Unknown Artist Les Vins BlancsGeorge Stubbs Horse Attacked by a LionSalvador Dali The Land of Milk and HoneyCaravaggio Sick BacchusUnknown Artist Wave Rider
you good to get out,' said Nanny happily.
Magrat had been disappointed about the dancing, and was relieved that she hadn't ventured one or two other ideas that had been on her mind. She fumbled in the packet she had brought with her. It was her first sabbat, and she was determined to do it right.
'Would anyone care for a scone?' she said.
Granny xMeanwhile King Verence, monarch of Lancre, was making a discovery.
Like most people – most people, at any rate, below the age of sixty or so – Verence hadn't exercised his mind much about what happened to you when you died. Like most people since the dawn of time, he assumed it all somehow worked out all right in the end. you good to get out,' said Nanny happily.
Magrat had been disappointed about the dancing, and was relieved that she hadn't ventured one or two other ideas that had been on her mind. She fumbled in the packet she had brought with her. It was her first sabbat, and she was determined to do it right.
'Would anyone care for a scone?' she said.
Granny looked hard at hers before she bit. Magrat had baked bat designs on it. They had little eyes made of currants.
The coach crashed through the trees at the forest edge, ran on two wheels for a few seconds as it hit a stone, righted itself against all the laws of balance, and rumbled on. But it was going slower now. The slope was dragging at it.
The coachman, standing upright in the manner of a charioteer, pushed his hair out of his eyes and peered through the murk. No-one lived up here, in the lap of the Ramtops themselves, but there was a light ahead. By all that was merciful, there was a light there.
An arrow buried itself in the coach roof behind him.
Meanwhile King Verence, monarch of Lancre, was making a discovery.
Like most people – most people, at any rate, below the age of sixty or so – Verence hadn't exercised his mind much about what happened to you when you died. Like most people since the dawn of time, he assumed it all somehow worked out all right in the end.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Unknown Artist Tango Rouge by Hamish Blakely
Unknown Artist Tango Rouge by Hamish BlakelyUnknown Artist Aeneas Carrying Anchises by Carl van LooPablo Picasso BULLFIGHT DEATH OF THE TOREADOR La corrida
Goodie watched him for some time, with her head on one side. Then she said, 'I see. What is your name, young man?'
'Mort,' sniffed shooed him out into the snow and followed behind him, pulling the door shut and locking it with a heavy iron key which she hung on a nail by the door.
The frost had tightened its grip on the forest, squeezing it until the roots creaked. The moon was setting, but the sky was full of hard white stars that made the winter seem colder still. Goodie Hamstring shivered.Mort. 'Short for Mortimer.''Well, Mort, I expect you've got an hourglass somewhere about your person,'Mort nodded vaguely. He reached down to his belt and produced the glass. The witch inspected it critically.'Still a minute or so,' she said. 'We don't have much time to lose. Just give me a moment to lock p.''But you don't understand!' Mort wailed. 'I'll mess it all up! I've never done this before!'She patted his hand. 'Neither have I,' she said. 'We can learn together. Now pick up the scythe and try to act your age, there's a good boy.'Against his protestations she
Goodie watched him for some time, with her head on one side. Then she said, 'I see. What is your name, young man?'
'Mort,' sniffed shooed him out into the snow and followed behind him, pulling the door shut and locking it with a heavy iron key which she hung on a nail by the door.
The frost had tightened its grip on the forest, squeezing it until the roots creaked. The moon was setting, but the sky was full of hard white stars that made the winter seem colder still. Goodie Hamstring shivered.Mort. 'Short for Mortimer.''Well, Mort, I expect you've got an hourglass somewhere about your person,'Mort nodded vaguely. He reached down to his belt and produced the glass. The witch inspected it critically.'Still a minute or so,' she said. 'We don't have much time to lose. Just give me a moment to lock p.''But you don't understand!' Mort wailed. 'I'll mess it all up! I've never done this before!'She patted his hand. 'Neither have I,' she said. 'We can learn together. Now pick up the scythe and try to act your age, there's a good boy.'Against his protestations she
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Thomas Kinkade Beacon of hope
Thomas Kinkade Beacon of hopeThomas Kinkade The Sea Of TranquilityThomas Kinkade The Beginning of a Perfect Day
'Um. Thank you,' said Mort. He held the hourglasses up to the light, noting the one that was on its very last few grains of sand.
'Does this mean I'm in charge?' he called, but Death had turned the corner.
Binky Behind them Cutwell burst out of his doorway, accelerating down the frosty street with his robes flying out behind him.
Now the horse was cantering, widening the distance between its hooves and the cobbles. With greeted him with a faint whinny of recognition. Mort mounted up, his heart pounding with apprehension and responsibility. His fingers worked automatically, taking the scythe out of its sheath and adjusting and locking the blade (which flashed steely blue in the night, slicing the starlight like salami). He mounted carefully, wincing at the stab from his saddlesores, but Binky was like riding a pillow. As an afterthought, drunk with delegated authority, he pulled Death's riding cloak out of its saddlebag and fastened it by its silver brooch.He took another look at the first hourglass, and nudged Binky with his knees. The horse sniffed the chilly air, and began to trot.
