Exile - Rewritten

Part 2: Ankh-Morpork, Discworld
Chapter 6: Morphic Resonance
Chapter 7: Winds
Chapter 8: Incidents
Chapter 9: Handbells
Chapter 10: Sunnydale

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Part 2: Ankh-Morpork, Discworld

Chapter 6: Morphic Resonance

"May I ask what we wait for, lady?" the elf known as Lankin asked.

The Queen of the Elves was on her high throne, wearing a bright red gown that seemed to be one color and yet all the tones of red, with stars in her hair. The strange elf with skin as dark as night and hair as white as new fallen snow knelt by her side, his eyes blank, with a certain befuddled expression on his face that humans on some worlds would normally associate with drugs.

On this world, the Queen's power was supreme, and easily overcame slight problems like pesky magic resistance and protection from goddesses. She looked up from where she had been contemplating her new 'pet'. "The gateway is stabilizing, Lankin," she said in her beautiful voice. At the sound of her tones, the strange elf smiled with childish pleasure. "The lands are joining, but slowly. Soon we may return, when they summon us."

"Then I may hunt again," Lankin said, pleased. Elves loved to hunt, and take. The things they caught stayed alive until they were bored with them. Elves were good at making things stay alive, but bad at staying interested.

The Queen nodded, stroking the strange elf's hair. "One wonders where this elf comes from. What his people are like," she mused.

"He can tell you, lady," Lankin said.

"And give him back some of himself? Never, Lankin, until I tire of him." The Queen smiled. "Then I shall let him wander, in the woods, and we shall hunt."

The elf gave no indication of hearing anything. Lankin looked at his armor and the swords at his side. "Is that not dangerous, lady?" he asked, pointing at the weapons.

The Queen shrugged. "He cannot escape."

Lankin smiled then, with the merry smile of the elves.

***

"You're what?" Quetzal's voice rose. The snakes hissed, reflecting her mood. Some of the younger wizards cringed.

Granny Weatherwax looked unfazed. "It's the only way," she said, calmly.

"He won't like it," Quetzal said firmly.

"He'd like being under the Lords and Ladies worse," Granny Weatherwax countered, "She'll take everything from him, slowly, then when she's bored with him, she'll hunt him like an animal. Worse than an animal."

"Excuse me," the human they had met in the Oblong office said.

Both ignored him. "It's painless," the pretty blond guard, Angua, said. "The only problem is the clothes."

"The young lady is a proper bimorphic," Granny Weatherwax said, "Means she's able to change fully, not like some others of her kin here."

"Excuse me," the human tried again.

"He's my father!" Quetzal snapped.

"So you've told us, girl. This is my world, and I ain't going to have the Gentry leave their stink everywhere here." The witch said. "I'm not going to let them steal more children and ruin more lives."

"There's no other way?" Quetzal asked.

"Only one, my girl, only one. An' it's too far away. Can't make it there in time an' back, an' the King may not interfere this time." Granny Weatherwax said.

The wizards had retreated back into their buildings and were now holding staffs, with knobs on the end. They looked faintly ludicrous, but Quetzal decided not to remark. Sequins and pointed hats and shoes?

"Excuse me!" the human, shouted.

"What?" Granny Weatherwax and Quetzal chorused.

"I am Commander Vimes of the Watch," the man said, "And I demand to know what is going on."

"Good one, sir," the tall, red haired young man said enthusiastically.

"Shut up, Captain. What is going on, and who were those people?" Vimes said. He was feeling strangely light headed.

"The Lords and Ladies," Mojo, the dwarf gardener, had recovered from the elf shot arrows, with Quetzal's help. He was recovering in the shade of a tree, where the witch had lifted him. Scientists in the Discworld have often remarked on the lifting power of small old ladies in black clothes.

"Who?" Vimes repeated, sounding irritated.

"Not good to say dere name, sir. It calls dem over." One of the troll constables said.

"Really? That's good then. The sooner they come over with my father, the sooner we can leave. Case closed." Quetzal said, with a bit of sarcasm.

"Where?" the captain asked.

"What?" Quetzal said, nonplussed.

"Where's the box?" the captain clarified helpfully, "The case?"

Quetzal stared at him, but could not see any trace of humor in his honest face. She shrugged, and ignored him.

"Ah yes. What were you doing in the Palace?" Vimes asked.

"The jewel took us there. We're using this world as a stopover to our destination," Quetzal said.

"Jewel?" Granny Weatherwax asked.

"A spider jewel. My family gave it to us," said Quetzal. She could not restrain her contempt at the word 'family'.

"Where is it?" the witch asked, with an intent expression.

"With Zak... damn."

***

The Queen spotted a bright wink of some shiny thing on the strange elf's wrist. A command in the elf's brain, and the dark elf put out his hand, jerkily.

"Pretty," the Queen remarked, picking the thing off. It was a jewel shaped as a spider. The abdomen burned with a banked purple fire, and there was a silver star in the center.

She looked at the elf. The part of his mind that she had left untouched, for fun, was generating distress on the silvery line interface on which the elves read the world, like a book.

Then it numbed, as if forced to calm. The Queen smiled. This one was strong. Elves smiled often, especially if they were hurting something.

"What does this do, Zaknafein?" the Queen asked in her silky voice. A bit of minor probing had revealed the elf's name.

Zak shuddered. "Pressing the star will take me to the destination." He said, in a wooden voice.

"The destination?" the Queen looked more closely at the spider. It was crudely carved, and coldly silent on her palm.

"The resting place of the gun," Zak replied.

"And it stops only in worlds where this 'gun' had been," the Queen mused. Indeed, Leonard of Quirm, the man in the bed that Zak and Quetzal had met, had once built a 'Gonne' as he said it to be. It seemed to possess people, and was so dangerous that the Patrician of the city, Lord Vetinari, had ordered it destroyed by the Assassin's guild. But they had kept it in a case that was subsequently stolen by another assassin. It caused quite a bit of stir in the city, and quite a lot of deaths.

Zak was silent.

"Perhaps one could change it..." the Queen mused.

***

"Perhaps she could change it?" Ridcully asked. Ridcully was the Archchancellor of Unseen University, or the head of the place. He was a strangely fit looking wizard, which was really strange considering most wizards spent all their life inside the University eating four large meals a day and hardly walking at all.

"We don't think it's possible," Quetzal said.

"We?" Angua asked.

A twinge of sadness passed through Quetzal's face like a knife through melted butter.

"You've got a twin?" Granny Weatherwax, who was more open to these things, asked.

"Yes," she sighed.

"Will someone tell me who these Lords and Ladies are?" Vimes snapped.

"If you say their name, they will come." One of the dwarf constables said.

"Good," Quetzal said, irritated. "Elf."

Vimes looked mystified, and Granny horrified. "What are you doing?"

"They've got the gem. Before they change it, we call them over. They'll come in the end." Quetzal said, matter-of-factly.

***

"We are summoned," the Queen said. "Come."

Elves streamed out of the makeshift camp, to their horses. To the whirling blot in the middle of the Dancers.

"A pity," the Queen murmured, handing Zak back the jewel for the time being. Zak got stiffly on a horse, following them.

The black horses jumped through the blot.

***

"Elves? But I thought they were, well, good." Vimes said.

"They make you think that way," Granny Weatherwax said. "Now look what you've done," she told Quetzal.

The rippling gateway widened. Then black horses jumped through. Elves streamed into the lawn, shooting their arrows.

Everyone took cover at the many rosebushes around the lawn. Mojo the gardener was particularly proud of his roses. They grew huge and tall, and full of thorns, unfortunately. Quetzal grimaced as the hem of her robe tore.

