The Turtle Moves! (16 page)

Gaspode the talking dog has a role, as do several other familiar characters—the Librarian doesn't appear, which is unusual, though he's mentioned once in passing, but Death has a few scenes, and pretty much all the established Watchmen appear.

In the course of the novel, Lady Sybil informs Vimes that she's pregnant, which isn't significant here but obviously will be in the future.

And we get our first look at the clacks.

These are signal towers, using semaphore arms by day, lights and shutters by night, to send coded messages from one tower to the next, faster than a horse can gallop. This is obviously well within the technological capabilities of the people of Discworld, even without magic, but it just wasn't anything anyone had a real reason to build until now, when it finally occurred to someone that it would be useful to know what various commodities are selling for in Ankh-Morpork
before
sending a shipload of goods there.

This parallels our own world, where semaphores have been possible for a couple of thousand years, but hardly ever got built except for a few military signaling systems and traffic control on railroads.

We'll see more of the clacks in later books, including the very next one, which does not star any of our established heroes, despite being set in Ankh-Morpork. Oh, plenty of familiar faces appear, but the protagonist is new, and at least so far, only featured this once, in
The Truth
.

Samuel Vimes won't have the lead again until
Night Watch
(see Chapter 36).

T
HE CENTURY OF THE FRUITBAT has been a time of great change in Ankh-Morpork, and those changes include the arrival of lots of dwarfs looking for ways to make money. One bunch of them has built a printing press, complete with moveable type. bunch of them has built a printing press, complete with moveable type

It was established in
Maskerade
that moveable type isn't allowed in Ankh-Morpork—the wizards of Unseen University forbade it because they were afraid that type used to print anything remotely magical might pick up some of the magic, which could have unfortunate effects when the type was re-used for something else.

In the waning years of the Century of the Fruitbat, though, Archchancellor Ridcully decides that this restriction has outlived its usefulness, and that the value of moveable type in dealing with the growing flood of paperwork required in a modern university outweighs any dangers. Lord Vetinari reaches a similar conclusion. The dwarfs are allowed to retain their machine.

And one William de Worde, a gentlemen of limited means who has heretofore made his living by sending newsletters to half a dozen wealthy foreign clients who wish to be kept abreast of developments in Ankh-Morpork, happens upon the dwarfs on his way to the engraver, and finds himself becoming one of their first customers. At the urging of the dwarfs, who want more business for their press, he keeps increasing the size, frequency, and circulation of his newsletter, transforming it from a private letter into the
Ankh-Morpork Times
.

Meanwhile, yet another plot to depose Lord Vetinari is under way.
In previous volumes, the defeats of such conspiracies have always been stories about Sam Vimes and the Watch, and indeed, Commander Vimes does investigate this one, but only in the background. Our viewpoint instead follows de Worde as he invents both the newspaper and the occupation “investigative reporter,” and uncovers the details of the scheme.

It's interesting to see the Watch from the outside, and to get a new angle on Lord Vetinari. The actual story is mostly familiar material—powerful families unhappy with the city's modernization under Vetinari, hired thugs, complicated schemes, dwarfs, trolls, and a vampire or two. The story doesn't break much new ground, but revisits such favorites as Foul Ole Ron, Gaspode the talking dog, and Mr. Slant the zombie lawyer. We see the Black Ribboners, the vampire temperance movement, in action, and the Ankh-Morpork equivalents of photography and PDAs.

There are a few relatively subtle publishing in-jokes—for example, all the dwarf printers except Gunilla Goodmountain are named for typefaces, though with modified spellings (e.g. Boddony for Bodoni)—and a good bit of commentary about the nature of the newspaper business that reminds the reader that Mr. Pratchett has considerable first-hand experience in journalism.

