Turtle Recall Part 12

Dragons. Until recently, these were only thought to exist in two forms Draco n.o.bilis and Draco vulgaris, more commonly known as n.o.ble Dragons and Swamp Dragons. There are a number of differences between the two forms, but they can all be summed up succinctly: n.o.ble Dragons are dragons as they are imagined, and Swamp Dragons are dragons as they have to be. There has also been a more recent new discovery Draco Stellaris Nauticae (Star Voyaging Dragons), but details of this breed are still very sketchy.

n.o.ble Dragons, although obviously weighing up to 20 tons and with a wingspan of 80 feet, can fly and breathe very hot fire. There is considerable argument about this, but it is believed that they were trans.m.u.ted from the common swamp dragons during the MAGE WARS, when the intense magical flux allowed the existence of many creatures quite unviable in normal conditions. Any flapping-winged creature weighing 20 tons would, even with the Discworld's amiable natural laws, leave a large hole if it ever tried to get airborne.

When favourable conditions ceased to exist, the theory runs, Draco n.o.bilis used its magical nature to exploit an under-used ecological niche the human imagination. In very exceptional circ.u.mstances the dragons can be recalled. They are intelligent, cunning and cruel. The dragon which for a brief period ruled Ankh-Morpork was entirely representative of the breed. They eat meat and do not physically need to eat people, but will do so for ceremonial purposes because such things are expected of them and they are sticklers for tradition even if it means having clothing stuck in their teeth.

Their ancestral swamp dragon, on the other hand, is totally real although this state of affairs is often quite brief owing to the explosive nature of their digestive system, which is very unstable. Their internal plumbing can rearrange itself to make the best possible use of any raw materials available for flame-making (although there is at least one recorded case of a dragon being able to flame ventrally for ramjet propulsion). The drawback to this talent is that the swamp dragon is capable of exploding violently if excited, frightened, aroused, surprised or bored. It is prey to a whole host of diseases, including a number only otherwise contracted by the common household oil-fired boiler. Most of its body fluids are corrosive.

It is has been presumed that the explosive capability is a defence mechanism acting for the good of the species as a whole, since it certainly doesn't work for the individual concerned. Any general advantage is also in doubt. There are many creatures that use bitterness and poisons to discourage predators, but blowing them to pieces serves no useful purpose. A wolf cannot teach its young that 'these things are bad to eat' when it is an expanding cloud of fur.

More recently, observations during the orbital flight of the KITE suggest that dragons may originally be s.p.a.ce-dwelling, and their flame merely an evolution of their original propulsion system. Further research is clearly necessary, as people say when they are on the earhole for further grant money.

In the wild places where these dragons are still found, incidentally, the occasional explosion is all part of the normal background noise (hence the Ankh-Morpork saying, used to mean 'Unquestionably': 'Is the High Priest an Offlian? Does a dragon explode in the woods?').

Nevertheless, there is an occasional vogue for the smaller varieties of swamp dragon as pets. And, as often happens when pets get too big, too difficult or, in this case, explosive, they are frequently abandoned on the streets of Ankh-Morpork. Others are cruelly used as paint-strippers or fire-lighters. The SUNSHINE SANCTUARY in Morphic Street endeavours to rescue and care for as many as possible of these unfortunates, but the occasional 'bang!' of a lost pet is still heard in the city. On at least one occasion a dragon has deliberately been used as an explosive (MAA) and a handgun (GG).