Zaknafein was riding a horse, next to the Queen. His expression was blank.

"What was a witch doing in the Unseen University?" Vimes asked suddenly, from beside them.

"If you really want to know, I was lecturin'." Granny hissed. "Headology."

"Wha...?" Vimes asked. Quetzal had clamped one hand on his mouth.

"Oh no," Quetzal said. Granny Weatherwax was striding to the Queen.

The Queen smiled. "The brave old crone, come to save a friend?"

"Come to see you leave," Granny replied. She was holding a spade.

"We're here to stay, old one," the Queen started to change. Her hair became so blond it was almost white, and her features became both striking and beautiful. She looked, Quetzal believed, rather familiar.

"You don't hurt me with that," Granny was saying, "I don't regret what I am."

The Queen changed back. "Kill her," she said, indifferently.

"Damn," Vimes said, then repeated the word as he realized Quetzal wasn't there, either.

The arrows bounced off an invisible barrier.

"Let my father go," Quetzal said calmly, walking to the witch. She was holding her sabers, and she walked to easy walk of the warrior.

Zaknafein still looked rather blank. The snake headed whip hissed.

"Come join us, lady," the Queen said, "We can give you what you want."

Quetzal smiled grimly. "We - I have what I want. My soul."

"How sentimental," the Queen said, "All mortals want power, and riches. And life."

"I have life – six centuries of it, if I'm careful," Quetzal countered, "As for power, I could have had that, if I wished." If she had stayed in Menzoberranzan, but she did not want that.

"I have seen what power does to normal people. They'll be corrupted beyond belief. My world centered on power, and I have no wish for it. As for riches, I have all I want."

"I could free your brother," the Queen said then.

"How...?" Quetzal began, then understood. Zak was probably open to her, and under her hold. "Ah yes. My brother. We were going to free him ourselves. He is in Lloth's world, and there he would remain, far above your power, lady, but not above mine."

"What the hell are they doing?" Vimes muttered to Captain Carrot, beside him. The honest captain winced at the third word, the pointed to his right.

A wolf was slinking from bush to bush, yellow hair catching the sun in a rather fetching way. The elves' attention, however, were centered on the two female figures on the lawn.

As Vimes watched in a kind of frozen fascination, it reached the bush nearest to the dark elf on the horse. It leaped, past one of the other elves, fastening its teeth on the dark one.

With a cry of surprise, Zak promptly fell off his horse, not being a very good rider, and not having seen any type of horse for all four centuries or so of his life.

Then he started to change. He grew fur, and his arms longer, his legs changing joints. Vimes looked away, embarrassed. Some of the shapes in between were... well.

The Zak-wolf jumped, still wearing armor and the swords, and barreled into the Queen, in turn knocking her off the horse. The Queen struggled, but had lost her hold. Her magic did not work on undead, which was what Granny Weatherwax had been counting on. She hit the nearest elf with her spade.

The dwarves came at a run, shouting various war cries. Short they were, but their axes were very accurate, and what was even better – made of iron.

Two elves near a tall tree raised their crossbows, then something orange and hairy hit their heads together. Quetzal could see something that resembled an orange colored sack with a leathery face. Before she could think about it, an elf raised a crossbow at her.

The orange thing raised an impossibly long hand and whacked it off its horse. "Ook?" the thing said.

Wizards stepped out from their bushes, happily pelting the elves with octarine fire, the color of magic on the Discworld, eight color of the spectrum. It didn't affect them, of course, and elves couldn't die, but it certainly made them jump.

The Zak-wolf growled, and opened its mouth to show an interesting array of teeth. The Queen's struggles became weaker, and her eyes were pinpoints of terror.

The elves stopped battling, suddenly. The Queen and the wolf looked up, to see the towering shape of the King of Elves, with his huge horns and huge body. He wasn't really there, as Ridcully proved by shooting a crossbow bolt through him. Ridcully fancied the horns, unfortunately.

The King clapped his hands, and the elves disappeared. The gateway closed, forced by the King's power, sending out waves of rippling energy around the lawn.

There was a hiss as the High Energy Magic building, home of the younger wizards and unfortunately the nearest building to the gateway, collapsed on itself.

***

"Why would the King save her if he hated her?" Quetzal asked, later, when they adjourned to the dining hall for a late tea. Commander Vimes, taking the explanation of Archancellor Ridcully that the wizards had torn a hole in another fabric of reality, went away, taking his constables with him.

"There has to be a Queen," Granny Weatherwax said, "Or chaos."

Quetzal looked suspiciously at the sausage on the plate. It had specks in it.

Zaknafein, on the other hand, was eating quite a bit of meat, watched by some wizards, that had a hypnotized look on them. The orange thing, which had been identified as the Librarian of Unseen University, watched him suspiciously, occasionally shelling a peanut.

The Librarian had been human once. Books in the library generated a lot of magic, and an unfortunate flux in the field had disturbed his morphic resonance, giving him prehensile feet that was now useful for climbing high bookshelves. He was strongly resistant to being changed back, and none of the wizards would argue, especially when the Librarian opened its mouth to show the most number of yellowed teeth they had ever seen in one place.

"Something wrong with him?" Quetzal said softly to Ridcully, gesturing to a wizard, who had the same blank and smiling face as Zak had on earlier.

"No, that's the Bursar. He's a neurovore, and not quite right in the head, poor fellow," Ridcully said. The wizard continued smiling.

"Bursaar! Have You Been Eating Your Dried Frog Pills?" Ridcully shouted. The wizard looked at them.

"Uncle Jack used to plant red flowers on his window with a plate," the Bursar said, happily, on the upcurve of whatever he was experiencing at the moment.

"He can't control himself. Someone look for the dried pills," Ridcully told the wizards.

Quetzal wasn't listening, but was watching Zaknafein. He looked normal, except for his appetite. She made a note to ask him what Angua had told him after the elves had disappeared. It was probably important.

***

Granny Weatherwax took her broom out with them to the lawn, as they had said their farewells to the wizards.

"Farewell," Quetzal told her.

Granny nodded, then turned to Zaknafein, who was looking at his hands in great curiosity. "You know what to avoid?" she asked, politely. He nodded.

She got on her broomstick, and rose over the gates.

Quetzal watched her briefly, then took the jewel from Zaknafein, who was now looking at his feet. "Are you all right?" she asked.

He snapped his attention back to her. "Yes. Yes, let's go."

Quetzal looked at him worriedly, then pressed the star.

***

Chapter 7: Winds

"What's happening?" Quetzal muttered, more to herself than to her companion, who was no looking behind him to see if he had a tail.

The spider gem was glowing a bright, brilliant purple. They were actually suspended somewhere above some planet.

It was pretty, of course, what with blue oceans, green continents, and white polar areas. It was round, and clouds swirled around it.

Quetzal privately wondered what would happen to those people at the bottom of the sphere. Would they walk upside down, or fall off?

The world didn't make any sense, as didn't the gem in her hand. They weren't any nearer to the world or any further, just stranded in one of those pockets between worlds.

She snapped a command at the spider jewel. It seemed to hesitate, then pulled them down in a rush of energy, which they didn't feel. But they could see the world becoming bigger in front of their eyes.

Special effects now – pay attention. The world spun slowly on its invisible axis, and the elves could see the massive continents, now changing from a uniform green into vast vistas of brown mountains and green forests and lighter green plains. The clouds disappeared behind them, though not fast enough for them to notice a clockwise spinning to their right.