'Um. Thank you,' said Mort. He held the hourglasses up to the light, noting the one that was on its very last few grains of sand.
'Does this mean I'm in charge?' he called, but Death had turned the corner.
Binky Behind them Cutwell burst out of his doorway, accelerating down the frosty street with his robes flying out behind him.
Now the horse was cantering, widening the distance between its hooves and the cobbles. With greeted him with a faint whinny of recognition. Mort mounted up, his heart pounding with apprehension and responsibility. His fingers worked automatically, taking the scythe out of its sheath and adjusting and locking the blade (which flashed steely blue in the night, slicing the starlight like salami). He mounted carefully, wincing at the stab from his saddlesores, but Binky was like riding a pillow. As an afterthought, drunk with delegated authority, he pulled Death's riding cloak out of its saddlebag and fastened it by its silver brooch.He took another look at the first hourglass, and nudged Binky with his knees. The horse sniffed the chilly air, and began to trot.
Salvador Dali The Persistence of Memory
Salvador Dali The Persistence of MemorySalvador Dali Figure at a WindowGeorgia O'Keeffe From the Lake No. 1
said Mort, and then remembered. 'Only I think I left them in the shop. Dad, we left the sack in the clothes shop!'
'It'll be shut,' said Lezek. 'Shops don't open on Hogswatch Day. You'll have to go back the day after tomorrow – well, tomorrow now.'
IT is OF LITTLE ACCOUNT, said Death. WE WILL LEAVE NOW. NO DOUBT I SOON ENOUGH.
'I hope you'll be able to drop in and see us soon,' said Lezek. He seemed to be struggling with his thoughts.
'I'm not with some difficulty in view of their difference in height, and gently propelled him across the square.
'Mort, you know your uncle Hemesh told me about this .
'Yes?'
'Well, he told me something else,' the old man confided. 'He said it's not unknown for an apprentice to inherit his do you think of that, then?'sure that will be a good idea,' said Mort.'Well, goodbye, lad,' said Lezek. 'You're to do what you're told, you understand? And – excuse me, sir, do you have a son?'Death looked rather taken aback.NO, he said, I HAVE NO SONS.'I'll just have a last word with my boy, if you've no objection.'THEN I WILL GO AND SEE TO THE HORSE, said Death, with more than normal tact.Lezek put his arm around his son's shoulders,
said Mort, and then remembered. 'Only I think I left them in the shop. Dad, we left the sack in the clothes shop!'
'It'll be shut,' said Lezek. 'Shops don't open on Hogswatch Day. You'll have to go back the day after tomorrow – well, tomorrow now.'
IT is OF LITTLE ACCOUNT, said Death. WE WILL LEAVE NOW. NO DOUBT I SOON ENOUGH.
'I hope you'll be able to drop in and see us soon,' said Lezek. He seemed to be struggling with his thoughts.
'I'm not with some difficulty in view of their difference in height, and gently propelled him across the square.
'Mort, you know your uncle Hemesh told me about this .
'Yes?'
'Well, he told me something else,' the old man confided. 'He said it's not unknown for an apprentice to inherit his do you think of that, then?'sure that will be a good idea,' said Mort.'Well, goodbye, lad,' said Lezek. 'You're to do what you're told, you understand? And – excuse me, sir, do you have a son?'Death looked rather taken aback.NO, he said, I HAVE NO SONS.'I'll just have a last word with my boy, if you've no objection.'THEN I WILL GO AND SEE TO THE HORSE, said Death, with more than normal tact.Lezek put his arm around his son's shoulders,
Monday, March 9, 2009
Franz Marc Blue Horse
Franz Marc Blue HorseMarc Chagall The Three CandlesMarc Chagall Paris Through the Window
around with the Pleistocene). And the words people said were just shadows of real things. But some things were too big to be really trapped in words, and even the words were too powerful to be completely tamed by writing So it followed that actually trying to become things. Esk's thoughts became confused things at this point, but she was certain that the really magic words were the ones that pulsed angrily, trying to escape and pointy boots at the instructor. It was very restful, with the droning of the lecturers drifting over her as gently as the buzzing of the slightly zonked bees in Granny's never seemed to be any practical magic, it always seemed to be just words. Wizards seemed to like words.
But yesterday had been different. Esk had been sitting in the dusty gloom, trying to do even some very simple magic, when she heard the door open and boots clump across the floor. That was surprising become real. They didn't look very nice. But then she remembered the previous day. It had been rather odd. The University classrooms were designed on the funnel principle, with tiers of seats - polished by the bottoms of the Disc's greatest mages - looking precipitously down into a central area where there was a workbench, a couple of blackboards and enough floor space for a decent-sized instructional octogram. There was a lot of dead space under the tiers and Esk had found it a quite useful observation post, peering around between the apprentice wizards'
around with the Pleistocene). And the words people said were just shadows of real things. But some things were too big to be really trapped in words, and even the words were too powerful to be completely tamed by writing So it followed that actually trying to become things. Esk's thoughts became confused things at this point, but she was certain that the really magic words were the ones that pulsed angrily, trying to escape and pointy boots at the instructor. It was very restful, with the droning of the lecturers drifting over her as gently as the buzzing of the slightly zonked bees in Granny's never seemed to be any practical magic, it always seemed to be just words. Wizards seemed to like words.