There are thirty-seven known varieties of swamp dragon: Avery's 'Epolette' (miniature shoulder dragon) Big-Nosed Jolly (frightened of shovels) Big-Nosed s.m.u.t (seldom breeds true. Attracted to mirrors) Birbright's Lizard (rare mountain breed. Flightless) Birbright's s.m.u.t (morbidly afraid of spoons) Brindisian Courser (not a very special dragon at all) Broken-Faced Cowper (seldom seen these days) Cla.s.sic s.m.u.t Common s.m.u.t Curly-Maned Slottie (amiable, tendency to slimp, seldom explodes) Flared s.m.u.t (good with cabbage) Golden Deceiver (good watch dragon; should not be allowed near children) Golden Rharn Guttley's Leaper (flightless, but can exceed 30 mph running over open ground) Horned Regal (largely nocturnal, flightless, well-coloured, short in the wouters) Jessington's Blunt (rare and very stupid) Jessington's Deceiver (small and better behaved than the Golden; h.o.a.rds pickle jars) Lion-Headed Cowper (large breed, easy to keep, but often afflicted with skiplets) Narrow-eared s.m.u.t (nervous and, thus, short-lived) Nothingfjord Blue (good scales, tendency to homesickness) Pique (small, flightless, lives indoors. Eats only chicken and furniture) Pixy-Faced s.m.u.t (many congenital problems; for experts only) Porpoise-Headed Cowper (a breed for aficionados) Quirmian Long-ear (mild-natured, needs regular exercise) Ramkin's Optimist (good natured, rarely explodes) Retiring s.m.u.t (not often seen) Rough-Nosed s.m.u.t Silver Regal (cla.s.sic breed, popular in Sto Lat) Smooth Courser Smooth Deceiver (good-natured, suitable for the smaller home) Smooth-Nosed s.m.u.t Spiked Oncer (rare. Needs much attention) Spike-Nosed Regal (hates shoes) pouter (flies very badly. Explodes in the presence of mint) Collecting box outside the Sunshine Sanctuary Tabby Cowper (best of the Cowpers, quite popular) Tomkin's Neurovore (handsome, but highly explosive owing to nerves) Wivelspiker, Excitable (walks into windows) A typical swamp dragon may reach a length of about 2 feet, tail excluded, although varieties and individuals down to 6 inches and up to more than a yard have been recorded. In the lexicon of dragon breeders a female dragon is a hen, and a male dragon is a pewmet (up to eight months), a c.o.c.k (eight to fourteen months), a snood (fourteen months to two years) and then a cobb (two years to death). After death a swamp dragon is known as a crater.

Drapes, Miss. The very conscientious Senior Clerk at the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork. She is a skinny woman, spa.r.s.e-bosom'd, in a white blouse and long black dress. She lodges in Welcome Soap and is a regular reader of the Tanty Bugle full of 'orrible murders. [MM]

Dread, Evil Harry. A wholly professional, if unsuccessful, Dark Lord.

History has not been kind to Evil Harry. He is, in his way, a kind of mirror image of NIGEL the Destroyer, in that he has a deep pa.s.sionate desire to be a Dark Lord yet lacks absolutely any talent in that area.

This is unfair, because he has mastered all the essential elements (in his own mind, at least.) His stupid henchmen are incredibly stupid, his gaolers always sleep right up close to the cell bars with the keys hanging from an easy-to-reach hook on their belt, and his guards wouldn't stop a departing washerwoman even if she had a beard like a prophet. He installs big, wide ventilation ducts in every cell, has a white hamster in a diamante treadmill (he is allergic to cats) explains his plans in explicit detail, often with slides and numbered charts, to every hero that falls into his clutches . . . but, for some reason, it never quite comes together. On the rare occasions when he appears to be making any kind of progress, a larger Dark Lord sets up on an out of town site where the parking is better.

Yet Harry, in true Dark Lord tradition, never gives up. He has met most of the Discworld's great professional heroes, who make a point of calling whenever he sets up a new Dark Tower-lette and are very supportive. Heroes tend to be old-fashioned, and respect tradition. Harry may effectively be less evil than the average pensions salesman, but at least his heart is in the wrong place. [TLH]

D'regs. A desert tribe of Klatch. Very warlike, fierce and honourable. If a D'reg is your friend, he's your friend for life. If he is your enemy, then he is your enemy for life, which is now about twenty seconds. Their word is their bond (though they set no store at all by 'oaths'). When they attack, they attack at dawn the whole tribe: women, children, camels, goats, sheep, chickens. Oh, and the men, of course. [J]

Drongo, Big Mad. A student wizard at Unseen University. His real name is Adrian Turnipseed. General a.s.sistant to PONDER STIBBONS. Now works at Brazeneck's Higher Energy Magic Building, where he is the inventor of their version of Hex Pex. [SM, UA]

Druellae. Smooth-voiced Dryad encountered by RINCEWIND. She had green flesh and wore nothing but a medallion around her neck. Her long hair had a faintly mossy look about it; her eyes had no pupils and were a luminous green. [COM]

Druids. The Druids of the Disc pride themselves on their forward-looking approach to the discovery of the mysteries of the universe. Of course, they believe in the essential unity of all life, the healing power of plants, the natural rhythm of the seasons and the burning alive of anyone who doesn't approach all this in the right frame of mind.

Their theory of creation is that the universe depends for its operation on the balance of four forces which they have identified as charm, persuasion, uncertainty and b.l.o.o.d.y-mindedness. Thus it is that the sun and moon orbit the Disc because they are persuaded not to fall down, but don't actually fly away because of uncertainty. Charm allows trees to grow and b.l.o.o.d.y-mindedness keeps them up and so on. Some druids suggest from time to time that there are certain flaws in this theory, but senior druids explain very pointedly that there is indeed room for informed argument and the cut and thrust of exciting scientific debate, and basically it lies on top of the next solstice bonfire.

