‘Some people would be asking: whose side are you on? If you’re not for us, you’re against us. Huh. If you’re not an apple, you’re a banana’. Koom Valley, the ancient battle where the trolls ambushed the dwarfs, or the dwarfs ambushed the trolls, was a long time ago. But if he doesn’t solve the murder of just one dwarf, Commander Sam Vimes of Ankh-Morpork City Watch is going to see it fought again, right outside his office. With his beloved Watch crumbling around him and war-drums sounding, he must unravel every clue, outwit every assassin and brave any darkness to find the solution. And darkness is following him. Oh . . . and at six o’clock every day, without fail, with no excuses, he must go home to read ‘Where’s My Cow?’, with all the right farmyard noises, to his little boy. There are some things you have to do.
The hare measures 50mm across, chain length 18ins. Designed exclusively for Discworld.com by Tom Lynall. Now redesigned and looking absolutely stunning, the hare has leaped back into stock just in time for the launch of The Shepherd’s Crown. A breathtaking reproduction of Tiffany’s hare necklace, this elegant boxed necklace is available in both silver and gold plate. The perfect gift for all would-be witches.
They say that diplomacy is a gentle art. That mastering it is a lifetime’s work. But you do need a certain inclination in that direction. It’s not something you can just pick up on the job. A few days ago Sam Vimes was a copper – an important copper, true – chief of police – but still, at his core, a policeman. But today he is an ambassador – to the mysterious, fat-rich country of Uberwald. Today, Sam Vimes is also a man on the run. He has nothing but his native wit and the gloomy trousers of Uncle Vanya (don’t ask). It’s snowing. It’s freezing. And if he can’t make it through the forest to civilization there’s going to be a terrible war. There are monsters on his trail. They’re bright. They’re fast. They’re werewolves – and they’re catching up.
William de Worde is the accidental editor of the Discworld’s first newspaper. New printing technology means that words just won’t obediently stay nailed down like usual. There’s a very real threat of news getting out there. Now he must cope with the traditional perils of a journalist’s life – people who want him dead, a recovering vampire with a suicidal fascination for flash photography, some more people who want him dead in a different way and, worst of all, the man who keeps begging him to publish pictures of his humorously shaped potatoes. William just wants to get at THE TRUTH. Unfortunately, everyone else wants to get at William. And it’s only the third edition…
In this and indeed other lives there are givers and takers. It’s safe to say that vampires are very much in the latter camp. They don’t have much time for the givers of this world – except perhaps mealtimes – and even less for priests. Mightily Oats has not picked a good time to be a priest. Lancre’s newest residents are a thoroughly modern, sophisticated vampire family. They’ve got style and fancy waistcoats. They’re out of the casket and want a bite of the future. But they haven’t met the neighbours yet: between them and Lancre stand Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg. And Magrat, who is trying to combine witchcraft and nappies. And young Agnes, although she is really in two minds about everything. Mightily Oats knows he has a prayer, but he wishes he had an axe.
‘Anything you do in the past changes the future. The tiniest little actions have huge consequences. You might tread on an ant now and it might entirely prevent someone from being born in the future.’ There’s nothing like the issue of evolution to get under the skin of academics. Even if their field of expertise is magic rather than biology. With the best and most interfering minds of Unseen University somehow left in charge at a critical evolutionary turning point, the Discworld’s last continent needs a saviour…Who is this hero striding across the red desert? Sheep shearer, beer drinker, bush ranger, and someone who’ll even eat a Meat Pie Floater when he’s sober. In fact, it’s Rincewind, a wizard so inept he can’t even spell wizard. He’s the only hero left. Still…no worries, eh?
Susan had never hung up a stocking . She’d never put a tooth under her pillow in the serious expectation that a dentally inclined fairy would turn up. It wasn’t that her parents didn’t believe in such things. They didn’t need to believe in them. They know they existed. They just wished they didn’t. It’s the night before Hogswatch. And it’s too quiet. Where is the big jolly fat man? There are those who believe and those who don’t, but either way it’s not right to find Death creeping down chimneys and trying to say Ho Ho Ho. Superstition makes things work in Discworld, and undermining it can have Consequences, particularly on the last night of the year when the time is turning. Susan the gothic governess has got to sort everything out by morning, otherwise there won’t be a morning. Ever again… The 20th Discworld novel is a festive feast of darkness and Death (but with jolly robins and tinsel too). As they say: ‘You’d better watch out…’
This A5 sized advent calendar has 24 doors, each with a chocolate behind. With a built-in stand, this calendar is the perfect way to get ready for the best day of the year!
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The Discworld is very much like our own – if our own were to consist of a flat planet balanced on the back of four elephants which stand on the back of a giant turtle, that is . . .
‘The jurisdiction of a good man extends to the end of the world.’
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a policeman taking a holiday would barely have had time to open his suitcase before he finds his first corpse.
Commander Sam Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch is on holiday in the pleasant and innocent countryside, but not for him a mere body in the wardrobe. There are many, many bodies – and an ancient crime more terrible than murder.
He is out of his jurisdiction, out of his depth, out of bacon sandwiches; and out of his mind. But never out of guile. Where there is a crime there must be a punishment.
They say that in the end all sins are forgiven.
Vimes is about to uncover the exception.
To the consternation of the patrician, Lord Vetinari, a new invention has arrived in Ankh-Morpork – a great clanging monster of a machine that harnesses the power of all of the elements: earth, air, fire and water. This being Ankh-Morpork, it’s soon drawing astonished crowds, some of whom caught the zeitgeist early and arrive armed with notepads and very sensible rainwear.
Moist von Lipwig is not a man who enjoys hard work – as master of the Post Office, the Mint and the Royal Bank his input is, of course, vital . . . but largely dependent on words, which are fortunately not very heavy and don’t always need greasing. However, he does enjoy being alive, which makes a new job offer from Vetinari hard to refuse . . .
Steam is rising over Discworld, driven by Mister Simnel, the man wi’ t’flat cap and sliding rule who has an interesting arrangement with the sine and cosine. Moist will have to grapple with gallons of grease, goblins, a fat controller with a history of throwing employees down the stairs and some very angry dwarfs if he’s going to stop it all going off the rails . . .