The legend of the sword figured very largely in the whole business. It was vaguely understood by the general population that possession of 'the sword' was the badge of the true king, and over the years any amount of 'true swords' were produced. In the case of Blad, it was two bits of wood hurriedly nailed together but for some reason, possibly to do with spikes and things, no one pointed this out for fifty-one years. It is now a.s.sumed (if not actually believed) that the 'true' sword is lost.

The last civil war, and execution and revelation of the personal habits of LORENZO THE KIND in 1688, marked the final end of any kind of monarchy in the city. The citizens did not object to rulers, even to cruel ones, but they did draw the line at being told that the various imbeciles and b.l.o.o.d.y-handed tyrants were there by the will of the G.o.ds.

And so the rule of kings gave way to the rule of the PATRICIANS. In a kind of mirror image of democracy, they have tended to get into power by lies, trickery and deceit but remain in power only by a very crude democratic process; if they make too many enemies, they'll be out of office, power and probably their corporeal form. It seems to have worked, possibly for the reason advanced by the current Patrician in his treatise on the art of government, The Servant: 'If it continues for long enough, even a reign of terror may become a fondly remembered period. People believe they want justice and wise government but, in fact, what they really want is an a.s.surance that tomorrow will be very much like today.'

Monflathers, Lord. The first Duke led 600 men to a glorious and epic defeat at the Battle of Quirm, which somehow therefore has managed to become one of the great and proud moments of Ankh-Morpork's military history. [MAA]

Monks, Balancing. Little has been revealed of this rather strange order, although they do run a charity hospital in Ankh-Morpork.

Central to their faith is a belief that the Discworld will wobble if things aren't perfectly balanced, and the monks spend much of their time moving small weights around according to rituals in one of their holy books. The weights can sometimes be found in the most inaccessible places, the monks travelling thousands of miles to put just one rather small weight in one place on some otherwise insignificant mountain. The weights seldom exceed a pound or two and it is possible although not necessarily wise to a.s.sume that the whole thing is merely ceremonial.

Monks, History. Also called The Men in Saffron, but they have many names. An order of humans, but with attributes that almost put them in the realm of anthropomorphic personifications. Founded by WEN the Eternally Surprised.

They perform a number of functions, which have changed over the years because of all the QUANTUM going on these days.

Traditionally, the monks also guard the History Books huge, lead-bound volumes held in a secret cave in their hidden valley near the Hub at the Monastery of Oi Dong (also known as No Such Monastery). It is located in the highest, greenest, airiest valley of all, where apricots are grown and the streams have floating ice in them even on the hottest day. It is always a spring day in the little valley and the cherry trees are always in bloom, which is tough if you actually want cherries.

The key to understanding the function of the monks is the fact that these books are not chronicles of history, but instructions for it they are, as it were, the script. Every significant fact and from the point of view of the historical narrative, many quite small events can have tremendous significance is written down. It is now believed that the books were written as a gift to his followers by Wen who, because of his special 'relationship' with TIME, knew everything that was going to happen.

Cla.s.sically, the role of the monks lay in the very important distinction between History and what might be called sequential events.

History, in order to happen, has to be observed by people who know they are observing History. Skilled people, in fact. It's no good just anyone being there. It is well known that vast areas of the planet Earth had no history whatsoever until explorers turned up and brought History with them. Geography is similar in this respect; the fact that some lake, waterfall or continent is known to millions of people who live there is really of no significance compared to the arrival of an explorer who knows what Geography is.

History on the Discworld generally unfolds according to the patterns laid down in the books and has a natural tendency to spring back into shape, and for most of the time the monks merely have to observe. However, quantum uncertainty means that occasionally they have to intervene, usually in the most subtle of ways. In the same way that the placing of a 2oz weight can (possibly) affect the balance of the Discworld (see MONKS, BALABCING), the course of history can be changed by the mere misplacing of a pebble in a stream. These apparently trivial actions can send the whole world rushing down a different leg of the TROUSERS OF TIME.

At least, this is how the role is traditionally seen. Novices who rise through the ranks, however, learn the truth is different, and can be summarised thusly: For anything to happen, everything else has to happen, so everything happens anyway. Hang on, and try to steer with your knees.

This means, for example, that intervening to prevent an unwanted historical outcome may well stop it happening in this universe, but won't prevent it happening in all the other, infinite number of universes. On that basis, what is the point of doing anything about anything?