The home of druidism is in the small wet country of LLAMEDOS. Druids occupy themselves with the building of large stone circles for computing purposes; these seldom work properly, but the druids always take the view that the problems can be solved only by building a much larger and more expensive circle. Sixty-six-megalith circles are now commonplace.

On this basis, it can be tentatively suggested that the circle at Stonehenge in England, which is actually a number of circles and isolated stones, was originally commissioned by a local tribe who wanted nothing more than a simple circle, suitable for basic calendar use and possibly the occasional sacrifice. But within a year or two they were forced to upgrade. Everyone is. [LF]

Drull, Mrs. A ghoul, and a past member of the FRESH START CLUB. A vague, shy old lady in a shapeless grey dress. Resides at Mrs CAKE'S. Now retired, she does children's party catering. It is best not to touch her food, although this is not because of her past. She just doesn't cook very well. [RM, MAA]

Drum, the Broken/Mended. Princ.i.p.al inn of Ankh-Morpork. Located in Filigree Street, at the junction with Short Street. A battered sign hangs over the door, showing a drum, not very well drawn.

The pub opens straight on to the street at the front (guarded by a troll), and its rear backs straight on to the river. The current landlord is Hibiscus DUNELM, but he probably won't last long the Drum breaks men, or at least men who are not satisfied with the tavern as it is and have dreams of striped umbrellas and a better cla.s.s of clientele. You have to take the Drum as you find it, which you do by following the noise of breaking gla.s.s . . .

. . . down the stairs into the beamed bar, with its walls stained with smoke and its floor a compost of old rushes and nameless beetles. Its sour beer is not so much purchased as hired for a while (a comment so old that it probably postdates the invention of beer by an afternoon). But the Drum is famed not for its beer, which looks like maiden's water and tastes like battery acid, but for its clientele. It is said that if you sit long enough in the Drum, then sooner or later every major hero in the Disc will steal your horse.

The atmosphere inside is loud with talk and heavy with smoke. Thick coils of the stuff hang in the air, perhaps to avoid touching the walls. Nevertheless, it is a reputable disreputable tavern. Its customers have a certain rough-hewn respectability they might murder each other in an easygoing way, as between equals, but they don't do it vindictively. A young woman could happily spend an evening in the Drum without being molested, unless that was her intention. A child could go in for a gla.s.s of lemonade and be certain of getting nothing worse than a clip round the ear when his mother heard his expanded vocabulary. On a quiet night, when he's certain that the LIBRARIAN isn't going to come in, the barman is even known to put bowls of peanuts on the bar.

The Drum is now conscious of its near-legendary status as the most famous tavern on the Discworld and is such a feature of the city that, after one bout of unavoidable redecorations, the then owner spent days recreating the original patina of dirt, soot and less identifiable substances on the walls and imported a ton of pre-rotted rushes for the floor.

Drumknott. Rufus Drumknott is Personal Secretary to Lord VETINARI. He is a man with no discernible character.

Dryad. (See HAMADRYAD.) Duc of Genua, the. When first encountered, the Duc appeared to be a vain and stupid man with long and well-turned legs and a wide mouth. He wore black silk and smoked gla.s.ses, in order to conceal his eyes (a fundamental rule of magical change that even G.o.ds have to obey you can alter your shape, age, s.e.x and species, but the look of your eyes cannot be changed). His bedroom, in the castle in GENUA, was green and full of flies. There was no bed, just a big, wooden cover on the floor with a pond under it.

The Duc was a frog under enchantment, and he met an unfortunate and rather depressing end. He really served only to be on the throne behind which Lily WEATHERWAX was the power. [WA]

Duck Man, the. A beggar in Ankh-Morpork and member of the Canting Crew. He has a duck on his head. At least, everyone else thinks he has a duck on his head. The Duck Man knows he has no duck on his head. The duck's views on this are unrecorded. If it wasn't for the duck, he would be viewed as well-spoken and educated and as sane as the next man. Admittedly, the next man is probably FOUL OLD RON.

Duncan, Done-it. Skinny little thief in Ankh-Morpork. Not very bright, and with a matted beard. In his day, he was a good thief but now, he confesses to everything and anything. He calls the Watch every day mainly to secure a hot meal and a bed for the night. [J, TFE, TT]

Dunelm, Hibiscus. Current landlord of the Mended DRUM and, like many before him, full of ideas for attracting new customers. The idea of selling good beer cheaply is always the last one they think of. [SM]

Dungeon Dimensions, the. The endless wastelands outside s.p.a.ce and time. The sad, mad things that dwell there have no understanding of the world but simply crave light and shape and try to warm themselves by the fires of reality, cl.u.s.tering around it with about the same effect if they ever broke through as an ocean trying to warm itself around a candle.

