This book is dedicated to Rob Wilkins, who typedmost of it and had the good sense to laugh occasionally.And to Colin Smythe for his encouragement.

The chant of the goddess Pedestriana is a parody ofthe wonderful poem ‘Brahma’ by Ralph Waldo Emerson,but of course you knew that anyway.

It was midnight in Ankh-Morpork’s Royal Art Museum

It occurred to new employee Rudolph Scattering about once every minute that onthe whole it might have been a good idea to tell the Curator about hisnyctophobia, his fear of strange noises and, he now knew, his fear ofabsolutely every thing he could see (and, come to that, not see), hear, smelland feel crawling up his back during the endless hours on guard during thenight. It was no use telling himself that everything in here was dead. Thatdidn’t help at all. It meant that he stood out.

And then he heard the sob. A scream might have been better. At least you arecertain when you’ve heard a scream. A faint sob is something you have to waitto hear again, because you can’t be sure.

He raised his lantern in a shaking hand. There shouldn’t be anyone in here. Theplace was securely locked; no one could get in. Or, now he came to think aboutit, out. He wished he hadn’t thought about it.

He was in the basement, which was not among the most scary places on his round.It was mostly just old shelves and drawers, full of the things that werealmost, but very definitely not entirely, thrown away. Museums don’t likethings to be thrown away, in case they turn out to be very important later on.

Another sob, and a sound like the scraping of… pottery?

A rat, then, somewhere on the rear shelves? Rats didn’t sob, did they?

‘Look, I don’t want to have to come in there and get you!’ said Scattering withheartfelt accuracy.