Eric

“Absolutely. Where the screams of anguish and the tortured torments—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point,” said Rincewind. “Only, you see, the thing is, in fact, that I am not a demon. So if you would just let me out?”

“I am not fooled by thy outer garb, demon,” said the figure. In a more normal voice it added, “Anyway, demons always lie. Well-known fact.”

“It is?” said Rincewind, clutching at this straw. “In that case, then — I am a demon.”

“Aha! Condemned out of your own mouth!”

“Look, I don’t have to put up with this,” said Rincewind. “I don’t know who you are or what’s happening, but I’m going to have a drink, all right?”

He went to walk out of the circle, and went rigid with shock as sparks crackled up from the runic inscriptions and earthed themselves all over his body.

“Thou mays’nt — thou maysn’t — thou mays’n’t—” The conjurer of demons gave up. “Look, you can’t step over the circle until I release you, right? I mean, I don’t want to be unpleasant, it’s just that if I let you out of the circle you will be able to resume your true shape, and a pretty awful shape it is too, I expect. Avaunt!” he added, feeling that he wasn’t keeping up the tone.

“All right. I’m avaunting. I’m avaunting,” said Rincewind, rubbing his elbow. “But I’m still not a demon.”

“How come you answered the conjuration, then? I suppose you just happened to be passing through the paranatural dimensions, eh?”

“Something like that, I think. It’s all a bit blurred.”

“Pull the other one, it has got bells on.” The conjurer leaned his sword against a lectern on which a heavy book, dripping bookmarks, lay open. Then he did a mad little jig on the floor.

“It’s worked!” he said. “Heheh!” He caught sight of Rincewind’s horrified gaze and pulled himself together. He gave an embarrassed cough, and stepped up to the lectern.

“I really am not—” Rincewind began.

“I had this list here somewhere,” said the figure. “Let’s see, now. Oh, yes. I command you — thee, I mean — to, ah, grant me three wishes. Yes. I want mastery of the kingdoms of the world, I want to meet the most beautiful woman who has ever lived, and I want to live for ever.” He gave Rincewind an encouraging look.

“All that?” said Rincewind.

“Yes.”

“Oh, no problem,” said Rincewind sarcastically. “And then I get the rest of the day off, right?”

“And I want a chest full of gold, too. Just to be going on with.”

“I can see you’ve got it all thought out.”

“Yes. Avaunt!”

“Right, right. Only—” Rincewind thought hurriedly, he’s quite mad, but mad with a sword in his hands, the only chance I’ve got is to argue him out of it on his own terms, “—only, d’you see, I’m not a very superior kind of demon and I’m afraid those sort of errands are a bit out of my league, sorry. You can avaunt as much as you like, but they’re just beyond me.”

The little figure peered over the top of its glasses.

“I see,” he said testily. “What could you manage then, do you think?”

“Well, er—” said Rincewind, “I suppose I could go down to the shops and get you a packet of mints, or something.”

There was a pause.

“You really can’t do all those things?”

“Sorry. Look, I’ll tell you what. You just release me, and I’ll be sure to pass the word around when I get back to—” Rincewind hesitated. Where the hell did demons live, anyway? “Demon City,” he said, hopefully.

“You mean Pandemonium?” said his captor suspiciously.

“Yes, that’s right. That’s what I meant. I’ll tell everyone, next time you’re in the real world be sure and look up — what’s your name?”

“Thursley. Eric Thursley.”

“Right.”

“Demonologist. Midden Lane, Pseudopolis. Next door to the tannery,” said Thursley hopefully.

“Right you are. Don’t you worry about it. Now, if you’ll just let me out—”

Thursley’s face fell.

“You’re sure you really can’t do it?” he said, and Rincewind couldn’t help noticing the edge of pleading in his voice. “Even a small chest of gold would do. And, I mean, it needn’t be the most beautiful woman in the whole of history. Second most beautiful would do. Or third. You pick any one out of, you know, the top one hundr— thousand. Whatever you’ve got in stock, sort of thing.” By the end of the sentence his voice twanged with longing.

Rincewind wanted to say: Look, what you should do is stop all this messing around with chemicals in dark rooms and have a shave, a haircut, a bath, make that two baths, buy yourself a new wardrobe and get out of an evening and then — but he’d have to be honest, because even washed, shaved and soaked in body splash Thursley wasn’t going to win any prizes — and then you could have your face slapped by any woman of your choice.

I mean, it wouldn’t be much, but it would be body contact.

“Sorry,” he said again.

Thursley sighed. “The kettle’s on,” he said. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

Rincewind stepped forward into a crackle of psychic energy.

“Ah,” said Thursley uncertainly, as the wizard sucked at his fingers, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll put you under a conjuration of duress.”

“There’s no need, I assure you.”