The Light Fantastic by Terry Pratchett Page B

set off in what Rincewind believed was the right direction. A few minutes later the Luggage emerged from the bushes and followed them.
    The sun rose higher in the sky, but still failed to blot out the light of the star.
    “It’s got bigger overnight,” said Twoflower. “Why isn’t anybody doing something?”
    “Such as what?”
    Twoflower thought. “Couldn’t somebody tell Great A’Tuin to avoid it?” he said. “Sort of go around it?”
    “That sort of thing has been tried before,” said Rincewind. “Wizards tried to tune in to Great A’Tuin’s mind.”
    “It didn’t work?”
    “Oh, it worked all right,” said Rincewind. “Only…”
    Only there had been certain unforeseen risks in reading a mind as great as the World Turtle’s, he explained. The wizards had trained up on tortoises and giant sea turtles first, to get the hang of the chelonian frame of mind, but although they knew that Great A’Tuin’s mind would be big they hadn’t realized that it would be slow .
    “There’s a bunch of wizards that have been reading it in shifts for thirty years,” said Rincewind. “All they’ve found out is that Great A’Tuin is looking forward to something.”
    “What?”
    “Who knows?”
    They rode in silence for a while through a rough country where huge limestone blocks lined the track. Eventually Twoflower said, “We ought to go back, you know.”
    “Look, we’ll reach the Smarl tomorrow,” said Rincewind. “Nothing will happen to them out here, I don’t see why—”
    He was talking to himself. Twoflower had wheeled his horse and was trotting back, demonstrating all the horsemanship of a sack of potatoes.
    Rincewind looked down. The Luggage regarded him owlishly.
    “What are you looking at?” said the wizard. “He can go back if he wants, why should I bother?”
    The Luggage said nothing.
    “Look, he’s not my responsibility,” said Rincewind. “Let’s be absolutely clear about that.”
    The Luggage said nothing, but louder this time.
    “Go on—follow him. You’re nothing to do with me.”
    The Luggage retracted its little legs and settled down on the track.
    “Well, I’m going,” said Rincewind. “I mean it,” he added.
    He turned the horse’s head back toward the new horizon, and glanced down. The Luggage sat there.
    “It’s no good trying to appeal to my better nature. You can stay there all day for all I care. I’m just going to ride off, okay?”
    He glared at the Luggage. The Luggage looked back.

    “I thought you’d come back,” said Twoflower.
    “I don’t want to talk about it,” said Rincewind.
    “Shall we talk about something else?”
    “Yeah, well, discussing how to get these ropes off would be favorite,” said Rincewind. He wrenched at the bonds around his wrists.
    “I can’t imagine why you’re so important,” said Herrena. She sat on a rock opposite them, sword across her knees. Most of the gang laying among the rocks high above, watching the road. Rincewind and Twoflower had been a pathetically easy ambush.
    “Weems told me what your box did to Gancia,” she added. “I can’t say that’s a great loss, but I hope it understands that if it comes within a mile of us I will personally cut both your throats, yes?”
    Rincewind nodded violently.
    “Good,” said Herrena. “You’re wanted dead or alive, I’m not really bothered which, but some of the lads might want to have a little discussion with you about those trolls. If the sun hadn’t come up when it did—”
    She left the words hanging, and walked away.
    “Well, here’s another fine mess,” said Rincewind. He had another pull at the ropes that bound him. There was a rock behind him, and if he could bring his wrists up—yes, as he thought, it lacerated him while at the same time being too blunt to have any effect on the rope.
    “But why us?” said Twoflower. “It’s to do with that star, isn’t it?”
    “I don’t know anything about the star,” said Rincewind. “I never even