[This is a rather short chapter. I'm just posting it to show that the story still aten't dead.]

The fire in the hearth had long since died, but a feeble glow lit the Dining Hall. Floating like a corpse candle, a glass orb cast a pale sphere of blue light. By this arcane illumination, an ancient wizard knelt on the cold floor, scrutinizing the knives imbedded in the wall. His eyes were copper pennies in the dark. His crabbed hands ran over the hilts, feeling for his Master's mark. Nine were there – but where was the tenth?

With a harsh, rasping sigh, the sage spoke.

"Oh, bugger."

At this point, the salamander sphere flickered out, leaving the old man muttering in darkness.

"Now this. Buy a cheap one, he said. You won't need it long, he said. Hah! When you buy a light source, you always go for quality, that's what I -"

The wizard stopped short. There was a blue glow again, but it was brighter. Horribly brighter. Two flaring pinpoints of light stared directly into his eyes. Death had come to check on his progress.

ALBERT, YOU HAVE NOT FOUND IT?

"I'm looking, Master, I'm looking, but I don't think the thing's here!"

YOU STATED THAT YOU HAD A PLAN.

"I did. I disguised myself as a servant, see, and bet Downey a pint that he couldn't steal the guild knives from his aunt."

AND HE FAILED?

"No, he got 'em, and so I had to get 'em off him. I doubled the bet and had him throw the knives at this crack. Told him he wouldn't be able to do it without breaking them." Albert felt the vaguest suspicion that Death already knew this, but he preferred to tell it himself. If he concentrated on repeating the events, he wouldn't have to think about their consequences.

I SEE.

Albert paused. This was a delicate point.

"Well, the thing is, Master…"

YES?

The two actinic flares loomed closer. Gods, that grin; the Master could intimidate with the best of them. "The worst part," thought Albert, "is that he's probably trying to put me at ease."

"He got drunk."

AND BROKE MY BLADE.

"No," Albert mentally corrected himself, "he's definitely not trying to put me at ease."

"Er... yes."

I AM NOT PLEASED.

"We can fix it, we can reforge it! It just needs - "

NO. THE BLADE IS NO GREAT LOSS TO ME. I CAN MAKE ANOTHER SOON ENOUGH.

This was a surprise, but Albert knew an opening when he saw one. Doing his best to appear vaguely affronted, he made an uncharacteristic effort to gain control of the conversation. "Well," he harrumphed, "the way you were carrying on, I'd think the fate of the Disc rested on the bloody thing. I mean, you didn't even notice it missing until yesterday!"

SILENCE.

Ah, well. "Yes, Master." Death turned around and began to pace. His feet clicked on the floor in maddening little iambics. He was always thinking, the Master was – he had so much to think about – but now he was pondering. This was not a good sign. When Death started pondering, unpleasant things happened. [1]

THE BLADE MEANS LITTLE TO ME, BUT IT IS TERRIBLE IN THE WRONG HANDS. IT CAN CUT SOUL FROM FLESH. AND YOU LOST IT TO THE FOUNDER OF THE ASSASSIN'S GUILD. DID YOU NOT THINK TO TELL ME?

"It was just a friendly game, and Master, how was I to know he would draw to an inside - "

YOU DID NOT TELL ME. NOT UNTIL I NEEDED IT. HAD IT NOT BEEN TREATED AS A… MUSEUM PIECE, IT WOULD HAVE DONE GREAT ILL DURING ITS CENTURIES OF DORMANCY. AS IT STANDS, YOU HAVE ABUSED MY TRUST AND PLACED ME IN A VERY UNFORTUNATE POSITION. [2]

Death turned back to Albert, who was now wringing his hands behind his back.

ALBERT…

Here it comes, thought Albert, I'm going to get the sack, and the Arrangement's going to be done with, and I'm going to die, and damn, damn, damn, I forgot to bring my hat.

IS CRIPPLE MR. ONION THAT COMPELLING?

Death drew closer, his eyes blazing a terrible infinity.

COULD YOU TEACH ME HOW TO PLAY?

[1] Like Ysabell.

[2] Some things just have to be said in any situation like this.

* * *

Crouching on the floor of his room, Rincewind flipped furiously through Alberto Malich's Do-It-Yourefelfe Occulte Repair Grimoire for Little Moronnes. [1] He was having a bit of trouble on the more obscure vocabulary, but dealt with that mainly by ignoring it. A bespectacled, freckled child of eleven years sat behind him on a chest of drawers, swinging his legs and perusing a folio copy of the Principia Alchymica.