All in all, it's a satisfactory Discworld novel, but not one that seems especially important or innovative in anything but its choice of protagonist—and even there, although most of the stories have featured recurring characters like Rincewind, Granny Weatherwax, or Sam Vimes, we've had one-off heroes before, in such books as
Small Gods
or
Pyramids
, and of course Victor in
Moving Pictures
, the previous novel about new technology changing Ankh-Morpork. William de Worde fits fairly comfortably into that company. He reappears in a minor role in
Monstrous Regiment
, but is not the hero of any other stories, as yet.

The next book in the series is rather drastically different; where
The Truth
was content with comfortable settings and plot elements,
Thief of Time
is not—but that's the next chapter.

T
HIS NOVEL is one of the more difficult to fit into a sub-series; it could be considered part of the “Gods and Philosophers” set, but since Death and his granddaughter Susan have major roles, I decided to class it as a Death novel.
¹²⁸

Thief of Time
¹²⁹
introduces us once again to the History Monks of Oi Dong, who live high up in the central mountains of the Disc, where the magical field is strong. We encountered them briefly back in
Small Gods,
you may recall. The Order of Wen the Eternally Surprised manages the flow of time on Discworld and, we learn in the course of the novel, had to reconstruct their world's history once, when it was broken.

This is, as Mr. Pratchett has admitted
¹³¹
in interviews, a handy device for explaining away any discrepancies that might crop up among the various books and stories in the series. The histories of Ephebe and Omnia are particularly damaged, which explains why their timelines often don't match the rest of the Disc, sometimes being off by several centuries. Some bits were used several times in patching things up, as well, which explains why certain events appear to have happened in more than one era.

The History Monks have a rather troublesome apprentice by the name of Lobsang Ludd, who is assigned to the sweeper Lu-Tze for training. Lu-Tze is not exactly the standard issue sweeper, of course.

This all provides Mr. Pratchett with an opportunity to mock Eastern mysticism and martial arts—not so much the real things, perhaps, as the way they're presented in western fiction, especially the products of Hollywood. There are references to the old TV series
Kung Fu
, the James Bond movies, and a variety of other such entertainments.

Meanwhile, the Auditors of Reality, previously seen in
Reaper Man
and
Hogfather
, are once again trying to put an end to messy, illogical humanity, this time by convincing Jeremy Clockson, a brilliant young clockmaker in Ankh-Morpork, to build a device that will stop time.

Naturally, that attracts the attention of the History Monks, since Time is their major interest, and also of Death, since endings are his concern. The History Monks send Lu-Tze and his apprentice to deal with the matter, while Death calls upon his granddaughter, Susan Sto Helit, now working as a schoolteacher, to try to prevent the success of the Auditors' scheme.

Susan, it seems, is one of those wonderfully intimidating schoolteachers who actually
teaches
her students, rather than bullying or babysitting them. This suits her well, and she resents being dragged off to deal with incarnations, anthropomorphic personifications, apocalypses, and the like. But she does go.

No explanation is given, by the way, of why Susan is a schoolteacher and not the reigning Duchess of Sto Helit. Her ancestry seems to have been quietly forgotten—or perhaps the title she inherited no longer carries any actual power, after the fashion of present-day European nobility.

Death himself does not try to stop the clockmaker, but instead prepares to ride out at the end of time with his fellow Horsemen, as he is expected to.

Naturally, it does all work out in the end, though not quite the way one might expect. The Auditors learn a good bit about being human, Nanny Ogg plays a small but important part, an Igor gets to help build an infernal device, Jeremy Clockson and Lobsang Ludd find their place, the Five Horsemen ride out, and everything is more or less put right.

Yes, five Horsemen. The identity and nature of the fifth is a significant plot element that I really shouldn't reveal here. I will mention, though, that I don't think I'm just imagining the parallels between the Horsemen and the Beatles; I'm pretty sure they're deliberate.