A few have managed to survive in this world in very special circ.u.mstances, but for most of them the reality they desire is soon fatal. Insofar as they can be said to have any emotions, the guiding one is hatred of all 'real' creatures. They are jealous of life and all things alive.

They are lured by really heavy concentrations of magic, because these weigh heavily on the frail rubber sheet of reality and present a weak point at which to break through. They can even break through inside a mind, using its owner's voice and brain to further their own ends and a mind with magic in it shines out for them like a beacon. The number eight is also said to have some attraction for them, which is why wizards are enjoined to avoid saying it.

Dunmanifestin. Abode of the Disc's G.o.ds, atop CORI CELESTI. The stuccoed Valhalla wherein the G.o.ds face eternity with the kind of minds that are elsewhere at a loss to know what to do to pa.s.s a wet afternoon. Your basic home of the G.o.ds, with marble pillars and huge, impossible-to-carpet floors.

Dunnykin, Brother. A member of the ELUCIDATED BRETHREN OF THE EBON NIGHT. Seemed to consist entirely of a little perambulatory black robe with halitosis. [GG]

Dwarfs. A race of humanoids approximately 4 feet tall. Stocky, bearded, long-lived (c. 300 years) and with a natural attraction for mountains and mineshafts, they provide the STO PLAINS area with most of its miners and 'heavy' engineers.

Unlike TROLLS, it appears that beyond the matter of build there are no major genetic differences between dwarfs and men, any more than there are genetic differences between bulldogs and poodles. Certainly the Discworld's second-greatest lover, CASANUNDA, seems to have met no insurmountable difficulties in his busy schedule.

A flaw in dwarfish nature from a human point of view is their tendency to take things literally. This is a result of their subterranean life. In an environment where there are things always ready to explode or collapse it is vitally important that information be pa.s.sed on clearly and honestly. The human language, with its unthinking reliance on metaphor and simile, is a veritable minefi- a complete mora.s.s- a fog of incomprehensi- very difficult for dwarfs.

Dwarfs wear up to twelve layers of clothing, including the famous woolly dwarf's vest made from RAMTOPS sheep wool, which is the closest thing possible to natural chain mail. All dwarfs have beards and this, together with the aforesaid clothing, makes gender more or less optional for everyday purposes.

Many of the more traditional dwarf tribes have no female p.r.o.nouns like 'she' or 'her'. It should be pointed out that they have no male p.r.o.nouns either 'he' is considered by them to embrace both s.e.xes equally, as it were, in the same s.e.xless sense as the word mankind (or at least the same s.e.xless sense as the word mankind is considered to have by men). They do, however, adopt a suitable p.r.o.noun when they are dealing with men, because of the embarra.s.sment otherwise caused to humans.

A dwarf is not considered old enough to have the facts of life explained to him until he has reached the age of p.u.b.erty (at about fifty-five). Dwarfs are very reticent about revealing their s.e.x, which most of them don't consider to be very important compared to things like metallurgy and hydraulics. Dwarf courtship consists of finding out, in delicate and circ.u.mspect ways, what s.e.x the other dwarf is.

Copperhead dwarfs tend to be shorter and noisier than their uberwald fellows, and they are more at home among humans. The uberwald dwarfs are quiet and tend to scuttle around corners to avoid people and often don't speak Morporkian. These two factions, however, strongly dislike each other and their divisions give rise to vendettas and feuds that have their origins in two adjoining mine shafts five hundred miles away and a thousand years ago. The way you wear your helmet, the way you part your beard all these speak volumes to dwarfs.

Politically, the dwarfs are ruled by a king, although again the word is shorn of most of its human connotations and really means 'chief mining engineer'. Most mines have a king.

There are, however, kings and kings. The senior king, perhaps better thought of as the first among equals, is the Low King of uberwald, who rules all those areas of uberwald that are below ground. As t.i.tular head of such an area, he is therefore accorded respect by all other dwarfs (in dwarf terms, that means they don't raise their voice when arguing with him.) He is crowned on the 1,500-year-old Scone of Stone, an ancient bun the size and shape of a well sat-on cushion, with a few fossilised currants visible on the surface. It weighs about 16lbs, and has represented the legitimacy of the Low King since the days of B'hrian Bloodaxe, who he sat on it when it was still warm and left his impression, as it were.

