tp.lightfantastic-第3部分

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ed　was　as　fleet　as　the　wind　n　a　fairly　calm　day；　say　about　Force　Three；'　and　any　loose　talk　about　a　beloved　having　a　face　that　launched　a　thousand　ships　would　have　to　be　backed　by　evidence　that　the　object　of　desire　did　indeed　look　like　a　bottle　of　champagne。
　Quimby　was　eventually　killed　by　a　disgruntled　poet　during　an　experiment　conducted　in　the　palace　grounds　to　prove　the　disputed　accuracy　of　the　proverb　The　pen　is　mightier　than　the　sword；'　and　in　his　memory　it　was　amended　to　include　the　phrase　'only　if　the　sword　is　very　small　and　the　pen　is　very　sharp。'
　So。　Approximately　sixty…seven；　maybe　sixty…eight　per　cent；　of　the　city　slept。　Not　that　the　other　citizens　creeping　about　on　their　generally　unlawful　occasions　noticed　the　pale　tide　streaming　through　the　streets。　Only　the　wizards；　used　to　seeing　the　invisible；　watched　it　foam　across　the　distant　fields。
　The　Disc；　being　flat；　has　no　real　horizon。　Any　adventurous　sailors　who　got　funny　ideas　from　staring　at　eggs　and　oranges　for　too　long　and　set　out　for　the　antipodes　soon　learned　that　the　reason　why　distant　ships　sometimes　looked　as　though　they　were　disappearing　over　the　edge　of　the　world　was　that　they　were　disappearing　over　the　edge　of　the　world。
　But　there　was　still　a　limit　even　to　Galder's　vision　in　the　mist…swirled；　dust…filled　air。　He　looked　up。　Looming　high　over　the　University　was　the　grim　and　ancient　Tower　of　Art；　said　to　be　the　oldest　building　on　the　Disc；　with　its　famous　spiral　staircase　of　eight　thousand；　eight　hundred　and　eighty…eight　steps。　From　its　crenelated　roof；　the　haunt　of　ravens　and　disconcertingly　alert　gargoyles；　a　wizard　might　see　to　the　very　edge　of　the　Disc。　After　spending　ten　minutes　or　so　coughing　horribly；　of　course。
　'Sod　that；'　he　muttered。　'What's　the　good　of　being　a　wizard；　after　all？　Avyento；　thessalousl　I　would　fly！　To　me；　spirits　of　air　and　darkness！'
　He　spread　a　gnarled　hand　and　pointed　to　a　piece　of　crumbling　parapet。　Octarine　fire　sprouted　from　under　his　nicotine…stained　nails　and　burst　against　the　otting　stone　far　above。
　It　fell。　By　a　finely　calculated　exchange　of　velocities　Ga。cer　rose；　nightshirt　flapping　around　his　bony　legs。　Higher　and　higher　he　soared；　hurtling　through　the　pale　night　like　a；　like　a　…　all　right；　like　an　elderly　but　powerful　wizard　being　propelled　upwards　by　an　expertly　judged　thumb　on　the　scales　of　the　universe。
　He　landed　in　a　litter　of　old　nests；　caught　his　balance；　and　stared　down　at　the　vertiginous　view　of　a　Disc　dawn。
　At　this　time　of　the　long　year　the　Circle　Sea　was　almost　on　the　sunset　side　of　Cori　Celesti；　and　as　the　daylight　sloshed　down　into　the　lands　around　Ankh…Morpork　the　shadow　of　the　mountain　scythed　across　the　landscape　like　the　gnomon　of　God's　sundial。　But　nightwards；　racing　the　slow　light　towards　the　edge　of　the　world；　a　line　of　white　mist　surged　on。　There　was　a　crackling　of　dry　twigs　behind　him。　He　turned　to　see　Ymper　Trymon；　second　in　mand　of　the　Order；　who　had　been　the　only　other　wizard　able　to　keep　up。
　Galder　ignored　him　for　the　moment；　taking　care　only　to　keep　a　firm　grip　on　the　stonework　and　strengthen　his　personal　spells　of　protection。　Promotion　was　slow　in　a　profession　that　traditionally　bestowed　long　life；　and　it　was　accepted　that　younger　wizards　would　frequently　seek　advancement　via　dead　men's　curly　shoes；　having　previosly　emptied　them　of　their　occupants。　Besides；　there　was　something　disquieting　about　young　Trymon。　He　didn't　smoke；　only　drank　boiled　water；　and　Galder　had　the　nasty　suspicion　that　he　was　clever。　He　didn't　smile　often　enough；　and　he　liked　figures　and　the　sort　of　organisation　charts　that　show　lots　of　squares　with　arrows　pointing　：o　other　squares。　In　short；　he　was　the　sort　of　man　who　could　use　the　word　'personnel'　and　mean　it。
　The　whole　of　the　visible　Disc　was　now　covered　with　a　shmmering　white　skin　that　fitted　it　perfectly。
　Galder　looked　down　at　his　own　hands　and　saw　them　covered　with　a　pale　network　of　shining　threads　that　ollowed　every　movement。
　He　recognised　this　kind　of　spell。　He'd　used　them　himself。　But　his　had　been　smaller　…　much　smaller。