They went down, down, and now could see an immense wall below them, where they were approximately a few hundred kilometers from the earth.

They went down, down, and now the wall was out of sight, though not what looked like a wilderness. It was a gorge, with two sheer sides, cleared of all rocks, wide and flat enough for chariots.

Quetzal and Zaknafein landed softly. The spider jewel was now glowing faintly, though appeared to be absorbing something.

"Zaknafein?" Quetzal tried again. The weapon master looked at her curiously.

"Yes?" he said.

"Are you all right? That is, do you feel yourself?" It was stupid thing to say; though she could think of nothing else.

"Yes," he said, slowly.

"Good." Quetzal said, awkwardly, "Come on."

They walked on through the gorge, for no reason other than to pass the time until the spider jewel would regenerate.

It was pulling them towards something. Probably the best source of magic for now – Quetzal knew that no guns were attracting it.

Guns. What were those things, anyway?

***

The disturbing clockwise cloud movement drifted across the sea, picking up and adding more and more speed to its already considerable velocity.

The clouds, somewhere at the focus point of the tropical storm, spiraled downwards in a funnel. The natural disaster traveled on the seamless surface of the sea, enjoying the lack of friction and the availability of wind.

Its clouds were dark and a certain iron gray that looked infinitely depressing from afar, and most definitely fatal close by. Now and again a spear of lighting traced its way delicately through what looked like the world's most gigantic angry cotton wool cone.

It picked up speed, and fed on the winds. It depended on the fetch it was going on and the wind speed for its strength. Sooner or later, it would hit the shore.

It wasn't looking forward to it. On the shore, it would die, after a few glorious days of wrecking, probably.

***

General Iron Sword looked over his army with a proud military eye. He was on the watchtower of their carefully erected camp.

Below him were the many neat rows of tents, of the Hong soldiers, under the massively decorated flag with the pictogram of the Hong. Various smaller flags of dragons, unicorns, snow leopards, tigers and such flew fitfully underneath it.

When he looked forward, however, the General was not amused. He could see the enemy camp, just as neat and almost an exact duplicate of his own, this time flying the green flag, just visible, of the Tang.

The war had been going on for sometime, and the soldiers were not really happy to just pack up and leave (due to the sudden lack of funds). So the Big Fight was in a few hour's time, with the consent of both leaders. It was unlucky and unmannerly to make a sneak attack, but both camps were carefully watching each other.

He started to climb down the watchtower, clad in his heavy armor and holding his large halberd.

***

They finally wandered out of the gorge. It had been part of a waterfall once, but headward erosion or something had pushed the waterfall backwards, and they were now just following a river.

"No silver, no moonlight," Zak was saying, having finally been persuaded to say something. "I think I'll turn vegetarian too."

"Really." Quetzal said, "Why?"

"Or I'd be tempted to change. Or the sight of blood, or dead things, or wolves or cats." Zak said. Life as a werewolf didn't look very interesting, on the whole.

"Well, at least you can smell better now," Quetzal said, brightly, "And you'll be very useful when it gets cold."

Zaknafein looked at her enquiringly.

Quetzal smiled the smile of the lighthearted. "A nice, warm wolf on a cold day to burrow my feet under."

"No," Zak said, but the side of his mouth twitched into a half grin.

"I could give you a bone," Quetzal said outrageously, "Or a rub behind your ears."

"No," Zak repeated, then started to laugh.

***

The cyclone was now a speck on the horizon seen from the beach of the oncoming shore.

It was really not looking for this, and was now getting angry.

The lightning started to dance furiously, with the ferocity of fans in an Elvis concert. The clouds whirled in a spiral, and began to turn a darker gray.

Who said every cloud has a silver lining? This one has a white one – of lightning.

Come and get it.

***

"Right now," Zak said, "My nose is telling me of latrines and soldiers."

"Where?" asked Quetzal.

Zak wrinkled his nose. His drow side was revolted, but the wolf side reveled in the interesting smell of the basic tenet of humans – violence, crap, eat, and drink.

The high walls beside them drastically cut off in height, but the river now flowed onto a sparse plain, snaking onwards, until it reached the far ocean, fulfilling every river's wish and ultimate destiny. It formed an interesting delta.

Quetzal could now see two camps far ahead of them, facing each other. What looked like humans close up and ants from her perspective were scudding out of the fortified areas in military precision. There was a horse or so leading each clump.

"We don't get involved," Quetzal quickly decided.

Zaknafein pointed. Fast approaching the delta was a giant funnel of clouds, and Quetzal could now hear the roar of thunder in the sky.

The sky itself turned a murky gray, that sort of yellow gray on a very old photograph. The wind began to blow, ruffling their hair and teasing a few leaves into the air.

Actually, there weren't any trees on the plain, but a few leaves floating on the wind is standard special effect.

The air was calm and tense and serene all at one time. It was the calm before a storm.

Zak liked it.

***

The generals faced each other across the field.

"Inauspicious," General Straight Jump, from the other side, bellowed.

"It must be decided. If not today, then when?" General Iron Sword bellowed back. One of the prerequisites to a general was a good, strong voice.

"The grass sways before the strong wind." General Straight Jump said. "We will settle it today, as the gods watch above."

"Our horses prance through the pattering rain. May the best one win," General Iron Sword replied, formally.

The armies just stood and waited. Several enterprising officers from each side rode forth, picking an opponent, and trying to kill them while the army watched benevolently.

The wind picked up speed, now not only teasing at the leaves, but also mercilessly making fun of them.

***

"Where are you going?" Quetzal shouted at Zak. It was beginning to get hard to hear herself.

Zaknafein stopped from where he had been heading to the delta. "To the storm," he said, indicating the spider jewel that was now returned to his possession.

"Why?" Quetzal asked.

"It's the closest intense magical source," Zak replied, sounding annoyingly patient, "We'll be able to get off this world more quickly. To tell you the truth, I'm getting cold."

He shivered, as if to accentuate his point. They were now more or less comfortable in sunlight, but not the biting cold. Quetzal couldn't believe it could get this cold without snow.

She sighed, and followed him as he wandered closer.

"It seems to be heading to the army!" he shouted, his hair whipping across his face.

"Then we'll just go there!" Quetzal shouted back.

Zak smiled faintly. "I thought someone here said…"

"Practical is as practical goes. When we've the chance for a ticket out of this place, we'll bloody well take it." Quetzal replied.

"That's my girl," Zak said, trudging on through the wind. On his palm, the spider scuttled around excitedly.

Closer up, they could see the two army bulks, and a few shapes clashing around in the middle. A few heaps lay on the ground.

The spiral had gone onto the land, and was going straight towards them in a humming sound, that seemed to be churning up the ground itself.

There was a plaintive moo of a water buffalo that had wandered too close to the funnel. Zak watched, awed, as the massive animal whirled around in a dervish, tail flicking.

He could smell the blood on the field, which was staining the grass.

Zaknafein bit his lip, successfully controlling the werewolf urge to grow long nails and teeth and hair, and to hunt prey.

Quetzal put a hand on his shoulder with understanding.

They turned to face the winds.

The thing was charging towards them with the massive unstoppability of a moving battering ram held by a few hundred Vikings.

On their not-so-far-now right, the fight had stopped, the combatants fleeing. Soldiers, on a whole, had a very clear conception of survival, especially paid soldiers.

The thing charged on, and Zaknafein glanced down briefly to the spider gem. It was glowing more brightly, the energy half filled.

***

General Iron Sword only called for retreats in dire circumstances. He supposed that this counted as one.

The generals, differences forgotten, were busy directing each other's troops towards the gorges.