The current ABBOT of Oi Dong has been considering this over many lifetimes, and has advised the Monks thusly: Do your job. Do not worry about the other universes. We are there, too. Do not let the fact that you cannot lift a mountain prevent you from seeking to raise a man. Or, as summarised by Lu-Tze: 'Get on with it! What'd happen to business if everyone took the day off!' Nevertheless, the historical role has now perforce taken a back seat to the simple task of making sure that there is enough time for anything to happen. Humans, with their unique ability to manipulate time to save it, waste it, lose it and kill it, but seldom to make it or save it are seriously reducing the amount available, and the Monks have so far been able to make up the shortfall by moving time around collecting it from where it is wasted or underused, such as the deep abyssal plains or the average cla.s.sroom, and pumping it to those areas that use it fast. This is done using the ancient technology of the PROCRASTINATORS, which can wind and unwind time.

Since they are by definition and training outside History the monks are invisible to normal people except when they are performing some role in the unfolding drama (it is sometimes necessary to go into History in order to steer it). They experience time on a continual basis but age only when taking on these roles.

They are also skilled in martial arts such as oki doki, upsidazi and rarely deja-fu, where the hands move in time as well as s.p.a.ce. Some of them, at least, possess the secret of being able to walk for many hours in the sub-zero temperatures of the high mountains (known as the Double-Knit Woollen Combinations with the Reinforced Gusset and Trapdoor).

Monolith. A troll folk-hero, who first wrested the secret of rocks from the G.o.dS. Believed to have been the first-ever troll. Apparently, the secret of rock is that if you pick one up you can throw it at someone. This knowledge was jealously guarded by the G.o.ds. [MP]

Mooner, Dr. The owner of Dr Mooner's Travelling Take Your Breath Away Emporium. [P]

Mooty, Zebbo. A thief, third cla.s.s, in Ankh-Morpork. The first person for hundreds of years to have been killed by a dragon. But not the last. [GG]

Morecombe. A vampire, although obviously housetrained. He is the solicitor of the RAMKIN family, and senior member of the firm Morecombe, Slant and Honeyplace. Scrawny around the neck, like a tortoise; very pale, with pearly, dead eyes. [MAA]

Morraine. A troll who acted in moving pictures. (After the collapse of the industry a Morraine is known to have worked at the Armoury, and later joined the Ankh-Morpork militia.) [MP, MAA]

Mort. Mortimer. Youngest son of LEZEK. Tall, red-haired and freckled, thin, white face, with the sort of body that seemed to be only marginally under its owner's control; it appeared to have been built out of knees. He had the kind of vague, cheerful helpfulness that serious men soon learned to dread. Despite these drawbacks Mort was chosen by death to be his apprentice, and during that time became considerably less undirected and considerably more serious. Mort married YSABELL and became Duke of STO HELIT. They had a daughter, Susan STO HELIT, and were later killed in a coach crash.

As duke, his coat of arms was faux croise on a sablier rampant against a sable field. His motto: NON TIMETIS MESSOR. [M, SM]

Moutarde, Colonel. A guest at the Samedi Nuit Mort ball in Genua. [WA]

Moving Pictures, Production Companies.

Century of the Fruitbat Moving Pictures Fir Wood Studios Floating Bladder Pictures Microlithic Pictures Untied Alchemists Moving Pictures, t.i.tles of.

Bad Menace of Troll Valley Beyond the Valley of the Trolls Blown Away Bolde Adventurer, A Burninge Pa.s.siones Dark Forest Exciting Study of Pottery Making, An Golde Diggers of 1457 Golde Rushe, The High Jinks at the Store King's Ransom, A Mystery Mountain Night at the Arena, A Pelias and Melisande Shadowe of the Dessert Sons of the Dessert Sword of Pa.s.sione (or The Interestinge and Curious Adventures of Cohen the Barbarian) Tales of the Dwarfes Third Gnome, The Turkey Legs Valley of the Trolls Murduck, Brother. A missionary member of the brethren in the Citadel in OMNIA. His death was used to incite conflict between EPHEBE and OMNIA. [SG]

Murderer, Captain. Highly respected in the coast around Quirm. Captain of the Queen of Quirm and a smuggler. [SN]

Murune. A past King of LANCRE (709-745). He met a terrible fate involving a red-hot poker, ten pounds of live eels, a three-mile stretch of frozen river, a b.u.t.t of wine, a couple of tulip bulbs, a number of poisoned eardrops, an oyster and a large man with a mallet. Some people just don't seem to get along with others. [WS]

Musicians' Guild. Motto: ID MVRMVRATIS, ID LVDAMVS. Coat of arms: a shield, azure, bisected by a band wavy, argent et melodieux. Sinister a trousseau des cles, or. Dexter a cor, or.

