Those seeds drifted to the ground and the world moved on -- mostly.
"Mostly", because every so often, a new curious mind gets sucked into the wake of A'tuin -- or something cosmically and no doubt comically similar -- and these new fans then make wry posts trying to describe the magic that is in every Pratchett story, complain about the movie adaptions, or totally geek out on Fandom, the Wiki Lspace, or the OG Lspace.
What follows below is none of those.
Instead, it is a little Disk World story that came to me in the night. Now, as an old fan, I have to ask myself if imitating Pratchett’s style is the worst kind of hubris, or just me trying to pay my utmost respects to the literal Knight of Syntax, (that short one with the beard and the glasses and the DIY meteorite sword, yes).
Myself has not answered me yet, but whatever my subconscious motivation, officially, I hope this short foray back to Ankh Morpork will provide an enjoyable Easter egg hunt for old Discworld fans, or show visitors how a properly ordered world should run. At the very least, I trust my midnight story will inspire old and new fans to go read some REAL Pratchett.
The Turtle Moves
We learn how the new webs work. Sort of.
Frik looked at the spider at the bottom of his beer mug. The spider stared back through one eye, which was squinting. Its other seven eyes were rolling worse than a teenager’s.
In the dregs at the bottom of the mug, the little spider’s spiracles bubbled smoke.
“Ieuw! Frik man, there's a spider in your ‘beer’!” shrilled Rose, flapping her huge hands in horror.
Not, it has to be said, because she was worried about the spider’s health. Nor because the inebriated state of the spider at the bottom of Frik’s mug meant the pub’s web would now be down for at least an hour.
No, despite being a seven-foot troll of the Kwarts clan, with cold granite where other bipeds had hearts, Rose had developed a totally un-Trollish phobia of all things octoped ever since she had learned what the tiny male Argonaut does with its modified arm.
“No worries mate,” said Frik as he tipped the stunned spider out onto the table and carefully straightened its long, sodden legs. Like many big young men, he had a surprisingly delicate touch.
The last drop of ‘beer’* sizzled as it soaked into the ancient oak.
“This one reminds me of the ones we have down home. Only ours don’t fall in from the top. They mostly chew their way in from the bottom,” Frik told the rest of the gang.
.webp)