"Who are those two?" General Straight Jump asked, pointing towards two figures the army had passed in a panic.

General Iron Sword shrugged. "They are facing down the might of Heaven. Fools, probably."

His fellow general nodded venerably. "Should we continue in the gorge?" he asked, conversationally.

General Iron Sword looked pensive, then shook his head. "Too narrow. We cannot ambush each other now. After the Might of Heaven?" he asked.

Straight Jump nodded. The soldiers around them whispered, but were now mostly aiding each other in building a storm barrier of rocks.

"Foolish," Iron Sword said, as the generals, on a more elevated position, watched the massive storm bearing down erratically on the two distant figures.

"One thing we agree on," Straight Jump said.

***

Exhilarating, was the word she was looking for. The wind was now so strong as to be difficult to continue standing, but the spider jewel was filling up faster and faster.

The clouds were faltering at the ends, as if the very essence of energy from them was being sucked out. Quetzal stood before them with Zaknafein, watching the storm tear up the grass and pull up an incontinent shrub, hurling it many a mile away near the top.

It was nearly on them. Quetzal could feel the immense forces pulling at her feet, willing her to rise upwards into the gray mass.

Then Zaknafein cried in triumph, pressing the silver star on the spider.

They vanished. There was a sucking noise and a red, metallic cylinder with protuberances at the side appeared, slightly wet and gleaming. It was sucked up into the storm.

***

Chapter 8: Incidents

"Another one!" Archancellor Ridcully expostulated.

A gateway opened lazily, right above the dining table. Its varied colors were bright and silvery and generally beautiful. They also swirled, as if someone had stuck a ladle in the middle of a bucket of multicolored water and started stirring slowly.

The wizards looked at it in astonishment. Or rather, a kind of astonishment that pronounced to the world that, hey, we've seen this before, it's darn irritating, and the only surprising thing about it is that nothing comes out of it.

"It's one of the transdimensional gateways, sir," Ponder Stibbons, the youngest member of the council and also the most wretched, said seriously. Young wizards believed that magical pentagrams and octograms and whatever-grams didn't work, that magic consisted of thaums and that everything could be worked out by Hex, their ant-run machine that was about-to-be sentient.

Older wizards believed that nothing without wax or string or magical diagrams should be banned in the use of magic, even the rite of AshkEnte, where you summoned Death and made him answer questions, that could be done with three bits of wood and 6cc of mouse blood. It incidentally annoyed Death very much, especially when he was doing something important, e.g. playing a round of cards with War, Pestilence and Famine.

All the wizards turned and gave him a Look. All, that is, except for the Bursar, who merely said, "Mister Bink is coming down with a box," in a loud, cheerful voice.

The Bursar, being in that state past insanity, was ignored.

"Say that again?" Ridcully said, slowly.

Ponder sighed with infinite patience. "I was saying, sir, that it closely resembles one of those trans..."

"And you'll be talking about wormholes and how the universe is a rubber weight, eh?" Ridcully said.

"No sir! It resembles one of those doorways in which..."

"And the word gravitational reality is just coming up again, isn't it?"

Ponder had suspected for a long time that Ridcully was seriously doing it to irritate him. It wasn't that Ridcully was stupid – stupid wizards never lasted long – but that his intelligence seemed to be focused on other things, like crossbows and hunting and fishing.

"Oneofthegatesthedarkelvescamethroughsir," he said, very quickly, before Ridcully could inject another painful comment into his bloodstream.

"Ah. Well, it's very obvious, isn't it? How many holes with lots of colors we get? Do you think we say, hey, there's one brown hole, and one green one, and well, do you know what they resemble?" Ridcully said.

The Dean snorted in his porridge. "Remember old 'Smidgen' Prague? Now, there's a man who really knows his transdimensional gateways. You don't get wizards like that anymore."

Another irritating thing about senior wizards, was their 'Remember old [Insert name of wizard that died-fifty years ago and too long for Ponder to know]? Well, there's a wizard who really knew his [Insert noun here].'

"Are they coming back?" The Lecturer in Recent Runes asked, for what was unusually sensible for a wizard.

Ridcully looked at Ponder. Ponder cleared his throat. "I think the holes are due to their leaving this place, sir. I mean," he said hurriedly, seeing that Ridcully was about to say something, "That their leaving this place caused more disturbance than they left."

The wizards, as one, looked silently at the gate hanging over the dining table. That is, as one except for the Bursar, who said, "Mister Cat put Miss Dog on the fence," and giggled.

***

It so happened that Ponder was wrong. Well, slightly wrong, but the simple word 'wrong' carries such a leaden weight of disapproval that...what? Oh. You want me to get on with the story? Then don't let me get distracted.

Now where was I? Oh, ok. Thank you. No, really. Thank you.

The spider jewel, being a creation of a goddess who thought of tact as a device in which you stapled someone's legs to a board, simply pushed its way through the small reality fabrics of each universe.

In most universes, the fabric simply reformed into what it had been before.

However, the Discworld contained more than its share of magic, and more of its share of magical interference that served, on a whole, to make the fabric so irritated with its lot that it refused to reform itself.

The spider jewel also absorbed magic, an until a certain thaumic value. Each world has magic, even in the most unlikely states, but it would absorb enough to contain its little abdomen, which is a surprising quantity. Have you ever drunk those sugar drinks where you add sugar to water then give it to your younger sibling and smirk while your parent screams when he/she finds out about it?

It's like this. The sugar drink, I mean. In the same volume of water, there can be a different concentration of sugar. However, the container where the water is in can only hold a specific amount of water, but any percentage of concentration.

It so happened that the Discworld has an abnormal concentration of magic. Thus, the take off of Zaknafein and Quetzal ended up with too much thaumic thrust, straining the fabric of reality very, very tight. Past breaking point.

Thus it was that all those multihued circles were appearing all over the place. They didn't seem to be any harm – if you put your arm through you could see it through the other side.

That is, they're not any harm... yet.

***

Sheer sharp mountains speared up into the sky, which was filled with stars. The ground sloped down into an immense funnel, but somewhere an outcrop of rock soared over the chasm. On it was a garden, with orchids, flowerbeds, and a black cottage.

Spiraling down on it, you may also see the immense golden fields, as if all the color lacking from the black garden and black flowerbeds had been poured into them. They swayed gently, in a land with no breeze.

Huge lilies perfumed the air, and were interesting if you ignored the fact that they were black, gray, or white. There was a sundial without at pointer on it, and also a large tree, with a swing in it. Or through it, as was the case. The rope supports of the swing hung on the two strongest branches of the tree, in this case on opposite sides of the tree. Naturally, the designer had cut away the middle of the tree, though it still grew happily. Props were secured around it. Perfectly logical, if you ignored the fact that with the props, the swing couldn't swing and that anyone tall swinging would end up with a major migraine.

The inside of the cottage was considerably larger than that of the outside, as if the person who designed it had no idea of what dimensioning meant.

Everything was also basically black, and the design was Early Crypt. There were quite a few clocks, but they weren't working. There was a carpet on the ground, but it was hard, like rock.

The only thing that seemed to work properly was the Clock. It was large, as clocks went, and had a scythe as its timer, and a very, very irritating tick and tock.

Through the immense hall, into the immense kitchen, with its many stoves, cupboards, cabinets, etc. A man was skillfully, or rather, technically skillfully, cooking an egg.

A spark whizzed from the fire onto his hand. "Bugger," he said, then ignored it. He was an old man, and his nose dripped. He walked slightly hunched, and he had a slightly mellowed 'sod you' look on his face.