The Guild has a very small office in Tin Lid Alley, Ankh-Morpork (a couple of pokey rooms above a barber shop). On the wall of its poky, brown-walled waiting room is a sign: 'For Your Comfort and Convenience YOU WILL NOT SMOKE'. Unlike most of the other Guilds it does not involve itself in education or social work, but does involve itself very deeply and sincerely in collecting very high membership fees and imposing very high performance rates to pay for them. It is not compulsory for a musician to belong to the GoM. On the other hand, it is not compulsory for a musician to breathe and see out of both eyes. Although most members of its senior council were once practising musicians, their contact with the Muse these days is generally limited to the notes you can obtain by hitting the human skull quite hard.

Muscara. Nee Susan. One of the members of DIAMANDA'S coven in LANCRE. [LL]

Mwnyy, Owen. Owner of a legendary harp which, according to Llamedese legend, sang when danger threatened. [SM]

The Nac Mac Feegle (also called Pictsies, The Wee Free Men, The Little Men and 'Person or Persons Unknown, Believed to be Armed'). Small red-haired, blue men and, infrequently, women. They always smell like slightly drunk potatoes.

From 'Fairies and How To Avoid Them' by Miss Perspicacia Tick: 'The Nac Mac Feegle are the most dangerous of the fairy races, particularly when drunk. They love drinking, fighting and stealing, and will in fact steal anything that is not nailed down. If it is nailed down, they will steal the nails as well.

'Nevertheless, those who have managed to get to know them, and survive, say that they are also amazingly loyal, strong, dogged, brave and, in their own way, quite moral. (For example, they won't steal from people who don't have anything.) 'The average Feegle man (Feegle women are rare see later) is about six inches high, red-haired, has skin turned blue with tattoos and the dye called woad and, since you're this close, he's probably about to hit you. He'll wear a kilt made of any old material, because amongst the Feegles the clan allegiance is shown by the tattoos. He may wear a rabbit-skull helmet, and Feegles often decorate their beards and hair with feathers, beads and anything else that takes their fancy. He will almost certainly carry a sword, although it is mainly for show, the Feegles' preferred method of fighting being with the boot and the head.'

They often have very descriptive names, such as Wee Honeymouth Jock, Slightly-more-wee-than-wee-Jock-Jock, Wee Jock O'the White Head and Slightly-Thinner-Than-Fat-Jock-Jock.

HISTORY AND RELIGION.

The origin of the Nac Mac Feegle is lost in the famous Mists of Time. They say that they were thrown out of Fairyland by the Queen of the Fairies because they objected to her spiteful and tyrannical rule. Others say they were just thrown out for being drunk.

Little is known about their religion, if any, save for one fact: they think they are dead. They like our world, with its sunshine and mountains and blue skies and things to fight. An amazing world like this couldn't be open to just anybody, they say. It must be some kind of a heaven or Valhalla, where brave warriors go when they are dead. So, they reason, they have already been alive somewhere else, and then died and were allowed to come here because they have been so good.

This is a quite incorrect and fanciful notion because, as we know, the truth is exactly the other way around.

There is not a great deal of mourning when a Feegle dies, and it's only because his brothers are sad that he's not spent more time with them before going back to the land of the living, which they also call 'The Last World'.

HABITS AND HABITAT.

For choice, the clans of the Nac Mac Feegle live in the burial mounds of ancient kings, where they hollow out a cosy cavern amongst the gold. Generally there will be one or two thorn or elder trees growing on it the Feegles particularly like old, hollow elder trees, which become chimneys for their fire. And there will, of course, be a rabbit hole. It will look just like a rabbit hole. There will be rabbit droppings around it, and maybe even a few bits of rabbit fur if the Feegles are feeling particularly creative.

Down below, the world of the Feegle is a bit like a beehive, but with a lot less honey and a lot more sting.