A street in the Shades The Low King is the final court of appeal for all matters relating to Dwarf Law. He sits on the Scone to give his judgements. It's the real thing, too. No matter what happens . . .

Large numbers of dwarfs have been drawn to Ankh-Morpork, where they are the biggest non-human ethnic group. Usually, they fit in well. All dwarfs are by nature dutiful, serious, obedient and thoughtful, and their only failing is a tendency, after one drink, to rush at enemies, screaming 'Aarrgh!' and axing off their legs at the knee. No one knows why it is that dwarfs, who at home in the mountains lead quiet, orderly lives, forget it all when they move to the big city. Something comes over even the most blameless iron-ore miner and prompts him to wear chain mail all the time, carry an axe, change his name to something like Grabthroat Shinkicker and drink himself into surly oblivion. It is noticeable that the dwarfs in Ankh-Morpork are far more 'dwarfish' (in the cliched sense of being stroppy gold-obsessed little b.u.g.g.e.rs in iron helmets and chain mail) than they are in their natural environment, but the same statement with minimal adjustments could be made about the Irish in New York, the Welsh in London and Australians everywhere. (See also DWARFS AND MARRIAGE) Dwarf bread. A dwarfish delicacy and battle weapon. Originally a sensible attempt to make a weapon that could also be eaten, it contains all you need to sustain you for days, mainly by causing you to perform miracles of endurance in order to get somewhere where you don't have to eat dwarf bread. Dwarf cake is similar, but thicker. A properly thrown slice of dwarf bread is a fearsome weapon, especially in view of its erratic aerodynamic properties.

Ingredients are often secret, since every dwarf baker has their own special recipe, but generally flour, water, grit, gravel and stone-ground stones are in there somewhere.

Dwarf Bread Museum. This is in Whirligig Alley, Ankh-Morpork, and experts in the history of aggressive baking concede that it is probably the most comprehensive display of battle bread yet a.s.sembled. There are many examples of cla.s.sic cowpat-like shape, said to be an echo of their taste, but also to be seen are buns, close-combat crumpets, deadly throwing toast and several splendid specimens of the rare boomerang croissant.

Despite its fame in specialised circles, the Museum (entrance: one penny) is largely unvisited, and is currently believed to be still closed following the death by bread of its curator, Mr HOPKINSON.

Dwarfs and Marriage. The facts are these: a dwarf needs to get gold to get married. It costs a lot of money to raise a young dwarf to marriable age. Food, clothes, chain mail . . . endless expenses. And they need repaying. Two dwarfs getting married must each 'buy' the other dwarf off their parents. It's a sort of two-way dowry. And it has to be paid in gold or gems, because that's traditional. Hence the dwarf saying: 'worth his weight in gold' (dwarfs aren't big on metaphor some mines priced dwarfs that way.) Of course, if a dwarf has been working for his parents then that will be taken into account on the other side of the ledger, and a dwarf who leaves off marrying until later in life may possibly be owed quite a tidy sum in wages.

All this appears rather chilly, but it is traditional and appears to work. Invariably, after being paid in full for the raising of their offspring, the parents will give the couple a huge wedding present often much bigger than the dowry. But that is then between dwarf and dwarf, out of love and respect not between people who are, in a sense, debtor and creditor. In many ways, it works rather better than the human system based system. Everybody seems to win.

d.y.k.eri. Ephebian philosopher. Author of Principles of Navigation. Got lost trying to find his way out of the bathroom. [SG]

Dysk. VITOLLER'S theatre in Ankh-Morpork. Presumably rather similar to London's Globe Theatre, but possibly flatter. [WS]

Earwig, Mrs Letice. A tall thin witch from the Chalk, though she was not born locally. She p.r.o.nounces her surname 'Ah-wij'. Mrs Earwig had married a wizard (though he doesn't do any wizarding these days). She is, as I said, tall and thin, with a long sharp face, set off with an expression that says you are slightly annoying her and she is being gracious enough not to let it show. She dresses in black, of course, but it's a very decorative, rich, deep black all lacy and ruffled and set off with more silver jewellery than you might imagine. Some of her silver rings are like silver ring gloves designed to look like claws. She has a very tall pointy hat, with stars on it and glittering silver hatpins. Every doorframe in her house has a tall pointy hat bit to accommodate her hat. She wears silver spectacles on a little chain. Her house has a five-pointed silver star on the door. Mrs Earwig advertises. [W, AHFOS, etc]

Eateries. Prominent among Ankh-Morpork's most available places to eat are the CURRY GARDENS (a greasy stick), GIMLET'S Hole Food delicatessen, HARGA'S HOUSE OF RIBS, Ron's Pizza Hovel, Mundane Foods, the Laughing Falafel and Fat Sally's. The Three Jolly Luck Take-Away Fish Bar in Dagon Street did not make it beyond its opening night (see HONG, MR).