The pan throbbed. Albert, as was the old man's name, immediately dived under the nearby table.

The stove exploded in a wonderful display of indoor fireworks, which scorched the chairs, tables, cabinets, and anything remotely scorchable.

After a while, the smoke subsided, and Albert cautiously climbed out. A small black robed figure with a tiny scythe in its paws of white bone looked balefully down at him, through empty sockets. In its other paw it held, accusingly, a lump of melted gooey yellow, that evaporated quickly.

SQUEAK! It said.

"Look, how was I supposed to know that the stove was going to do that? It's never done that in such short notice!" the old man said wearily.

SQUEAK, the Death of Rats said, nastily.

The old man found he was backing off from a figure not more than six inches high. "Ok, I'll give you another bit of cheese. Don't know what's happening these days." He grumbled, then started to fumble in the fridge.

***

Death was feeling bored. It was a new feeling for him, but it was there, nonetheless. He had spent most of his; well, what passed as time here, looking through the shelves of the room of hourglasses hopefully, but it hadn't revealed anything. No one needed his attention for quite a while, for some reason.

Right now, he was so bored as to be playing Pickle Mr. Onion with War, Pestilence and Famine, all of which didn't understand the game in the first place. They were now arguing over a new set of rules of the silly game.

Therefore, he faced the circle developing suddenly over Pestilence's head with a certain forced interest.

I WONDER WHAT THAT IS DOING HERE? He said.

"Hmm? No, Famine, it should be if I show this and this card you lose that and that and that." War said.

Pestilence looked at the choices. "It should be that and that and that," he said, in a voice that seemed to drip with absolute drippiness and uncomfortableness.

I WONDER WHAT THAT IS DOING HERE? Death tried again, this time pointing with a literally bony hand.

"Hmm? No, War, it should be that if I draw that and that..." Famine was saying.

Death sighed, standing up. The others ignored him. He carefully poked the thing with the edge of his scythe, which was a blade of proverbial sharpness. The atoms of air split over it.

Nothing happened, except that the edge of the scythe appeared through the multihued circle thing.

Death watched it for a moment, while Pestilence, War and Famine argued over two cards. Then he shrugged, and poked a bony hand through.

There was a sucking noise and just enough time for Death to say, OH BUGGER then disappear, along with his scythe. There was another sucking noise, and a giant, metal rod, that was bent near the top and had an elongated bulb at the end, crashed down on the game table.

War picked up the cards scattered under the pole. "Now, I think that this card and this..."

***

They appeared, some distance above a black street that was covered liberally in muck.

As Quetzal picked herself up, muttering, she noticed that Zaknafein had already stood up, and was looking at his surroundings with a certain interest.

They were in what looked like an alley, with the backs of buildings to it. The buildings were tall, and steps snaked up their backs, probably for escaping through fires, though they looked too rickety to even touch.

The windows were mostly boarded shut, and it was raining.

Quetzal discovered the truth of the last fact when she clambered over to the grubby pavement. In fact, water was gushing out steadily from the other side of the pavement, in a long stream of cool liquid that shot high in the air and wet anything underneath it.

Something appeared to have been anchored to it once, but looked as if it had been wrenched away with brute strength.

Zaknafein was looking curiously at a garishly painted wall, which had obviously not been built for that particular purpose. "I wonder what f*** means," he said.

Quetzal shrugged. "Some occult word?"

"Whoever painted this used it very often," Zak remarked. "Maybe it has magical properties."

"Magic doesn't work here," Quetzal said.

"What?" Zak turned to look at her.

"At least, not very well. The jewel works, but my spells can't be cast. The flute's useless now, too." Quetzal said.

"Then why do I understand this?" Zak waved a hand at the wall, "Or rather, most of this?"

"Because the translation rune was said before we entered here," Quetzal said, quickly working it out. "And our swords probably still retain their sharpness. And the whip," she paused, demurely pulling aside her outer robe. The snakes, rearing back at the unwelcome sunlight, writhed into knots.

There was a sucking sound. Both dark elves whirled, weapons at the ready, to see one of those long metal poles with bulbs at the end vanish, and a black robed figure appear in its stead.

BUGGER said the figure, in a voice that resembled leaden slabs dropping down on granite. It was holding a scythe, the edge gleaming with sharpness that surpassed that of their adamantite swords.

The figure turned, to show the two dark elves a white skull, with nova blue lights in the sockets. I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU KNOW THE WAY OUT OF HERE? He asked.

"Who are you?" Zak said, cautiously.

DEATH, Death replied, expecting the usual 'Nooooo! Not you! I'm not ready yet!'.

"Really," Quetzal said, rather calmly. She wasn't surprised about anything anymore. If this person said he was Death, and was wearing the black robe and the scythe, she'd believe him.

REALLY, Death replied, relieved, as the two didn't seem shocked or outraged or something. DO YOU HAPPEN TO KNOW WHERE WE ARE?

"On a planet with guns," Quetzal said. "How did you get here?"

Death stood up, dusting himself off. BUGGER IF I KNOW. LAST THING I REMEMBER I WAS REACHING THROUGH A MULTIHUED HOLE.

Zak glanced at Quetzal, who looked surprised. "I suppose that our 'getting out' created quite a few holes in the fabric of reality surrounding the Discworld."

"How did he end up here with us? Instead of on that place with all that moving air?" Zak demanded. He was resisting the urge to sit down and scratch his ear with a hind leg.

"I think the holes are keyed to the jewel," Quetzal said.

CAN YOU GET ME BACK? I HAVE A FEW APPOINTMENTS I SHOULD KEEP, Death said. "No. At least, not until we've finished. So I suppose you'll have to tag along... Death." Quetzal said.

Death shrugged. Bony shoulders seemed to have been built for shrugging. I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO NOW, ANYWAY.

***

Chapter 9: Handebells

They sneaked a look around the edge of their alley. It was very noisy out there – and also very colorful. People were dressed in all sorts of costumes, and it seemed to be a parade, full of laughter and, now and then, blaring music.

I THINK IT'S A COSTUME PARTY, said Death, in his sepulchral voice.

"What's that? People wear silly costumes and prance around?" Zak was not feeling very well. Especially with the sight of a small stand opposite the road the alley was joining to. It smelt very strongly of sausages.

ER, YES. A VERY CORRECT ANSWER. THEY ARE THE ONLY PARTIES I CAN GO TO. Death said.

"Ah? Then we'd fit in well, until the stupid jewel builds up enough energy for another jump," Quetzal said. They had spent some time explaining the concept to Death.

CAN YOU DROP ME OFF WHEN YOU DO THAT? Death asked.

"I don't think so. Not until we've gotten what we came here for." Quetzal replied.

AH WELL, Death said, not really sounding very disappointed.

They sauntered as casually as they could into the mix, attracting some comments about their 'original' costumes. Zaknafein was shaking with laughter after a particular one, "How wonderful! You'd think you're really Death, what with that amazing skull and that wonderful scythe!"

***

The suspect ran into the crowd, and just as annoyingly disappeared.

Two people, the man wearing a suit and the lady also in a suit, black, with white shirts, skidded to a pause.

"Damn," the man said.

"We'll never find him in that lot," the woman agreed, looking with a certain sense of defeat in the crowded heave of humanity.

"We should try, Scully," the man said, darting inside the crowd. The woman sighed, then followed.

"Look, Mulder, we might as well try looking for his hideout. Didn't the piece of paper…" Scully began.

"It might be a decoy," Mulder replied, straining over the heads of the crowd. "Excuse me, excuse me." He began to push his way through.

