“I’ll take you in with me, at least,” said Rincewind through gritted teeth.

The imp took the pipe out of his mouth. “What did you say?” he said.

“I said I’ll take you in with me, dammit!”

“Suit yourself.” The imp tapped the side of the box meaningfully. “We’ll see who sinks first.”

The luggage yawned, and moved forward a fraction of an inch.

“Oh all right,” said Rincewind irritably. “But you’ll have to give me time to think.”

The luggage backed off slowly. Rincewind edged his way back onto reasonably safe land and sat down with his back against a wall. Across the river the lights of Ankh city glowed.

“You’re a wizard,” said the picture imp. “You’ll think of some way to find him.”

“Not much of a wizard, I’m afraid.”

“You can just jump down on everyone and turn them into worms,” the imp added encouragingly, ignoring his last remark.

“No. Turning To Animals is an Eighth Level spell. I never even completed my training. I only know one spell.”

“Well, that’ll do.”

“I doubt it,” said Rincewind hopelessly

“What does it do, then?”

“Can’t tell you.