But yesterday had been different. Esk had been sitting in the dusty gloom, trying to do even some very simple magic, when she heard the door open and boots clump across the floor. That was surprising become real. They didn't look very nice. But then she remembered the previous day. It had been rather odd. The University classrooms were designed on the funnel principle, with tiers of seats - polished by the bottoms of the Disc's greatest mages - looking precipitously down into a central area where there was a workbench, a couple of blackboards and enough floor space for a decent-sized instructional octogram. There was a lot of dead space under the tiers and Esk had found it a quite useful observation post, peering around between the apprentice wizards'
Vincent van Gogh Reaper
Vincent van Gogh ReaperEdmund Blair Leighton OffFord Madox Brown Work
was the Vice-Chancellor of Unseen University, and quite used to seeing vague scurrying figures getting on with essential but unimportant jobs like serving his meals and dusting his rooms. He was stupid, yes, in the particular well invent a male witch!"
"Warlocks," said Esk.
"Pardon me?"
"My granny says men can't be witches," said Esk. "She says if men tried to be witches they'd be wizards."
"She sounds a very wise woman," said Treatle.
"She says women should stick to what they're good at," Esk went on.
"Very sensible of her."way that very clever people can be stupid, and maybe he had all the tact of an avalanche and was as selfcentred as a tornado, but it would never have occurred to him that children were important enough to be unkind to. From long white hair to curly boots, Treatle was a wizard's wizard. He had the appropriate long bushy eyebrows, spangled robe and patriarchal beard that was only slightly spoiled by the yellow nicotine stains (wizards are celibate but, nevertheless, enjoy a good cigar. "It will all become clear to you when you grow up," he said. "It's an amusing idea, of course, a nice play on words. A female wizard! You might as
was the Vice-Chancellor of Unseen University, and quite used to seeing vague scurrying figures getting on with essential but unimportant jobs like serving his meals and dusting his rooms. He was stupid, yes, in the particular well invent a male witch!"
"Warlocks," said Esk.
"Pardon me?"
"My granny says men can't be witches," said Esk. "She says if men tried to be witches they'd be wizards."
"She sounds a very wise woman," said Treatle.
"She says women should stick to what they're good at," Esk went on.
"Very sensible of her."way that very clever people can be stupid, and maybe he had all the tact of an avalanche and was as selfcentred as a tornado, but it would never have occurred to him that children were important enough to be unkind to. From long white hair to curly boots, Treatle was a wizard's wizard. He had the appropriate long bushy eyebrows, spangled robe and patriarchal beard that was only slightly spoiled by the yellow nicotine stains (wizards are celibate but, nevertheless, enjoy a good cigar. "It will all become clear to you when you grow up," he said. "It's an amusing idea, of course, a nice play on words. A female wizard! You might as
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Wassily Kandinsky Several Circles
Wassily Kandinsky Several CirclesWassily Kandinsky Composition VIIIVincent van Gogh Sunflowers
Hardly ever," said Granny. "You wanted magic. Watch."
She put a hand into the struggling mass of insects and made a shrill, faint piping noise at the back of her throat. There was a movement in the mass, and a large bee, longer and fatter than the others, crawled on to her hand. A few workers followed it, stroking it and generally ministering to it.
"How did you do that?" said Esk.
"Ah," said "And I think it's time you learned a few secrets," she added.
At last, thought Esk.
"But first, we must pay our respects to the Hive," said Granny. She managed to sound the capital H.
Without thinking, Esk bobbed a curtsey.Granny, "Wouldn't you like to know?" "Yes. I would. That's why I asked, Granny," said Esk, severely. "Do you think I used magic?" Esk looked down at the queen bee. She looked up at the witch. "No," she said, "I think you just know a lot about bees." Granny grinned. "Exactly correct. That's one form of magic, of course." "What, just knowing things?" "Knowing things that other people don't know," said Granny. She carefully dropped the queen back among her subjects and closed the lid of the hive.
Hardly ever," said Granny. "You wanted magic. Watch."
She put a hand into the struggling mass of insects and made a shrill, faint piping noise at the back of her throat. There was a movement in the mass, and a large bee, longer and fatter than the others, crawled on to her hand. A few workers followed it, stroking it and generally ministering to it.
"How did you do that?" said Esk.
"Ah," said "And I think it's time you learned a few secrets," she added.
At last, thought Esk.
"But first, we must pay our respects to the Hive," said Granny. She managed to sound the capital H.
Without thinking, Esk bobbed a curtsey.Granny, "Wouldn't you like to know?" "Yes. I would. That's why I asked, Granny," said Esk, severely. "Do you think I used magic?" Esk looked down at the queen bee. She looked up at the witch. "No," she said, "I think you just know a lot about bees." Granny grinned. "Exactly correct. That's one form of magic, of course." "What, just knowing things?" "Knowing things that other people don't know," said Granny. She carefully dropped the queen back among her subjects and closed the lid of the hive.
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