It was a while later when they passed quite a few shops and a lot of people and still couldn't find the suspect.

"Damn," Mulder said, again.

Scully rather wisely decided not to say 'I told you so', and merely waited for the man to do something. He usually did. She was feeling skeptical about her partner's claim that the man was an alien from some planet here to take over something, but she usually was.

Then the most astonishing thing passed them.

Two people, a man and a woman, slightly short. Their hair was bone white, but that was acceptable, but their skin was ebony black. Their ears were pointed at the end; their features could be described as… elfin? The man wore armor and swords, the woman a black robe with strange inscriptions, and also swords.

What was stranger yet was the figure following them, in the blackest robe Mulder had ever seen. A bony hand was holding a scythe. Really bony, as if all the flesh had been stripped away. The scythe itself was glowing slightly, a pale blue. When it walked, it had the clicking of hard things on the tarred road.

Something in Mulder's mind kicked him, trying to get his attention.

"A good costume, don't you think?" Scully said.

"What?" Mulder asked. The thing in his mind kicked him harder, and was screaming now.

"Death over there. And the two people. Probably imitating some mercenary warriors from those fantasy books." Scully pronounced the last two words with distaste.

Death…yes, that was it. Tall figure in black with bony hands and a scythe…Death, the taker of souls.

"It's a good costume," Scully said, then stopped when she realized she was talking to herself.

A flurry of 'excuse me, excuse me,' erupted from the ranks in front of her, and she found herself running, or rather squeezing, after Agent Mulder.

She stopped to realize that said Agent had already caught up with them, and seemed to be talking to them animatedly.

***

"Stop!" the voice called from behind them.

The three of them stopped dutifully, and turned around. A man in a formal looking suit and trousers bore down on them, his face flushed slightly.

Zaknafein waited until he caught his breath. "Yes?" he asked.

"Who are you?" the man said.

"That's Death over there, and we're dark elves," Zaknafein said pleasantly. "Good to meet you."

"Really," the man said, suspiciously. He looked at Death, who grinned at him underneath the hood. A small blue supernova happened in one of the sockets, Death's equivalent of a wink.

"I'm FBI, and I know for certain no one can do that," the man said. He caught hold of one of Death's arms, the one holding the scythe, and tried to pull away the scythe. Death reacted fairly expectedly, exerting a stronger hold on the scythe, the free thumb on that hand wrapping around it.

"You're real," the man accused. Around him, the people weren't taking much notice.

Death looked as puzzled as a skeleton could. Then he concentrated. Then he looked even more puzzled. YOU SAID THE MAGIC DOESN'T WORK ANYMORE? He asked Quetzal.

"Not on this world. People will see you for what you are. Too scientific for even those 'trick of the eyes' things." Quetzal replied. The man's eyes were widening.

Zaknafein nudged Quetzal sharply in the ribs. "Standard procedure," he winked at the man, "Now, we have to be going."

The spider source was starting to animate on his hand. There was a source of magic…somewhere. Such that they would not have to spend years on this world waiting.

"You'll all come with me," the man was saying. A red headed woman appeared at his side.

"Why?" Quetzal asked. "We've got no reason to."

"I need to ask a few questions." The man replied.

Zaknafein was, rather quickly, tiring of this. Werewolf patience could be summed up as: talk a few sentences with said sentient being, then eat said sentient being.

You didn't survive four centuries in Menzoberranzan without learning some self control, though. "No thank you," Zak said, as politely as possible.

"It's not a request," the man said.

"Good," Quetzal said just as smoothly, "Because we're not going."

Zaknafein was pushing through the crowd, and they followed quickly, Death giving the two humans a Look.

The crowd closed behind them, a series of people on long sticks cutting off any pursuit.

WHERE ARE WE GOING? Asked Death.

"The jewel knows a place with magic that's more or less close by," Zaknafein replied. "It's leading us to it… or rather, leading us to an appropriate thing which may take us there, I think." The jewel was hopping up and down.

Then there was the sound of bells. Light toned, and not the dull, giant ones sometimes found in Menzoberranzan. It sounded as if many bells were playing together, making up a song that was uplifting and beautiful, a continuous ringing that sounded like a pure song.

They passed a few people in broad brimmed hats and eyepatches and parrots, to see a long table.

The table had a red velvet covering. On it were an array of bells, from the small to the large, all of which were small enough to be held by a hand. Several people were standing behind the table, all of them holding and ringing bells, at a cue from their songsheets in front of them.

Apparently each bell represented a single musical note. At each time the note was needed, the person, who was holding two bells, would put out one hand sharply, such that the bell rang, then pulled it back to him/her in a cycling motion, resting the bell on his/her shoulder to damp the sound out. And so on. Many notes were played together in a symphony, making up accompaniments to the song itself, into a complex, beautiful melody.

"La Salle Handbell Choir." Quetzal read. Apparently the language spell she had placed on them still worked. Death seemed to be able to understand the language around him.

"Handbell?" Zak mused, "How appropriate." And how beautiful, he added. He wanted to stay here, forever, listening to the bells.

The small bells chimed high notes, the larger ones deep brass ones. They merged in a great harmony, which was slightly broken when Death poked him in the ribs with a bony finger. He looked up, and Death pointed behind them.

A small fusillade of 'Excuse me' could be heard. With unspoken agreement, they dived into the nearby door of a building, the display window full of books.

***

The shopkeeper looked up from where he had been busily cataloguing the books, and surreptitiously glancing at the table in the center of the shop with its queue.

The door closed quickly, and three figures quickly walked behind some shelves. One of them was holding a scythe.

Through the shop window, the shopkeeper saw two people in suits stop, look around, and then start off in another direction.

After a while, the three cautiously re-emerged from the Children's Section. "Do you want to go back there?" the woman in the black robe and tracings asked.

The man in the chain mail armor and swords looked pensively at the near-riot outside then shook his head firmly. The last one, in the black robe and scythe, turned his head to regard the shopkeeper and the queue at the table, who ignored him. Well, his head was a skull.

"Nice costume," The shopkeeper mumbled to himself, "Some helmet or something."

The personage at the table stood up, then walked towards the three. The rest of the queue, including the shopkeeper of the rather large bookshop, looked at him, then at them.

"Yes?" the man with the swords, asked, in a rather weary voice.

"Are you dark elves?" the personage asked.

"Yes." The woman replied, in a tone that challenged them to say something against that. "We like the costume."

The personage was looking closely at them, then at the other black-robed figure.

"Can I speak to you privately here for a while? Sorry, Mr. Kane," he nodded at the shopkeeper. The hopefuls at the table dispersed quietly.

"You are dark elves," the personage said quietly, "Unless you can explain that," he pointed.

It was hidden from the shopkeeper and the rest of the shop, but Quetzal's robe was slightly askew, and showed three snake heads, that hissed at the person, then was abruptly cut off and Quetzal pulled the robe over them.

"And your swords are adamantite, and so is your armor," the person was saying. "That's a piwafwi, isn't it? And you're a cleric of Lloth."

Quetzal exchanged a glance with Zaknafein. "Not really." She said.

The person looked at her eyes then took a sharp intake of breath. "Are you Drizzt?"

Quetzal narrowed her purple eyes. "No. What do you know of my brother?" she challenged.

"Vierna then?"

"Her sister," Zaknafein said, wondering why this person knew so much about them.

"Oh my. Of the Do'Urden family?" the man was sounding slightly stunned.

"Yes," Zak said slowly. "How do you know?"

"I write about you," the person said.

