Jack Vettriano Suddenly One SummerJack Vettriano Study for Bluebird at BonnevilleJack Vettriano Strangers In The Night
was probably the first piano case that'd ever been made, and made out of a carpet at that. Cliff swung it easily on to his shoulder and picked up his sack of rocks in the other hand.
'Is it heavy?' said 'What'd you get if you had a pile of gold, Glod?' said Buddy. In its bag the guitar twanged gently to the sound of his voice.
Glod hesitated. He wanted to say that for a dwarf the whole point of having a pile of gold was, well, to have a pile of gold. It didn't have to do anything other than be just as oraceous Buddy.Cliff held the piano up on one hand and weighed it reflectively.'A bit,' he said. The floorboards creaked underneath him. ' Do you think we should've took all dem bits out?''It's bound to work,' said Glod. 'It's like . . . a coach. The more bits you take off, the faster it goes. Come on.'They set out. Buddy tried to look as inconspicuous as a human can look if he is accompanying a dwarf with a big horn, an ape, and a troll carrying a piano in a bag.'I'd like a coach,' said Cliff, as they headed for the Drum. 'Big black coach with all dat liver on it.''Liver?' said Buddy. He was beginning to get accustomed to the name.'Shields and dat.''Oh. Livery.''And dat.'
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Paul Klee Zitronen
Paul Klee ZitronenPaul Klee Villa RPaul Klee The Golden FishPaul Klee Insula Dulcamara
NEVER DO.
'What did you say your name was?'
The stranger remained silent.
'Not that it matters,' said Corporal Cotton. ' In the. . .'
KLATCHIAN FOREIGN LEGION?
'. . . right . . . 'I suppose it's legal for me to go in licensed premises?' said Susan, as Ankh‑Morpork appeared on the horizon again.
SQUEAK.
The city slid under them again. Where there were wiwe give you a new name. You start out afresh.'He beckoned to another man.'Legionary . . . ?''Legionary . . . er . . . ugh . . . er . . . Size 15, Sir.''Right. Take this . . . man away and get him a . . .' he snapped his fingers irritably, '. . . you know . . . thing . . . clothes, everyone wears them . . . sand‑coloured–’UNIFORM?The corporal blinked. For some inexplicable reason the word 'bone' kept elbowing its way into the melting, flowing mess that was his consciousness.'Right,' he said. 'Er. It's a twenty‑year tour, legionary. I hope you're man enough for it.'I LIKE IT ALREADY, said Death.
NEVER DO.
'What did you say your name was?'
The stranger remained silent.
'Not that it matters,' said Corporal Cotton. ' In the. . .'
KLATCHIAN FOREIGN LEGION?
'. . . right . . . 'I suppose it's legal for me to go in licensed premises?' said Susan, as Ankh‑Morpork appeared on the horizon again.
SQUEAK.
The city slid under them again. Where there were wiwe give you a new name. You start out afresh.'He beckoned to another man.'Legionary . . . ?''Legionary . . . er . . . ugh . . . er . . . Size 15, Sir.''Right. Take this . . . man away and get him a . . .' he snapped his fingers irritably, '. . . you know . . . thing . . . clothes, everyone wears them . . . sand‑coloured–’UNIFORM?The corporal blinked. For some inexplicable reason the word 'bone' kept elbowing its way into the melting, flowing mess that was his consciousness.'Right,' he said. 'Er. It's a twenty‑year tour, legionary. I hope you're man enough for it.'I LIKE IT ALREADY, said Death.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Pablo Picasso Weeping Woman with Handkerchief
Pablo Picasso Weeping Woman with HandkerchiefPablo Picasso Large Nude in Red ArmchairTamara de Lempicka Woman in Red
Carrot went up to his room, and sat in his chair and looked out of the window.
The afternoon wore on. The rain stopped around teatime.
Lights came on, all over the city.
Presently, the behind the Temple of Small Gods, and into the small pit dug for Acting-Constable Cuddy.