The reason for this is that females are very rare among the Feegle. And, perhaps because of this, Feegle women give birth to lots of babies, very often and very quickly. They're about the size of peas when born but grow extremely fast if they're fed well. (Feegles like to live near humans so that they can steal milk from cows and sheep for this purpose.) The 'queen' of the clan is called the Kelda, who as she gets older becomes the mother of most of it. Her husband is known as The Big Man. When a girl child is born and it doesn't often happen she stays with her mother to learn the hiddlins, which are the secrets of keldaring. When she is old enough to be married, she must leave the clan, taking a few of her brothers with her as a bodyguard on her long journey.

Often she'll travel to a clan which has no kelda. Very, very rarely, if there is no clan without a kelda, she'll meet with Feegles from several clans and form a completely new clan, with a new name and a mound of its own. She will also choose her husband. And, from then on, while her word is absolute law among her clan and must be obeyed, she'll seldom go more than a little distance from the mound. She is both its queen and its prisoner.

But, once, for a few days, there was a kelda who was a human girl . . .

A FEEGLE GLOSSARY.

Bigjobs: human beings Blethers: rubbish, nonsense Carlin: old woman Cludgie: the privy Crivens!: a general exclamation that can mean anything from 'My goodness!' to 'I've just lost my temper and there is going to be trouble.'

Dree your/my/his/her weird: facing the fate that is in store for you/me/him/her.

Geas: a very important obligation, backed up by tradition and magic. Not a bird.

Eldritch: weird, strange. Sometimes means oblong, too, for some reason.

Hag: a witch, of any age Hagging/Haggling: anything a witch does Hiddlins: secrets Mudlin: useless person Pished: I am a.s.sured that this means 'tired'

Scunner: a generally unpleasant person Scuggan: a really unpleasant person Ships: woolly things that eat gra.s.s and go baa; easily confused with the other kind Spavie: see Mudlin Special Sheep Liniment: probably moonshine whisky, I am very sorry to say. No one knows what it'd do to sheep, but it is said that a drop of it is good for shepherds on a cold winter's night and for Feegles at any time at all. Do not try to make this at home.

Waily: a general cry of despair.

N'choate, Azhural, A Klatchian stock dealer. [MP]

Necrotelicomnicon. (Also known as the Liber Paginarum Fulvarum.) A book, written by ACHMED THE MAD, which lists all of the old, dark G.o.ds of the Disc. The first edition is kept in the LIBRARY of Unseen University, between iron plates, behind a balanced stone door, with its name hacked on to the lintel over the door. The page headed 'About the Author' combusted shortly after his death. Legend says that any mortal man who reads more than a few lines of the original copy will die insane; it is also said that it contains ill.u.s.trations that could make a strong man's brain dribble out of his ears. Usually, people only read tenth or twelfth hand copies.

There was once a wizard who started to read it and let his mind wander. Next morning they found all his clothes on the chair and his hat on top of them and the book had . . . a lot more pages. [ER, MP]

Nef, Great. An incredibly dry desert region of the Disc, Rimwards of KLATCH, at the heart of which is the DEHYDRATED OCEAN. It is so dry that it has a negative rainfall. It is the site of the Lost City of EE and the Light Dams of the Sorca people. [COM, P]

Nesheley. An inhabitant of Inkcap, in the Ramtops. His claim to fame is that he once nearly ran over Granny Weatherwax in his cart and is still alive. [WS]

Nhumrod, Brother. Novice Master in OMNIA. A kindly (by the standards of Omnia, anyway) old man, waxy-skinned, with thin, blue-veined hands. He walked with a cane and was also a ma.s.s of nervous tics, but perhaps this was due to the fact that he survived in the Omnian citadel for fifty years and spent every night wrestling with the evil temptations of the flesh. [SG]

Nijel. Nijel the Destroyer, son of HAREBUT the Provision Merchant. To say that he is lean would be to miss a perfect opportunity to use the word 'emaciated' he looks as though toast racks and deckchairs have figured in his ancestry. He has a shock of lank, ginger hair, eyes like boiled grapes and a face that is a battleground for its native freckles and the dreadful invading forces of acne.

Short-sighted, with quite a good brain and a tendency to asthma attacks, Nijel does not conform to the normal perception of a cla.s.sic hero. He does, however, dress like one: a few studded leather thongs, big furry boots, a little leather 'holdall' and goose-pimples. The woolly underwear doesn't really work, but he promised his mother.

