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The wind soughed across the moors on the edge of Lancre, and hissed through the heather. / Around some old mounds, half buried in brambles, it shook the wet branches of a single thorn tree, and shredded the curling smoke that drifted up through the roots. / There was a single scream. / Down below, the Nac mac Feegle were doing their best, but strength is not the same as weight and mass and even with pixies hanging on to every limb and Big Aggie herself si…

‚How will this work?‘ said Sacharissa, trying to look intelligent. It was much better to concentrate on something like this than think about strange men getting ready to invade again. / ‚Slowly,‘ mumbled Goodmountain, fiddling with the press. ‚You realize that this means it’ll take us much longer to print each paper?‘ / ‚You vanted colour, I gif you colour,‘ said Otto sulkily. ‚You never said qvick.‘ / Sacharissa looked at the experimental iconograph. Mos…

Tick /   / Igor opened the door before the second knock. An Igor might be filling coffins with earth in the cellar, or up on the roof adjusting the lightning conductor, but a caller never had to knock twice. / ‚Ladythip,‘ he muttered, nodding his head. He looked blankly at the six figures behind her. / ‚We have called to inspect progress,‘ said Lady LeJean. / ‚And thethe ladieth and gentlemen, ladythip?‘ / ‚My associates,‘ said her ladyship, matching Igor’s b…

The air blew off the mountains, filling the air with fine ice crystals. It was too cold to snow. In weather like this wolves came down into villages, trees in the heart of the forest exploded when they froze. Except there were fewer and fewer wolves these days, and less and less forest. / In weather like this right-thinking people were indoors, in front of the fire. / Telling stories about heroes.

Look, constable, what I don’t understand is, surely he / wouldn’t be into blues? Because that was Wayne’s life for / you. A blues single. I mean, if people were music, Wayne / would be like one of those scratchy old numbers, you / know, re-recorded about a hundred times from the / original phonograph cylinder or whatever, with some / old guy with a name like Deaf Orange Robinson standing / knee-deep in the Mississippi and moaning through his / nose. / You’d think he’d be m…

Light travels slowly on the Disc and is slightly heavy, with a tendency to pile up against high mountain ranges. Research wizards have speculated that there is another, much speedier type of light which allows the slower light to be seen, but since this moves too fast to see they have been unable to find a use for it. / This does mean that, despite the Disc being flat, everywhere does not experience the same time at, (or want of a better term, the s…