***

"Did you see where they went?" Mulder asked, after a while.

"No," Scully replied, then her eyes widened as the suspect darted in front of them, skidded to a halt in horror then took off again.

Mulder's face was a study in conflicting emotions, then he also ran after the suspect.

***

"I hate these type of universes," Quetzal was saying.

THAT MAN WRITES STORIES ABOUT YOU WHEN HE HAS NEVER MET YOU BEFORE? Death was saying curiously.

The person looked up from an animated conversation with Zaknafein. "People write stories about you, too. Are you of the Discworld?" he asked.

YES Death replied.

The man wordlessly meandered over to a shelf, then selected a book, passing it to Death.

The title was Reaper Man, and it showed a skeleton in a straw hat and suspenders.

Death blinked, and opened the book.

"So, in what you write, I'm dead?" Zaknafein was saying. He sighed. "Ah well…"

"Where is Drizzt?" the man asked.

"Languishing in some dungeon somewhere. We're supposed to be helping him now," Quetzal said, pointedly.

"Ah yes. Sorry, but we have to be going." Zak said.

"Can I help you in any way?" the man was saying, rather awkwardly. His eyes danced. "Can you do a sword fight? It's a point of curiosity, but I would like to see some of your moves."

Zaknafein gave Quetzal a look that said we're bored, we've got lots of time, why not?

Quetzal's look was just as eloquent. Just this once, and we don't make any more of this stupid stops.

"Where? Here?" Zak asked.

"Outside there. It's allowed today," the man said.

Death sucked in a breath, which sounded really hollow. DO YOU KNOW, BUT I THINK THIS IS VERY ACCURATE.

"Most strange," Quetzal agreed, not really listening. "Let's go outside."

"What is your name?" Zaknafein asked.

"B----," the man replied, with a charismatic grin.

***

Most of the bookstore followed them out into the sunlight. That spell had lasted too, Quetzal noticed with a certain satisfaction.

The fans queuing up at the table now cleared a small circle in front of the bookstore. Zaknafein and Quetzal walked into it.

The words 'Sword fight' were echoing around.

"Can you do the double cross low?" the man asked.

"Well yes, but they've found a very good counter to it," Zak said.

"Good," the man smiled.

The two dark elves walked into the circle, and drew their swords. "Ready?" Zak asked.

"When you are," Quetzal replied, feeling lighthearted.

***

Chapter 10: Sunnydale

The jewel started to jump up and down excitedly. "That's the thing we're supposed to get on," Zak said.

It was a rather garishly painted bus. It had a badly painted picture of a cut orange vegetable with fire inside, which was disobeying the general laws of combustion. There was a witch on a broomstick. There was a gloomy house with ghosts.

It also had the words: Halloween Trick or Treat. Donate Generously. Thank you. Charity Scheme for the Handicapped

It had a board next to the bus. Quetzal walked up to it and read, "Volunteers needed for the next stop: Sunnydale."

"Sunnydale?" Zaknafein mused, "Doesn't sound that dangerous to me." The spider was now scuttling excitedly on his palm.

DOES THAT MEAN WE ARE SUPPOSED TO GO THERE? Death asked, pointing to the spider.

"Yes. It'll give us the fastest way to absorb enough magic to get out of here," Zaknafein said. The place B--- had brought them to helpfully, was a place where they could get 'rides' to any place they needed to go in the States, which he called this place.

Zaknafein didn't like the States. There weren't any trees or anything, there were tall buildings that leered down on them from every angle, it was stiflingly hot and militantly ugly. If he looked up, he could just make out the sky, and the sun.

"I suppose we should join, then," Quetzal sighed. People with all sorts of weird dresses were filing up the bus.

A vertically challenged man walked out of the bus, and saw them looking at the bus in interest. "Say, aren't you those two at the sword fight just now?" he asked, in a voice with astonishing timbre and expression.

"Yes," Zak said.

"Ah. Would you like to join us? We're going to Sunnydale next. It's been ignored for a while – did you know that when I checked up what remained of the reports of that place, no entertainment group has visited it in years?" the man said, cheerfully.

"Not a good sign," Quetzal whispered to Death, who nodded.

"Yes. We've got to go to Sunnydale for business," Zaknafein said.

"Oh good. You can leave there, of course, but would you mind doing another fight?" the man asked, "Very realistic, that one. I heard even the kids cheered."

"They liked the game idea," Quetzal said.

"Oh yes. One point for sir when he scores a slap on you, and three points for you when you hit him," the man grinned.

"Sir did not like the three points bit," Zaknafein said sourly.

"That's because you fight better than me, and you know it," Quetzal replied.

THAT IS TRUE. I THINK HE WON. Death said.

"Now don't you start," Quetzal said warningly.

"Right. We need a ride. When are you going?" Zak asked the man, who was laughing.

"Five minutes. The ride's a few hours or so, but we've got a few laptops or books on board, if you want to spend the time," the man said. "Donated ones, of course."

"Very well," Zak said.

"Welcome then! On board!" the man said, with infectious enthusiasm.

They clambered onto the thing, which was called a bus. It had two rows of seats, and an aisle between the rows. They took a seat randomly, Zaknafein and Quetzal sitting together, Death on the opposite row next to them.

The man went up to them again. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Real one, or a made up one?" Zaknafein countered. He didn't know what most people called themselves, but it was probably very different from their spellings.

The man smiled. "Good one. Anything."

"I am Zaknafein Do'Urden." Zak said. The man scribbled it down.

"And your sister is?" the man asked.

"What?" Quetzal asked.

"Oh, sorry. I saw the likeness, and well…" the man said.

Quetzal thought fast. Drow didn't show their age, and humans tended to get excited about very young fathers and older looking daughters.

"Ah. Yes, sister. I am Quetzal Do'Urden." Quetzal said.

"Do'Urden is a made up name, right?" the man said slyly.

Zaknafein smiled, and the man nodded and walked to where Death was looking at the book 'Reaper Man', which B---- had bought for him.

"What's your name?" the man asked.

DEATH, Death said, distractedly.

"Appropriate," the man grinned, then headed down the aisle. And stopped. "Would you like anything to occupy you?" he asked.

"What's the laptop thing?" Zak asked.

The man stared. "A small computer that you can put on your lap," he said. Zaknafein decided not to ask what a computer was.

"Here," the person in front said, "I'll lend you mine... I think you'd find one of the games interesting. I think I'll read a book." The person was a 'wizard', in an outrageous sequined outfit.

Zaknafein mumbled thanks, then looked rather curiously at the thing he had put on his lap. It was black, and consisted of a board with a lot of keys, that rested on his lap, and another board, upright, with a sort of window thing. There was a pad like thing attached on a rubber wire to the boards, which was easily gripped by his hand. It had three colored buttons on the right, and a cross-button on the left, with the words U on the top bit, L on the extreme left bit, R on the extreme right bit, and D on the bottom.

There was a ball embedded in the board. Zaknafein tentatively touched it.

An arrow on the upright screen moved. There were icons on the screen, with words like 'My Computer', 'Recycling Bin' and such that didn't make much sense.

"What if you move the arrow thing to this?"Quetzal whispered, pointing at the bottom icon, which read 'Dark Elf'.

Slowly and painfully, Zaknafein rolled the ball until the arrow reached the icon. Nothing happened.

Quetzal looked at the board. There was a big button in a half ring around the ball. She pressed it, and it made a 'click' sound.

The icon was highlighted in blue. Zaknafein exchanged a glance with her, then pressed the button again.

The screen became black. "Oops," Zak muttered, then looked around the keyboard.