And, indeed, he acts like a hero, too. In fact Nijel has every necessary attribute for the cla.s.sical hero except strength, charisma and skill. [S]

Nine Turning Mirrors. Grand Vizier of the AGATEAN EMPIRE. Grew old in the service of several Emperors, whom he regarded as being a necessary but tiresome ingredient in the successful running of the Empire. He did not like things out of place his view was that the Empire was not built by allowing things to get out of place. He had very clear views about who should run the country e.g. that it should be him. Met his end during his attempt to poison a young Emperor who was handier with a pair of chopsticks. [COM, M]

Ninereeds. The rather unpleasant Agatean Master Accountant to whom TWOFLOWER was once apprenticed. It was also the name given by Twoflower to the dragon he conjured from his mind at the WYRMBERG. [COM]

Nitt, Agnes. (See NITT, PERDITA X.) Nitt, Perdita X. The inner name of Agnes Nitt, daughter of Terminal Thomas 'Threepenny' Nitt (his parents, unusually well if not wisely educated by Lancre standards, called their three sons Primal, Medial and Terminal.) Agnes was a member of DIAMANDA'S amateur coven in LANCRE when first encountered in the canon, and was a small fat seventeen-year-old with a naturally rosy complexion; the sort of girl who would love to be a Goth but was cut out by nature to be two Goths.

Easily swayed by her more imaginative friends, Agnes/Perdita wore black, had a black hat with a veil, and even a black lace hanky, all this conspiring to give the effect of a small, low-flying thunderstorm. Despite her love of black, she had two shelves of soft toys. According to Nanny OGG, who is seldom wrong in these matters, Agnes actually did have some useful magical talent. Perdita X Nitt is the thin person who is supposed to be trying to get out of every fat person, although Perdita makes no attempt to leave and merely stays inside and dreams ridiculous daydreams.

As so often happens, magical talent given no vent finds an outlet in other forms of expression, and it turned out that Agnes had an incredible singing voice she could, in fact, reproduce practically any pitch or sound and could sing in harmony with herself (Perdita had a rather reedy voice). She took this talent to Ankh-Morpork's Opera house just before GRANNY WEATHERWAX and NANNY OGG decided that she would make a good third witch for their coven (they were tired of making their own tea). Events, as they say, eventuated (described in Maskerade) and as a result, to no one's surprise, Agnes found that when witchcraft calls you there's no point in hanging up. And that when it comes to choosing between, on the one hand, someone with talent, good hair and a wonderful personality and, on the other, someone who merely looks stunning, the world doesn't hesitate either.

Agnes is splay-footed, wears too much eye liner and has big hair . . . well, not simply big hair, it is enormous hair, as if it's trying to counterbalance her body. It is glossy, never splits and is extremely well behaved except for a tendency to eat combs. Her hair obeys the rule. Perdita doesn't. Perdita is vain, selfish and vicious. She thinks Agnes is a fat, pathetic, weak-willed blob that people would walk over if she weren't so steep.

Agnes is now back in LANCRE, still with Perdita's beguiling inner voice. She's also realising, after her experience, that she is probably more intelligent than other people, that most people don't think straight, and that the world needs sorting out. It seems that Granny Weatherwax has won again.

Nivor, Grunworth. A tutor at the a.s.sa.s.sINS' GUILD. Fat, jolly and fond of his food. He was TEPPIC'S housemaster and lectured about traps and deadfalls on Tuesdays. [P]

n.o.bbs, Corporal C. W. St J. (Cecil Wormsborough St John). A corporal in the Ankh-Morpork Night WATCH, generally known as n.o.bby. A four-foot-tall, pigeon-chested, bandy-legged man, with the muscle tone of an elastic band and a certain resemblance to a chimpanzee, n.o.bby is actually smaller than many dwarfs and carries at all times a tattered affidavit attesting to his species, and possibly his genus as well. He gives his age as 'probably thirty-four', but he's been 'probably thirty-four' for years. He is the son of Sconner and Maisie n.o.bbs of Old Cobblers, where he was brought up in a cellar, and he is either their youngest or the only child, since it is beyond belief that any parents could look into the cradle containing the young n.o.bby and still be prepared to have another go. He is the grandson of Slope n.o.bbes, who was possibly the illegitimate son of Edward St John de n.o.bbes, Earl of Ankh, although the link is suspect.