　'It's　a　Change　spell；'　said　Trymon。　The　whole　world　is　being　changed。'
　Some　people；　thought　Galder　grimly；　would　have　had　the　decency　to　put　an　exclamation　mark　on　the　end　of　a　statement　like　that。
　There　was　the　faintest　of　pure　sounds；　high　and　sharp；　like　the　breaking　of　a　mouse's　heart。
　'What　was　that？'　he　said。
　Trymon　cocked　his　head。
　'C　sharp；　I　think；'　he　said。
　Galder　said　nothing。　The　white　shimmer　had　vanished；　and　the。first　sounds　of　the　waking　city　began　to　filter　up　to　the　two　wizards。　Everything　seemed　exactly　the　same　as　it　had　before。　All　that；　just　to　make　things　stay　the　same？
　He　patted　his　nightshirt　pockets　distractedly　and　finally　found　what　he　was　looking　for　lodged　behind　his　ear。　He　put　the　soggy　dogend　in　his　mouth；　called　up　mystical　fire　from　between　his　fingers；　and　dragged　hard　on　the　wretched　rollup　until　little　blue　lights　flashed　in　front　of　his　eyes。　He　coughed　once　or　twice。
　He　was　thinking　very　hard　indeed。
　He　was　trying　to　remember　if　any　gods　owed　him　any　favours。
　

　In　fact　the　Gods　were　as　puzzled　by　all　this　as　the　wizards　were；　but　they　were　powerless　to　do　anything　and　in　any　case　were　engaged　in　an　eons…old　battle　with　the　Ice　Giants；　who　had　refused　to　return　the　lawnmower。
　But　some　clue　as　to　what　actually　had　happened　might　be　found　in　the　fact　that　Rincewind；　whose　past　life　had　just　got　up　to　a　quite　interesting　bit　when　he　was　fifteen；　suddenly　found　himself　not　dying　after　all　but　hanging　upside　down　in　a　pine　tree。
　He　got　down　easily　by　dropping　uncontrollably　from　branch　to　branch　until　he　landed　on　his　head　in　a　pile　of　pine　needles；　where　he　lay　gasping　for　breath　and　wishing　he　d　been　a　better　person。
　Somewhere；　he　knew；　there　had　to　be　a　perfectly　logical　connection。　One　minute　one　happens　to　be　dying；　having　dropped　off　the　rim　of　the　world；　and　the　next　one　is　upside　down　in　a　tree。
　As　always　happened　at　times　like　this；　the　Spell　rose　up　in　his　mind。
　Rincewind　had　been　generally　reckoned　by　his　tutors　to　be　a　natural　wizard　in　the　same　way　that　fish　are　natural　mountaineers。　He　probably　would　have　been　thrown　out　of　Unseen　University　anyway　…　he　couldn't　remember　spells　and　smoking　made　him　feel　ill　…　but　what　had　really　caused　trouble　was　all　that　stupid　business　about　sneaking　into　the　room　where　the　Octavo　was　chained　and　opening　it。
　And　what　made　the　trouble　even　worse　was　that　no…one　could　figure　out　why　all　the　locks　had　temporarily　bee　unlocked。
　The　spell　wasn｜t；sa　demanding　lodger。　It　just　sat　there　like　an　old　toad　at　the　bottom　of　a　pond。　But　whenever　Rincewind　was　feeling　really　tired　or　very　afraid　it　tried　to　get　itself　said。　No…one：knew　what　would　happen　if　one　of　the　Eight　Great　Spells　was　said　by　itself；　but　the　general　Agreement　was　that　the　best　place　from　which　to　watch　the　effects　would　be　the　next　universe。
　It　was　a　weird　thought　to　have；　lying　on　a　heap　of　pine　needles　after　just　falling　off　the　edge　of　the　world；　but　Rincewind　had　a　feeling　that　the　spell　wanted　to　keep　him　alive。
　'Suits　me；'　he　thought。
　He　sat　up　and　looked　at　the　trees。　Rincewind　was　a　city　wizard　and；　although　he　was　aware　that　there　were　various　differences　among　types　of　tree　by　which　their　nearest　and　dearest　could　tell　them　apart；　the　only　thing　he　knew　for　certain　was　that　the　end　without　the　leaves　on　fitted　nto　the　ground。　There　were　far　too　many　of　them；　arranged　with　absolutely　no　sense　of　order。　The　place　hadn't　been　swept　for　ages。
　He　remembered　something　about　being　able　to　tell　where　you　were　by　looking　at　which　side　of　a　tree　the　moss　grew　on。　These　trees　had　moss　everywhere；　and　wooden　warts；　and　scrabbly　old　branches；　if　trees　were　people；　these　trees　would　be　sitting　in　rocking　chairs。
　Rincewind　gave　the　nearest　one　a　kick。　With　unerring　aim　it　dropped　an　acorn　on　him。　He　said　'Ow。'　The　tree；　in　a　voice　like　a　very　old　door　swinging　open；　said；　'Serves　you　right。'
　There　was　a　long　silence。
　Then　Rincewind　said；　'Did　you　say　that？'
　'Yes。'
　'And　that　too？'
　'Yes。'
　'Oh。'　He　thought　for　a　bit。　Then　he　tried；　'I　suppose　you　wouldn't　happen　to　know　the　way　out　of　the　forest