There were always only guards at a guard's funeral, Vimes told himself. Oh, sometimes there were relatives, like Lady Ramkin and Detritus' Ruby here today, but you never got crowds. Perhaps Carrot was right. When you became a guard, you stopped being everything else.
Although there were other people today, standing silently at the railings around the cemetery. They weren't at the funeral, but they were watching it.moon rose.The door opened. Angua entered, walking softly.Carrot turned, and smiled.'I wasn't certain,' he said. 'But I thought, well, isn't it only silver that kills them? I just had to hope.' It was two days later. The rain had set in. It didn't pour, it slouched out of the grey clouds, running in rivulets through the mud. It filled the Ankh, which slurped once again through its underground kingdom. It poured from the mouths of gargoyles. It hit the ground so hard there was sort of a mist of ricochets.It drummed off the gravestones in the cemetery
Carrot went up to his room, and sat in his chair and looked out of the window.
The afternoon wore on. The rain stopped around teatime.
Lights came on, all over the city.
Presently, the behind the Temple of Small Gods, and into the small pit dug for Acting-Constable Cuddy.
There were always only guards at a guard's funeral, Vimes told himself. Oh, sometimes there were relatives, like Lady Ramkin and Detritus' Ruby here today, but you never got crowds. Perhaps Carrot was right. When you became a guard, you stopped being everything else.
Although there were other people today, standing silently at the railings around the cemetery. They weren't at the funeral, but they were watching it.moon rose.The door opened. Angua entered, walking softly.Carrot turned, and smiled.'I wasn't certain,' he said. 'But I thought, well, isn't it only silver that kills them? I just had to hope.' It was two days later. The rain had set in. It didn't pour, it slouched out of the grey clouds, running in rivulets through the mud. It filled the Ankh, which slurped once again through its underground kingdom. It poured from the mouths of gargoyles. It hit the ground so hard there was sort of a mist of ricochets.It drummed off the gravestones in the cemetery
Monday, May 4, 2009
George Bellows Fog Rainbow
George Bellows Fog RainbowGeorge Bellows Both Members of This ClubGeorge Bellows Anne in WhiteCaravaggio The Crowning with Thorns
trailed after her, whining.
Angua wasn't happy, either. It was always a problem, growing hair and fangs every full moon. Just when she thought she'd been lucky before, she'd found that few men are happy in a relationship where their partner grows hair and howls. She'd it was only the oil. It was clearly a thing of metal. It couldn't possibly be alive.
And yet . . .
And yet . . .
'They say it was only a beggar girl in the Guild.'
Well ? What of it ? She was a target of opportunity. That was not my fault. That sworn: no more entanglements like that.As for Gaspode, he was resigning himself to a life without love, or at least any more than the practical affection experienced so far, which had consisted of an unsuspecting chihuahua and a brief liaison with a postman's leg.The No.1 powder slid down the folded paper into the metal tube. Blast Vimes! Who'd have thought he'd actually head for the opera house? He'd lost a set of rubes up there. But there were still three left, packed neatly in the hollow stock. A bag of No. 1 powder and a rudimentary knowledge of lead casting was all a man needed to rule the city . . .The gonne lay on the table. There was a bluish sheen to the metal. Or, perhaps, not so much a sheen as a glisten. And, of course, that was only the oil. You had to believe
trailed after her, whining.
Angua wasn't happy, either. It was always a problem, growing hair and fangs every full moon. Just when she thought she'd been lucky before, she'd found that few men are happy in a relationship where their partner grows hair and howls. She'd it was only the oil. It was clearly a thing of metal. It couldn't possibly be alive.
And yet . . .
And yet . . .
'They say it was only a beggar girl in the Guild.'