When he was a boy, n.o.bby dressed in an oversized evening dress jacket, shiny with grease and greenish with age, and a top hat that must once have been trodden on by a horse. No single feature on his childish, pinched-up face was more than pa.s.sably ugly, but the combination was greater than the sum of the parts. He was streetwise and, frankly, a street urchin that is, ugly, p.r.i.c.kly and smelling strangely of fish.

He is rumoured to have terrible personal habits, although these appear to be no more than a penchant for petty theft (usually from people too unconscious or, for preference, too dead to argue), an ability to do tricks with his facial boils, and a liking for folk-dancing.

Men like n.o.bby can be found in any armed force. Although their grasp of the minutiae of the Regulations is usually encyclopaedic, they take good care never to be promoted beyond, perhaps, corporal. He smokes incessantly, but the weird thing is that any cigarette smoked by n.o.bby becomes a dog-end almost instantly and remains a dog-end indefinitely or until lodged behind his ear, which is a sort of nicotine elephants' graveyard.

n.o.bby's normal method of locomotion is a species of sidle; in times of danger he has a way of propelling himself from place to place without apparently moving through the intervening s.p.a.ce. And he tends to speak out of the corner of his mouth. In fact there is something altogether very cornery about Corporal n.o.bbs.

n.o.bby is known to have served as a quartermaster in the army of the Duke of Pseudopolis. There are rumours that he had to join the Watch after items missing from the stores were found in his kit. Since the items were the entirety of the store inventory, n.o.bby's kit at the time consisted of two warehouses.

He lives in the New Watch House in Pseudopolis Yard, Ankh-Morpork, moving from room to room as he fills them up. He is, or rather was, the founder of the Guild of Watchmen, which appears to have lasted for just as long as it took Commander Vimes to find out about it.

He is not, repeat not, related to Bledlow Alf (Alphonse) n.o.bbs from UU.

Noddy. A friend to Crash and a member of his music group, originally called Insanity. He was the Other One you know, the one who isn't the lead guitarist, the ba.s.s guitarist or the drummer. The one who jumps around on the stage, sweating and drinking beer. [SM]

Nork the Impaler. A regular at the Mended Drum. No one has even dared ask how he got the nickname. [GG]

Notfaroutoe, Count and Countess. (Arthur & Doreen Winkings) Members of the FRESH START CLUB and vampires, by inheritance. Arthur had been in the wholesale fruit and vegetable business before he inherited the t.i.tle and, with it, a ruined castle and vampirism. At least, so he believes. And that is the important thing.

Vampirism sits uneasily on the middle cla.s.s. The difficulty the couple face is that they feel there are established ways vampires should look and behave, and they do their best to behave that way. The snag is that these details the wearing of evening dress at all times, and so on were designed for people a good deal taller, thinner and, well, more inherently stylish than Arthur and Doreen. But since the only vampires they've ever heard of wear posh clothes and live in castles, they set out with a sort of resigned and dogged unimaginativeness to fit the stereotype.

The Countess (born to a washerwoman in c.o.c.kbill Street Ankh-Morpork), for example, is basically a pear-shaped, amiable woman who is trying to look like a consumptive and mysterious lady two feet taller. She wears a figure-hugging black dress, long dark hair cut into a widow's peak and very pallid make-up. Nature, however, designed her to have frizzy hair and a hearty complexion. She speaks with an affected foreign accent except when she forgets. Vampires are always foreign, she believes. She is now the Treasurer of the AM Mission of the uberwald League of Temperance.

The only vampire trait not embraced by Arthur is the one involving climbing into the bedrooms of young women and sucking their necks. Doreen put her foot down about this. He has to have rare steak and black pudding and like it. This disappointment is on top of his shaving problem; his face is a ma.s.s of small cuts, because it's very hard to shave when you can't see yourself in the mirror.