Ee. The Lost, or Forbidden, City of Ee was originally sited in the Great NEF, and it was the location of the miraculously preserved first pizza created on the Disc. It appears that Ee is not only a brigadoon but also one of the specialised ones that are not moored to one site but reappear in different places.

Eight. A number of some considerable occult significance on the Disc. In theory it must never be spoken by a wizard, although in fact it is generally safe in and around the University and wizards do seem to be able to get away with it elsewhere. However, outside magically protected places, no sensible wizard will mention it if he can avoid it; the problem lies in finding the sensible wizard. After all, generations of young wizards have accepted, with a frisson of fear, the injunction 'never say the number that comes between seven and nine, otherwise you will be ate alive' without wondering how the terrible occult forces were able to distinguish between two identical-sounding syllables without seeing them written down. Nevertheless, there is something about the harmonics of the word that is attractive to the denizens of the DUNGEON DIMENSIONS, and it is the number of BEL-SHAMHAROTH, one of the most successful of them to have maintained form and vitality in the world of reality. There are eight days in a Disc week, and eight colours in a Disc spectrum. [COM]

Eightfold Seal of Stasis. Design on the floor of the room housing the OCTAVO. Generally agreed in magical circles to have all the stopping power of a well-aimed brick. [LF]

Eightpanther. Maker of Captain Eight-panther's Traveller's Digestives. Claimed to have saved many a life at sea. They are rock-hard, and purchasers are not sure whether to use them as a raft or just throw them at the sharks and watch the wretched things sink. Although these biscuits originated on the Counterweight Continent, anecdotal evidence suggests they are very similar to Dwarf Bread. [COM]

Elenor of Tsort (or is it of Crinix? or of Elharib?). Elenor was the cause of the Tsortean Wars. She was kidnapped from the Ephebians (or was it by the Ephebians? She has figured in legend so often that details have become obscured, or possibly she was just a very popular girl). What is known is that however legendarily beautiful she may have been at the start of the war, by its conclusion she was plump, good-looking in a slightly faded way, wearing a black dress and with a squint and the beginnings of a moustache. She also had at least seven children and seemed to have become somewhat attached to her captors. In fact she much preferred life there (wherever it was) to life back home (wherever that was). But it's the principle of the thing, isn't it? [P, E]

Elephant, the Fifth. Legend has it that the elephants who support the Discworld have bones of living rock and iron and nerves of gold for better conductivity over long distances. It is said that once there was a Fifth Elephant. They say that the fifth elephant lost its footing, or got shaken loose and had drifted off into a curved orbit before eventually crashing down, screaming and trumpeting through the atmosphere of the young world and landed hard enough to split continents and raise mountains. They say a billion tons of enraged pachyderm hit with a force that rocked the entire world and split it up into the continents as they now exist. They say the rocks that fell back had covered and compressed the corpse and the rest, after millennia of underground cooking and rendering led to the seams of gold, iron, fat, etc. that are the source of uberwald's trading wealth. Anyway, that's what they say.

Elucidated Brethren of the Ebon Night. A group of rather inadequate men who summoned a dragon to help them to overthrow the government of Ankh-Morpork. Almost all of them ended up as little heaps of ash. The thing about Discworld karma is that it often happens real soon. [GG ]

Elves. A humanoid race, extending through a number of worlds. They are vain, vapid, cruel and totally without any feeling or regard for any other creatures but they are also beautiful, and it is a sad fact that the truly beautiful can get away with just about anything despite behaving in a way that would make the Marquis de Sade say, 'Ooo, what nasty people'.

Their power derives from the use of a mental ability that could be described as 'glamour' to confuse and over-awe people. They can also hypnotise humans with their singing (which is not, as such, musical; elves cannot make music or, indeed, anything else they traditionally kidnap human musicians for this purpose).

Socially, elves somewhat resemble bees. They have a Queen and a King, whose att.i.tude towards one another is chilly contempt for most of the time. The s.e.xuality of the rest of the elves is fairly obscure, and appears to be more or less a matter of personal choice at the time. Nor does there seem to be any great sense of the individual elf, except for the royal family and a few retainers.