Well ? What of it ? She was a target of opportunity. That was not my fault. That sworn: no more entanglements like that.As for Gaspode, he was resigning himself to a life without love, or at least any more than the practical affection experienced so far, which had consisted of an unsuspecting chihuahua and a brief liaison with a postman's leg.The No.1 powder slid down the folded paper into the metal tube. Blast Vimes! Who'd have thought he'd actually head for the opera house? He'd lost a set of rubes up there. But there were still three left, packed neatly in the hollow stock. A bag of No. 1 powder and a rudimentary knowledge of lead casting was all a man needed to rule the city . . .The gonne lay on the table. There was a bluish sheen to the metal. Or, perhaps, not so much a sheen as a glisten. And, of course, that was only the oil. You had to believe
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Andrea del Sarto Madonna of the Harpies
Andrea del Sarto Madonna of the HarpiesSalvador Dali Equestrian Fantasy - Portrait of Lady DunnSalvador Dali Cruxifixion (Hypercubic Body)John Singleton Copley The Tribute Money
natural at counting to two!'
'I'm a nat'ral at counting to two!'
'If you can count to two, you can count to anything!'
'If I can count to two, I can count to anything!'
And then the world is your mollusc!'
'My mollusc! What's a mollusc?'
Angua had to scurry to keep up with Carrot.
'Aren't we going to look at the opera house?' she said.
'Later. Anyone
Sham Harga's coffee was like molten lead, but it had this in its favour: when you'd drunk it, there was this overwhelming feeling of relief that you'd got to the bottom of the cup.
'That,' said Vimes, 'was a bloody awful cup of coffee, Sham.'
'Right,' said Harga.
'I mean I've drunk a lot of bad coffee in my time but that, that was like having a saw dragged across my tongue. How long'd it been boiling?'
'What's today's date?' said Harga, cleaning a glass. He was generally cleaning glasses. No-one ever found out what happened to the clean ones.
August the fifteenth.'
'What year?'
Sham Harga smiled, or at least moved various muscles around his mouth. Sham Harga had run a successful eatery for many years by always smiling, never extending credit, and
natural at counting to two!'
'I'm a nat'ral at counting to two!'
'If you can count to two, you can count to anything!'
'If I can count to two, I can count to anything!'
And then the world is your mollusc!'
'My mollusc! What's a mollusc?'
Angua had to scurry to keep up with Carrot.
'Aren't we going to look at the opera house?' she said.
'Later. Anyone
Sham Harga's coffee was like molten lead, but it had this in its favour: when you'd drunk it, there was this overwhelming feeling of relief that you'd got to the bottom of the cup.
'That,' said Vimes, 'was a bloody awful cup of coffee, Sham.'
'Right,' said Harga.
'I mean I've drunk a lot of bad coffee in my time but that, that was like having a saw dragged across my tongue. How long'd it been boiling?'
'What's today's date?' said Harga, cleaning a glass. He was generally cleaning glasses. No-one ever found out what happened to the clean ones.
August the fifteenth.'
'What year?'
Sham Harga smiled, or at least moved various muscles around his mouth. Sham Harga had run a successful eatery for many years by always smiling, never extending credit, and
Paul Cezanne Still Life with Flowers and Fruit
Paul Cezanne Still Life with Flowers and FruitPaul Cezanne Still Life with Apples and OrangesPaul Cezanne Still Life with a Skull
could call it water.
If you could still call it a dwarf.
They looked down.
'You know,' said Detritus, after a while, 'that look like that dwarf who make weapons in Rime Street.'
'Bjorn from his paperwork. 'You were commendably quick.'
'Was I?'
'You got my message?' said Lord Vetinari.
'No, sir. I've been . . . occupied.'
'Indeed. And what could occupy you?'
'Someone has killed Mr Hammerhock, sir. A big man in the dwarf community. He's been . . . shot with something, some kind of siege weapon or something, and dumped in the river. We've just fished him out. I was on the way to tell his wife. I think he lives in Treacle Street. And then I thought, since I was passing . . .'
'This is very unfortunate.'Hammerhock?' said Cuddy.'That the one, yeah.''It looks a bit like him,' Cuddy conceded, still talking in a cold flat voice, 'but not exactly like him.''What d'you mean?' said Angua.'Because Mr Hammerhock,' said Cuddy, 'didn't have such a great big hole where his chest should be.' Doesn't he ever sleep? thought Vimes. Doesn't the bloody man ever get his head down? Isn't there a room somewhere with a black dressing gown hanging on the door?He knocked on the door of the Oblong Office.'Ah, captain,' said the Patrician, looking up
'Certainly it was for Mr Hammerhock,' said Vimes.