Their four-roomed terraced house at 14 Masons Road, Ankh-Morpork, boasted a crypt, a vault (the Winkings haven't worked out that these could be the same thing), a torture chamberette, a dining room with dribbly candles and a painting whose eyes moved, a secret pa.s.sage, an organ that was so big that a hole had to be knocked in the parlour ceiling for it, a laboratory and a moat. The house fell down shortly after Arthur knocked down the last load-bearing wall in order to install an Iron Maidenette, and the Winkings subsequently lodged with the understanding Mrs CAKE. It is believed that the Count's gravel-filled coffin is the first attempt to meet the orthopaedic needs of the vampire with a bad back. [RM]

Nourishing. A young female rat involved in MAURICE'S 'Pied Piper' scam. She had been in the Light Widdlers but transferred to the Trap Disposal Squad, under DARKTAN'S leadership. Worships Darktan. [TAMAHER]

N'tuitif. On the veldt of Howondaland live the N'tuitif people, the only tribe in the world to have no imagination whatsoever.

For example, their story about the thunder runs something like this: 'Thunder is a loud noise in the sky, resulting from the disturbance of the air ma.s.ses by the pa.s.sage of lightning.' And their legend 'How the Giraffe Got his Long Neck' runs: 'In the old days the ancestors of Old Man Giraffe had slightly longer necks than other gra.s.sland creatures, and the access to the high leaves was so advantageous that it was mostly long-necked giraffes that survived, pa.s.sing on the long neck in their blood just as a man might inherit his grandfather's spear. Some say however that it is all a lot more complicated and this explanation only applies to the shorter neck of the okapi. And so it is.' The N'tuitif are a peaceful people, and have been hunted almost to extinction by neighbouring tribes, who have lots of imagination, and therefore plenty of G.o.ds, superst.i.tions and ideas about how much better life would be if they had a bigger hunting ground.

Nuggan. A G.o.d of Borogravia. He is a tetchy G.o.d, whose laws are enforced by informal citizen committees. His Book of Nuggan is in a ringbinder to accommodate new Abominations, which turn up in it magically. These are many and wide-ranging and include, for example, Chocolate, Garlic, Cats, Dwarfs, the Colour Blue, Oysters, Babies, the Theatre, Barking Dogs, Shirts with Six b.u.t.tons, Cheese, Women Wearing Men's Clothes, Rocks, Ears, Accordion Players and Beating Your Wife with a Stick greater than an Inch Across. Quite tricky to keep up. [MR]

Nutmeg. An officer of Sto Plains Holdings and on the Board of Reacher Gilt's Grand Trunk Company. [MM]

Nutt, Mr 'Gobbo'. When we first meet him, he is a Temporary Apprentice Candle Dribbler at Unseen University. He is young, with a grey, round, guileless face he has an unshakeably amiable look about him. He is very untidily dressed; he looks like a scarecrow. Although he looks like a bag of second-hand clothes, he talks like a retired theologian he speaks three dead languages, and twelve living ones. He appears quite slight (his fingers look like cheese straws) but he is not as little as he first appears. Partly, he weighs himself down with humility, but as an orc, from uberwald he looks smaller when he is upset; it's a product of his morphic field contracting and expanding. He has a natural skill at football and he works with Trevor LIKELY at UU (another football fan).

He becomes close friends with Glenda SUGARBEAN. [UA]

N'vectif, Banana. Cunningest hunter in the great yellow plains of Klatch. He designed a better mousetrap shortly before being trampled by 1,000 elephants. [MP]

Oats, Quite Reverend. His full name is Mightily-Praiseworthy-Are-Ye-Who-Exalteth-Om Oats, but this is often shortened to Mightily. He is a priest of the Omnian religion who trained at the Ohulan mission. He is a quite young, skinny man with a ripe boil beside his nose, and a smile that appears on his face as if someone has operated a shutter. There is something damp about him, the kind of helpless hopelessness that makes people angry rather than charitable. He is in two minds about almost everything since he always tries to see both sides of every question. He wears a black robe which ends at his knees and a razor-sharp starched collar. His legs are encased in grey socks and his feet are encased in sandals. He also wore a holy turtle pendant and carried a finely printed graduation copy of the Book of Om, which he unfortunately mislaid during the events of Carpe Jugulum. Indeed, during the events of that book he embraced a more muscular form of Omnianism and might by now be doing or wearing anything. [CJ]

Octarine. The eighth colour of the Disc spectrum. The basic colour of which other colours are merely pale shadows impinging on normal four-dimensional s.p.a.ce. It is a sort of fluorescent greenish-yellow-purple. (See also LIGHT.) Octarines. Gemstones which glow in a strong magical field. Otherwise they look like rather inferior diamonds. [S]