All in all,
Thief of Time
is a very satisfactory entry in the series,
even though it lacks any mention of the Patrician, Sam Vimes, Granny Weatherwax, the Librarian, or the wizards of Unseen University. The recurring cast has now gotten so large that it really isn't practical to fit anywhere near all of them in every volume, and even the favorites need a rest sometimes.

Lots
of regulars will be appearing in the next book, though.

T
HIS IS A LAVISHLY ILLUSTRATED volume that's labeled “A Discworld Fable,” featuring lots of spiffy art by Paul Kidby. It's also a story of Cohen the Barbarian, last seen in

Interesting Times
, where we left him as ruler of the Agatean Empire. It seems he's become discontented with the emperor business, and is leading the remaining members of the Silver Horde on a final adventure, one that they have no intention of surviving. Specifically, he's planning to reverse the action of the very first of Discworld's heroes, Mazda, who stole fire from the gods. Cohen intends to
return
fire to the gods, in the form of a fifty-pound keg of the most powerful explosive he can find.

The Agateans aren't sure this is a good idea, and have informed the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, who investigates the matter and is told that, while this isn't going to do anything irreparable to the gods, it
will
temporarily collapse the Disc's magical field, thereby destroying all life on Discworld.

This is, understandably, seen as a bad thing, and an expedition is launched to intercept the Horde.

We therefore have two storylines to follow: Cohen's progress toward the home of the gods, and the expedition's creation and progress to that same destination. They do eventually merge, of course.

Rincewind is included, naturally; he's pretty much always there if Cohen's involved, and is about as close to being the protagonist as any character herein. We also get Leonard of Quirm, Lord Vetinari, the faculty of Unseen University, Captain Carrot, and the Librarian, in a tale
about the nature of heroes and their legends that manages to include some magnificent scenery along the way.

I have a suspicion that to some extent this story was designed to include whatever Mr. Kidby felt like depicting. It provides us with entirely unnecessary but enjoyable extras such as a pictorial guide to thirty-seven varieties of swamp dragon, and diagrams of several of da Quirm's creations, annotated in his own rather elegant hand. While not a full-length novel, it's really quite a satisfactory package for any Discworld fan. And it does wrap up Cohen's saga.

I am informed, by the way, that the paperback edition includes additional illustrations that were not ready in time for the hardcover. Alas, I haven't seen the paperback edition and can say no more about that.

T
HIS WAS THE FIRST DISCWORLD NOVEL to be marketed as a “young adult” title. What this apparently means is that it has chapters and the protagonists are young. Other than that, it's pretty much your basic Discworld story. There are dark scary bits—it's not toned down for young readers. The vocabulary isn't reduced, either.

It's maybe not as funny as most of the adult ones.

At any rate, we first heard of the Amazing Maurice and his educated rodents as a throwaway gag in
Reaper Man
, back in 1991; now we meet them.

Maurice is a cat. It should be mentioned for our American readers that in England, “Maurice” is pronounced “Morris”—I've heard Mr. Pratchett say the title, and he definitely pronounces it that way.

And my English readers, if any, are now probably saying to themselves, “Well, how
else
would you pronounce it?” Indeed, some Americans may pronounce it after the British fashion, but more common on this side of the Atlantic is to pronounce it like the French, “Maw-REESE.”

But Mr. Pratchett is, as previously mentioned, undeniably English, so the correct pronunciation here is “Morris,” and it's presumably a reference to Morris the Cat, the spokesbeast for Nine Lives cat food and an advertising icon of the 1970s.

The educated rodents are self-taught, for the most part. They're a
clan of rats who ate from the garbage heap behind Unseen University, where the wizards discarded leftover magic, and this thaumaturgically enhanced diet has given them roughly human-level intelligence and the ability to speak. Maurice, too, has acquired super-feline intelligence.

This newfound ability to reason has led Maurice and the rats to conclude that there's a better life to be had than eating garbage in an alley. Maurice has recruited a young musician
¹³⁰
to play the role of a piper, and the lot of them have been traveling across the Disc, scamming villagers.