They also resemble bees, and pigeons, in being very sensitive to weak magnetic fields, to the extent that the magnetic sense is as important to them as taste or smell and gives them their acrobatic poise and their absolute sense of position and direction. Elves always know exactly where they are. It is also the cause of their traditional hatred of iron, because this distorts the local magnetic field and leaves them panicky and powerless. This explains the familiar horseshoes over cottage doors and the legendary power of blacksmiths, and is also the reason for the erection of Lancre's DANCERS, whose magnetic field forms a barrier between Discworld and one entrance to the elvish worlds.

Elves have in the past bred with humans and there are some Discworld families with an elvish taint to them. Elves do not seem s.e.xually attracted to other elves, possibly because they know what they're really like.

Elves meddle with other people's worlds and mess with their heads. Beware.

Elves, King of. A tall, horned man-like creature with goat's legs and overlarge hooves. He smells of lions' cages and leaf mould and has a rich, dark voice, like a voice-over for a chocolate advert. Unlike the Queen, who is constantly seeking new worlds to dominate, he is content to lie up in his sweat lodge and wait for the end of this temporary aberration which seems to have mankind in its grip, i.e. farming with ploughs, the use of metals, civilisation and other gewgaws. [LL]

Elves, Queen of. Usually seen as dark-haired, wearing a red dress, but she can make herself appear in whatever form she likes and no stated appearance is definitive. She wears a copper crown in her hair and has exquisitely thin hands. Her true face is almost triangular, with a tiny mouth, an almost non-existent nose and eyes larger than human eyes but, again, this may not be the face that people see. They also may not see the same individual; little is known about the elves outside their forays in the worlds of humanity, but it is reasonable to posit that there are many groups, and many queens, who tend to act in very similar ways because . . . well, they're elves, and not good at original thought.

The relative positions of the elven royalty are similar to those on the chess board; the queen is ostensibly the more powerful of the two, but ultimately fails without the king. [LL]

Embalmers' Guild (Guild of Embalmers and Allied Trades). Motto: FARCIMINI. Coat of arms: a shield, per bend sinister. On it, a seringue argent on a field gules et vert.

An ancient and international Guild, with fraternal links to other STO PLAINS cities and even to the countries of KLATCH. Guild historians trace their origins back to the very first shambling creature who dropped a mammoth thighbone and a bunch of flowers on a dead fellow shambling creature in a shallow grave and charged the descendants a big lump of bear.

As is so often the case, the Guild is now the official body for a large number of a.s.sociated trades, such as undertaking and gravedigging. Unlike other Guilds, many of its members have their practices actually based in the building, so that the smells of camphor and formaldehyde make the Guild easily distinguishable on a dark night.

Embalming is still popular in the city, many inhabitants remaining firm in their belief that you might be able to take it with you. Since the Guild includes some highly skilled experts, many people in Ankh-Morpork are buried looking healthier than they did when they were alive, although this is not difficult to achieve.

The training school for gravediggers is worthy of note because it includes cla.s.ses in cackling and graveyard repartee. In the crowded cemeteries of Ankh-Morpork previous inc.u.mbents are often exhumed by the digging of new holes and, in the ancient traditions of their trade, the trainee gravediggers are taught morbid philosophy, humorous recitation and in case they find a particularly well-preserved skull ventriloquism.

Emery, Adrian. (Undecided Adrian) A member, with ALEX CARLTON and Mad Al Winton, of the SMOKING GNU. His eyes are always on the move, as if he's trying to see everything at once. [GP]

Empirical Crescent. (Ankh-Morpork). Empirical Crescent is just off Park Lane, in what is generally a high-rent district. The rents would have been higher still were it not for the continued existence of Empirical Crescent itself, which, despite the best efforts of the Ankh-Morpork Historical Preservation Society, had still not been pulled down.

This was because it had been built by Bergholt Stuttley Johnson, better known to history as 'b.l.o.o.d.y Stupid' Johnson, a man who combined in one frail body such enthusiasm, self-delusion and creative lack of talent that he was, in many respects, one of the great heroes of architecture. Only b.l.o.o.d.y Stupid Johnson could have invented the 13-inch foot and a triangle with three right angles in it. Only b.l.o.o.d.y Stupid Johnson could have twisted common matter through dimensions it was not supposed to go.

This highly original approach to geometry was responsible for Empirical Crescent. On the outside it is a normal terraced crescent of the period, built of honey-coloured stone with the occasional pillar or cherub nailed on. Inside, the front door of No.1 opens into the back bedroom of No.15, the ground floor front window of No.3 shows the view appropriate to the second floor of No.9, smoke from the dining room fireplace of No.2 comes out of the chimney of No.19. [T!]