Shaking his head, Rincewind slammed his book shut, unwittingly crushing a cockroach between the priceless, ancient pages. If the wizzard-in-training had whiskers, they would have twitched nervously at this point. "There's bugg – bother all in here, Stibbons. And you haven't found it either, have you. Have you?" He looked pleadingly at the boy.

"Well, I got an idea, sir. We can mix up some lead and tin, it says here, and that'll melt onto the pieces of the knife and stick them. Then we can use Caskle's Vision of Perfection to make an illusion. It'll look good as new."

Rincewind dropped his grimoire in shock. Luck! Real, honest-to-Gods luck! No, there was always a catch, wasn't there? He took a deep breath, trying his very hardest to ignore the book that was chewing on his slippers.

"Very good, Stibbons, very good, we'll make a real wizard of you yet! But tell me… do you think I'll need to gather any ingredients for the spell? You know, far-fetched stuff, things I have to travel around the world for? Risk my neck a hundred times over, perhaps? Dragon breath, little sticks of incense, quantum butterflies, that sort of thing?"

"Er… no, sir. I think a lead candlestick and a tin saucer'll work. And we've got those here… see? We just need something hot." Ponder was nervous. He hadn't seen Rincewind like this before; usually he was drunk or hiding, or possibly both. There was something frightening about the man now. Being near him was like climbing a lightning rod and waving a copper wool flag.

"How hot is that? Brimstone hot? Or just blazing curry hot?"

Ponder performed a few mental calculations, synapses clicking on and off like millions of little abacus beads. He said, "I think I know what we need, actually." With an awkward thunk, he jumped – rather, fell – off the drawers, then wriggled clumsily under the bunks. Rincewind kneaded his hands anxiously as the sounds of shuffling paper emerged from the piles underneath. Why couldn't Ponder use a desk like a normal boy?

After a few more minutes, Ponder slid back out and readjusted his glasses. Very gently setting a wire cage on Rincewind's desk, he said, "I've been keeping Didac here a secret, sir. Didn't want the rectors to find out. He should give us a few warming-water-up-units of heat."

"You've been keeping a dragon under our bunk!"

Rincewind immediately realized how stupid that line sounded.

[1] In Albert's view, the main difference between a child and a stupid, selfish adult was that the adult paid taxes and occasionally shut up.

* * *

Droplets of mercury slid down the side of the phial, pooling at the bottom in a shiny globule. The quicksilver glinted in the moonlight streaming through the casement, reflecting and distorting Lady Calomel's thin face. Shivering slightly in the night air, the Assassin placed a glass stopped in the container, tied it to the end of her rope sash, and replaced the vat of mercury on the lab bench.

After leaving a few gold pieces on the windowsill, Calomel slipped up the chimney and out into the night. She had a few hours left, still, and only two more ingredients to gather. Thievery was not her forte, but she was doing well enough. And, she decided, the alchemist who lived in the shop below likely wouldn't miss the mercury in the least.

When she reached the street below, Downey was waiting for her, holding a small canvas sack.

"I've got the potatoes, Aunt. What's left on Weasel-Boy's list?"

"Quiet, boy. No doubt he could turn you into a frog before you knew what was happening."

Calomel reconsidered that statement, as it could imply anything from instant transmogrification to a fifty-year delay.

"Or even before you saw his hands wiggle!" That was better.

"But what does he need these spell ingredients for?" Downey was slowly beginning to make a deduction; it was a new and oddly pleasing experience. "If he's playing silly buggers with us," he muttered, "I'm taking it out of his throat." [1]

"When the time comes, we'll see. As it stands, I don't think that a bit of mercury and a voucher for beer is a heavy price to pay for your life. Do you want to bargain with him, boy?"

"No, aunt. Verysorry."

"Good. Now, we just need to pick up the boy's payment at the Drum and find the last thing he needs for the spell." She pulled a thin piece of parchment from her gown and squinted at the scribbles. "A youth of dexterity, wit, and discretion in good physical condition."

"Well, I could -"

"No, boy. I have a better idea."

Even Lady Calomel could work out how to get this one..

[1] Occasionally, Downey was surprisingly perceptive. And, had he known, he would have taken great comfort in the fact that Rincewind would eventually find that the universe was going to repay him for his deception with dividends. And little sticks of incense. And mouse blood.