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rcles up on the Vortex Plains。 So they say； anyway； I wished I had a bronze tore for every user who didn't read the manual。' He shrugged。
'What use is it； then； exactly？' asked Rincewind。 Anything to keep his mind off the drop below。
'You can use it to … to tell you what time of year it is；' said Belafon。
'Ah。 You mean if it's covered in snow then it must be winter？'
'Yes。 I mean no。 I mean； supposing you wanted to know when a particular star is going to rise …'
'Why？' said Twoflower； radiating polite interest。
'Well； maybe you want to know when to plant your crops；' said Belafon； sweating a little； 'or maybe…'
'I'll lend you my almanac； if you like；' said Twoflower。
'Almanac？'
'It's a book that tells you what day it is；' said Rincewind wearily。 'It'd be right up your leyline。'
Belafon stiffened。 'Book？' he said。 'Like； with paper？'
'Yes。'
That doesn't sound very reliable to me；' said the druid nastily。 'How can a book know what day it is？ Paper can't count。'
He stamped off to the front of the rock； causing it to wallow alarmingly。 Rincewind swallowed hard and beckoned Twoflower closer。
'Have you ever heard of culture shock？' he hissed。
'What's that？'
'It's what happens when people spend five hundred years trying to get a stone circle to work properly and then someone es up with a little book with a page for every day and little chatty bits saying things like 〃Now is a good time to plant broad beans〃 and 〃Early to rise； early to bed； makes a man healthy； wealthy and dead；〃 and do you know what the most important thing to remember about culture shock。' Rincewind paused for breath； and moved his lips silently trying to remember where the sentence had got to； 'is？' he concluded。
'What？'
'Don't give it to a man flying a thousand ton rock。'
'Has it gone？'
Trymon peered cautiously over the battlements of the Tower of Art； the great spire of crumbling masonry that loomed over Unseen University。 The cluster of students nd instructors of magic； far below； nodded。
'Are you sure？'
The bursar cupped his hands and shouted。
'It broke down the hubward door and escaped an hour ago； sir；' he yelled。
'Wrong；' said Trymon。 'It left； we escaped。 Well； I'll be getting down； then。 Did it get anyone？'
The bursar swallowed。 He was not a wizard； but a kind； good…natured man who should not have had to see the things he had witnessed in the past hour。 Of course； it wasn't unknown for small demons； coloured lights and various half…materialised imaginings to wander around the campus； but there had been something about the implacable onslaught of the Luggage that had unnerved him。 Trying to stop it would have been like trying to wrestle a glacier。
It … it swallowed the Dean of Liberal Studies； sir；' he shouted。
Trymon brightened。 'It's an ill wind；' he murmured。 He started down the long spiral staircase。 After a while he smiled； a thin； tight smile。 The day was definitely improving。
There was a lot of organising to do。 And if there was something Trymon really liked； it was organising。
The rock swooped across the high plains； whipping snow from the drifts a mere few feet below。 Belafon scuttled about urgently； smearing a little mistletoe ointment here； chalking a rune there； while Rincewind cowered in terror and exhaustion and Twoflower worried about his Luggage。
'Up ahead！' screamed the druid above the noise of the slipstream。 'Behold； the great puter of the skies！'
Rincewind peered between his fingers。 On the distant skyline was an immense construction of grey and black slabs； arranged in concentric circles and mystic avenues； aunt and forbidding against the snow。 Surely men couldn't have moved those nascent mountains … surely a troop of giants had been turned to stone by some 。 。 。
'It looks like a lot of rocks；' said Twoflower。
Belafon hesitated in mid…gesture。
'What？' he said。
'It's very nice；' added the tourist hurriedly。 He sought for a word。 'Ethnic；' he decided。
The druid stiffened。 'Nice？' he said。 'A triumph of the silicon chunk； a miracle of modern masonic technology … nice？'
'Oh； yes；' said Twoflower； to whom sarcasm was merely a seven letter word beginning with S。
'What does ethnic mean？' said the druid。
'It means terribly impressive；' said Rincewind hurriedly； 'and we seem to be in danger of landing； if you don't mind…'
Belafon turned around； only slightly mollified。 He raised his arms wide and shouted a series of untranslatable words； ending with 'nice！' in a hurt whisper。
The rock slowed； drifted sideways in a billow of snow； and hovered over the circle。 Down below a druid waved two bunches of mistletoe in plicated patterns； and Belafon skilfully brought the massive slab to rest across two giant uprights with the faintest of clicks。
Rincewind let his breath out in a long sigh。 It hurried off to hide somewhere。
A ladder banged against the side of the slab and the head of an elderly druid appeared over the edge。 He gave the two passengers a puzzled glance； and then looked up at Belafon。
'About bloody time；' he said。 'Seven weeks to Hogswatchnight and it's gone down on us again。'
'Hallo； Zakriah；' said Belafon。 What happened this time？'
'It's all totally fouled up。 Today it predicted sunrise three minutes early。 Talk about a klutz； boy； this is it。'
Belafon clambered onto the ladder and disappeared from view。 The passengers looked at each other； and then tared down into the vast open space between the inner circle of stones。
'What shall we do now？' said Twoflower。
'We could go to sleep？' suggested Rincewind。
Twoflower ignored him； and climbed down the ladder。
Around the circle druids were tapping the megaliths with little hammers and listening intently。 Several of the huge stones were lying on their sides； and each was surrounded by another crowd of druids who were examining it carefully and arguing amongst themselves。 Arcane phrases floated up to where Rincewind sat：
'It can't be software inpatibility … the Chant of the Trodden Spiral was designed for concentric rings； idiot 。 。 。'
'I say fire it up again and try a simple moon ceremony 。 。 。'
'。 。 。 all right； all right； nothing's wrong with the stones； it's just that the universe has gone wrong； right？ 。 。 。'
Through the mists of his exhausted mind Rincewind remembered the horrible star they'd seen in the sky。 Something had gone wrong with the universe last night。
How had he e to be back on the Disc？
He had a feeling that the answers were somewhere inside his head。 And an even more unpleasant feeling began to dawn on him that something else was watching the scene below … watching it from behind his eyes。
The Spell had crept from its lair deep in the untrodden dirtroads of his mind； and was sitting bold as brass in his forebrain； watching the passing scene and doing the mental equivalent of eating popcorn。
He tried to push it back … and the world vanished 。 。 。
He was in darkness； a warm； musty darkness； the darkness of the tomb； the velvet blackness of the mummy case。 There was a strong smell of old leather and the sourness of ancient paper。 The paper rustled。
He felt that the darkness was full of unimag