Enid, Mrs. Laundress at Kneck Keep in Borogravia. Not a particularly large woman, but she has big forearms and a very mobile mouth. Her lips and tongue draw out every word like a big shape in the air. [MR]

Endless Street, Ghost of. Endless Street, Ankh-Morpork, is the name of the street running entirely around the city centre inside the city wall. It is said to be haunted by the ghost of one Gumler Vode, condemned for eternity to measure its length. Vode's unfortunate sentence began some three hundred years ago.

It is agreed in the city that, since Broad Way is in two sections, Short Street is the longest street in the city. Vode bet a wizard in the Broken DRUM that it was not, and then, with what was considered by bystanders to be a nasty, know-it-all smirk, claimed that the s.p.a.ce behind the walls (then unnamed) was a street. The wizard, annoyed at the thought of losing $5, pointed a finger at him and said, simply, 'Measure it, then . . .'

The ghost of Vode, and the clink of his tape measure, can be heard on quiet nights. It is a reminder to everyone that, when dealing with wizards, it is always best to know when not to be right.

Endos. A skinny little man who takes payment for listening to Ephebian philosophers. He doesn't do anything else except listen. This is why he is known as Endos the Listener. (Although for a small extra sum he may vouchsafe grace phrases like 'That is true', or 'A well-made point, if I may say so.') In EPHEBE, people who only listen are far rarer than people who only talk. This may be the case everywhere else. [P]

Engravers' (and Printers') Guild. Motto: NON QVOD MANEAT, SED QVOD ADI-MIMVS (Not what remains, but what we take away).

Coat of arms: a shield, dimidiation. Sinister an 'I' capitale sable on a field argent. Dexter an 'I' capitale argent on a field sable.

A small, select and solemn bunch of men, whose Guildhouse is on the corner of Short Street and G.o.d Street, Ankh-Morpork. They prize practical engraving skills (on wood and metal) above all else, although candidates for membership are also expected to demonstrate lack of imagination, an a.n.a.l-retentive attention to detail and the ability to think in reverse.

Because of the peculiar informal rules which used to relate to printing in Ankh-Morpork, which effectively used to ban movable type (see PRINTING) the engravers were responsible for all semi-mechanically printed output in the city, and their prices were high (although, in Ankh-Morpork's flourishing free market, there are a large number of non-Guild engravers). The events of The Truth have now changed all this, and the Guild, mindful of the need to keep in the vanguard of publishing, is now the Guild of Engravers and Printers.

Eorle, Duke of. n.o.bleman of Ankh. Appears to be a rather lazy and stupid man with a braying laugh and the mental powers of a mole. A dead mole. On the other hand, the Eorles have survived everything life can throw at them for hundreds of years, so it may be that the most intelligent thing they've ever done is to appear stupid on every occasion. [MAA]

Ephebe. Pop. (city and surrounding farmlands): 50,000.

Political system: tyranny (a form of democracy); slavery is a long-established tradition.

Major export: ideas.

General description: The white marble city lazes around its rock overlooking the blue CIRCLE SEA. Blindingly white houses coil all the way up to the top, where a wall runs around the peak like a headband. Beyond that is the famous and ancient labyrinth, full of one hundred and one amazing things you can do with hidden springs, razor-sharp knives and falling rocks. There are six guides each one knows his way through one sixth of the labyrinth. Alongside the palace within the labyrinth are the remains of the famous library, which used to be the second biggest on the Discworld before it was burned by Omnian soldiery (or so legend has it; but there is a story that the first match was put to it by DIDACTYLOS the philosopher just seconds before the guard arrived, on the basis that setting fire to your own library is more philosophical).

This tiny but influential city state lies on the Rimward coast of the Circle Sea, between DJELIBEYBI and OMNIA. It is the land of the bourzuki (a kind of dog) and retsina (a kind of paint-thinner) and, above all, the land of philosophy.

Ephebe has more philosophers per square yard than anywhere else on the Disc. It is impossible to throw a brick in Ephebe without hitting a philosopher and, owing to the heightened level of philosophical debate that rages in the city, this often happens. For it is unfortunate that a city whose inhabitants frequently storm the walls of paradox and smash the doors of perception is also beset with that particular dogged Discworld logic which would not recognise a metaphor if it was handed to it in a cornet with chocolate chips on top.

This certainly makes for briskness of thought. Any philosopher who suggests that, logically, an arrow cannot hit a running man (Xeno's Arrow Paradox) will be given a short head start before all the other philosophers reach for their bows. This experiment was actually performed and the philosopher did escape unscathed, but after some thought rewrote the statement so that it read that a running man cannot be hit by an arrow providing it is fired by someone who has been in the pub since lunchtime.