Rather gloomy music started to play, and he looked back at the screen. It now flickered fitfully in a picture that resembled the Underdark caverns, then to something that resembled a dark city from afar. The gates could be seen.

There was the sound of someone panting. Zaknafein and Quetzal looked at the screen, fascinated. How did this work? They'd never seen a moving picture before.

Then something that looked like a dark elf clambered over the gates. The focus of the screen zoomed out to show a tunnel into what Zak thought was supposed to represent the start of the Underdark. The dark elf wore piwafwi and chain mail. He stopped, and said, "Guenhwyvar."

"Drizzt?" Quetzal said, in astonishment.

A panther appeared in the figure, and the two disappeared into the tunnel.

The screen changed into the tunnel entrance, which filled the screen. Words appeared to be 'cut' into the screen with a knife.

"Dark Elf" it read. In smaller font was "The epic journey."

The arrow reappeared, though this time was an elfin hand.

There were three pulsating words below the large fonts. "Game start, Load, Options."

Zaknafein shrugged, and maneuvered the hand down to 'Game start'.

***

The bus had started moving, and Quetzal was now splitting her time between looking out of the window and looking at the strange screen.

Zaknafein had figured out the gadget rather quickly. Apparently the pad thing with the buttons controlled the game.

It was a figure in a rather realistic looking tunnel, that could move in all directions at the, well, direction of the cross-button. The smaller buttons were more complicated – fight, fight and jump, apparently. He'd located two more buttons at the side, which were (you guessed it) fight, and fight.

For some reason, the figure didn't start with any weapons at all, and was really terrible at fighting, which Zaknafein had discovered after he 'died' a few times. He realized that he could 'kill' others in the Underdark, or 'talk' to them, by clicking on them with the arrow.

What Zak seemed to enjoy was that if he 'killed' things like, say, an armed goblin, he could loot the armor. Sometimes he'd meet dwarves on the way that 'sold' things, and though he started with a small amount of 'gold coins' for purchasing things, he usually 'killed' and got a lot more.

Zak found he was enjoying himself. When he started the game, there was an option to 'Create you Character' or 'Import a Character'. He'd tried both, and to his surprise found the name Zaknafein under the 'Import a Character' button.

He also found that in the game, he was one terrible fighter. And then realized that he could 'level' according to the amount of 'experience' he got after 'killing' someone or completing an errand.

He was now, with slight difficulty, level three, with some help from the 'wizard' in front.

As Quetzal watched, the Zak-figure walked down a tunnel, and met another goblin. There was a rather realistic sound of fighting as Zaknafein pressed all the fight buttons together again and again.

The Zak-figure found another sword, that Zaknafein told her was 'useless'. According to natural common sense, the higher priced an item, the better it was. He'd found a 'good' sword in some dwarf shop he'd found in another tunnel, and was trying to purchase it.

Quetzal looked over at Death, who was also figuring out another game that the man had lent him. He didn't like the idea at first.

RINCEWIND? Death had muttered.

"Shh." Quetzal had said hurriedly.

I DON'T UNDERSTAND THE PLOT. RINCEWIND THE INCOMPETENT WIZARD HAS MY JOB BECAUSE I DISAPPEARED? Death obligingly lowered his voice.

He'd been rather indignant about it, and then he took pleasure in dumping the Rincewind figure in every 'bad' thing possible. According to counts, 'Rincewind' had screamed at least twenty times now, which he did before 'dying'.

***

It'd been rather regretful that they left the games behind and went out of the bus. The ride hadn't been long, and it was now the late afternoon, which Quetzal judged from the descending sun.

"Sunnydale," the man said, in a flourish. "Some students asked us to come and perform near the school. There?" he asked. Everyone filed into a plot of close to the 'school', which had various teenagers walking out of it.

He took a loudspeaker from his pack, then turned it on and tuned it. Zaknafein and Quetzal winced.

"Boys and Girls!" the loudspeaker blared, "Halloween's here! Trick or Treat!"

Some teenagers began to meander over, until there was a crowd. Death and the dark elves sat under a tree, watching the little performances.

"Would you mind?" the man appeared at Death's side. "You've got a good costume. Ask them for some donations." He handed Death a hat.

Death shrugged, then stood up and walked into the crowd. He wasn't used at being seen, but the teenagers mostly said admiring noises and dumped coins in.

***

A blonde girl, a dark haired girl and a red haired girl, along with two boys were watching the performance. Or rather, the blonde girl was looking at her watch, the dark haired girl was saying something about 'poor fashion sense', one boy was holding the red haired one, and the dark haired boy was remarking on the performance.

"Did you see that? You call that a wizard?" the dark haired boy was saying.

"I'm sure he'd be very happy to know that you don't approve of his performance, Xander," the blonde girl said wearily.

"But really, Buffy," said the dark haired girl, "Will you look at his horrible robe! Red and stars?"

"It's what wizards are supposed to wear, Cordelia," the red haired girl said. The boy holding her nodded.

"We've got to go in soon, anyway," Buffy said, "You know what's going to happen to Oz tonight."

"A bad hair night," the boy known as Xander said, "And fingernails. And ears."

"Stop it," the red haired girl said.

"It's true," the boy holding her said.

A figure in a black robe, with a bony hand holding a scythe and another bony hand holding a hat, came up to them. WOULD YOU LIKE TO DONATE TO A WORTHY CAUSE? He asked in a voice that sounded like lead slabs dropping on the pavement.

Buffy looked at the robe, then at the hands. "What are you?" she hissed.

DEATH said Death, truthfully.

"Good costume, man. How'd you get the skeleton hands?" Xander asked.

ER, THEY'RE PROPS. I'M HOLDING THE HANDS UNDERNEATH MY ROBE. Death said, having been told privately what to say by the dark elves previously.

"You are Death," Buffy said, in one of the most menacing voices Death had heard so far. "What are you doing here?"

A PART OF THE COSTUME PARTY, Death replied promptly. LOOK, ARE YOU GOING TO DONATE?

Xander was fumbling in his pockets, and then he dropped a coin inside the hat.

THANK YOU, Death said, and moved on.

"What did you do that for?" the red haired girl asked.

"Well, if Buffy thinks he's Death, he's Death," Xander glanced at the tall robed figure. "And if he's Death, I sure don't want him pissed at us, Willow."

"He's Death?" Willow, the red haired girl, asked.

"Yes. I can sense it." Buffy said, her eyes narrowed.

"Well, he isn't bothering us, so I vote we leave him alone," Xander said, in a hopeful tone.

"We've got to go in," Oz said, slightly urgently.

The loudspeaker sounded. "A sword fight," the man holding it said, "With Dark Elves."

As they watched, two figures went out into the clearing, holding a sword in each hand. They had bone white hair, delicate features, and pointed ears.

They nodded at the crowd. "Now, we'll like to establish some rules before the game," the lady said. She was wearing a robe, with ominous looking patterns.

"Again?" the guy sighed.

"Yes. When either one of us hits the other, shout out the score. It's one point when he hits me and three when I hit him." The lady winked at the crowd, which laughed, then cheered.

"Right." The lady said.

They started to circle, with catlike feet, swords down low. The crowd hushed in anticipation.

The guy struck first, his swords moving in a blur, but the lady brought her sabers up in time, deflecting the stroke. Zaknafein recovered impossibly fast, one sword twisting in, and the other going down.

Quetzal deflected the attack again, but the first sword, which was glowing a slight edge of red, slid down and under her deflected sword, darting in. It slapped her thigh.

"One!" the crowd cried, cheerfully.

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