The Patrician leaned back and stared at Vimes.
could call it water.
If you could still call it a dwarf.
They looked down.
'You know,' said Detritus, after a while, 'that look like that dwarf who make weapons in Rime Street.'
'Bjorn from his paperwork. 'You were commendably quick.'
'Was I?'
'You got my message?' said Lord Vetinari.
'No, sir. I've been . . . occupied.'
'Indeed. And what could occupy you?'
'Someone has killed Mr Hammerhock, sir. A big man in the dwarf community. He's been . . . shot with something, some kind of siege weapon or something, and dumped in the river. We've just fished him out. I was on the way to tell his wife. I think he lives in Treacle Street. And then I thought, since I was passing . . .'
'This is very unfortunate.'Hammerhock?' said Cuddy.'That the one, yeah.''It looks a bit like him,' Cuddy conceded, still talking in a cold flat voice, 'but not exactly like him.''What d'you mean?' said Angua.'Because Mr Hammerhock,' said Cuddy, 'didn't have such a great big hole where his chest should be.' Doesn't he ever sleep? thought Vimes. Doesn't the bloody man ever get his head down? Isn't there a room somewhere with a black dressing gown hanging on the door?He knocked on the door of the Oblong Office.'Ah, captain,' said the Patrician, looking up
'Certainly it was for Mr Hammerhock,' said Vimes.
The Patrician leaned back and stared at Vimes.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
John William Waterhouse Waterhouse Narcissus
John William Waterhouse Waterhouse NarcissusJohn William Waterhouse The Lady of ShalottJohn William Waterhouse waterhouse OpheliaJohn William Waterhouse Hylas and the Nymphs
because dwarfs are very conscientious many of them sent money home. This made dwarf mail just about as safe as anything, since It was old, good furniture, but this wasn't the place for it. It belonged in high echoing halls. Here, it was crammed. There were dark oak chairs. There were long sideboards. There was even a suit of armour. There was barely room for the half dozen or so people who sat at the huge table. There was barely room for the table.
A clock ticked in the shadows.
The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, even though there was still plenty of daylight left in the sky. The air was stifling, both from the heat of the day and the candles in the magic lantern.
The only illumination was from the screen which, at that moment, was portraying a very their mail was closely guarded. Dwarfs are very attached to gold. Any highwayman demanding 'Your money or your life' had better bring a folding chair and packed lunch and a book to read while the debate goes on.Then Carrot washed his face, donned his leather shirt and trousers and chainmail, buckled on his breastplate and, with his helmet under his arm, stepped out cheerfully, ready to face whatever the future would bring. This was another room, somewhere else.It was a poky room, the plaster walls crumbling, the ceilings sagging like the underside of a fat man's bed. And it was made even more crowded by the furniture.
because dwarfs are very conscientious many of them sent money home. This made dwarf mail just about as safe as anything, since It was old, good furniture, but this wasn't the place for it. It belonged in high echoing halls. Here, it was crammed. There were dark oak chairs. There were long sideboards. There was even a suit of armour. There was barely room for the half dozen or so people who sat at the huge table. There was barely room for the table.
A clock ticked in the shadows.
The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, even though there was still plenty of daylight left in the sky. The air was stifling, both from the heat of the day and the candles in the magic lantern.
The only illumination was from the screen which, at that moment, was portraying a very their mail was closely guarded. Dwarfs are very attached to gold. Any highwayman demanding 'Your money or your life' had better bring a folding chair and packed lunch and a book to read while the debate goes on.Then Carrot washed his face, donned his leather shirt and trousers and chainmail, buckled on his breastplate and, with his helmet under his arm, stepped out cheerfully, ready to face whatever the future would bring. This was another room, somewhere else.It was a poky room, the plaster walls crumbling, the ceilings sagging like the underside of a fat man's bed. And it was made even more crowded by the furniture.
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