Turtle Recall: The Discworld Companion ... So Far

by Terry Pratchett

  Nuggan, Book of [MR]

  Obedience of Disobedience, The (Schnouzentintle) [UA]

  Observations on the Art of Invisibility, Some (Lord Winstanleigh. Illus., Emilia Jane Greville-Pipe) [NW]

  Occult Companion (Boddry) [UA]

  Occult Primer (Woddeley) [J]

  Occult Primer (Woddeley) [S]

  Octarine Fairy Book [COM]

  OCTAVO, The

  Om, Book of [CJ]

  Ominous Encyclopaedia [W]

  One Hundred Walks in the Ramtops (E. Wheelbrace) [TGL]

  Passion’s Plaything (Marjory J Boddice) [W]

  Perfumed Allotment, The, or Garden of Delights, The, [J]

  Pictorial Guide to the Lancre Fells, A (E. Wheelbrace) [TGL]

  Pin Catalogue(Hubert Spider) [GP]

  Pins (J Lanugo Owlsbury) [GP]

  Pins of Überwald & Genua [GP]

  Plants, On the Nature of (Orinjcrates) [SG]

  Platitudes (Aristocrates) [SG]

  Pride and Extreme Prejudice (Jane Gordon) [SN]

  Principia Explosia (Affir Al-chema) [J]

  Principles of Engagement [MR]

  Principles of Ideal Government (Ibid) [P]

  Principles of Modern Accountancy [W]

  Principles of Navigation (Dykeri) [SG]

  Principles of Thaumic Propagation [TLC]

  Prudent Advice for Young Women (Lady Deirdre Waggon) [MM]

  Pseudopolis, 130 Days of [P]

  Psychological Places (E. R. Clamp, D Thau) [UUD]

  Rambling in Llamedos (E. Wheelbrace) [TGL]

  Ratty Rupert Sees It Through [TAMAHER]

  Reflections (Xeno) [SG]

  Religion, On (Abraxas) [SG]

  Res Centum Et Una Quas Magus Facere Potest [HFOS]

  Ritual Aggression in Pubescent Rats (Dr Vonmausberger) [UA]

  Septateuch [SG]

  Servant, The (unpublished work by Havelock, Lord Vetinari)

  Seventy Years Behind the Wirecutters (E. Wheelbrace) [TGL]

  Show Judges’ Guide to Dragons, The (Lady Sybil Ramkin) [TLH]

  Shuttered Palace, The (translated from the Klatchian by A Gentleman, with Hand-Coloured Plates for the Connoisseur in A Strictly Limited Edition) [P]

  Sieges and Survival (Gen Callus Tacticus) [W]

  Snakes of All Nations (Wrencher) [TLC]

  Speech of Trolls (Postalume) [UA]

  Spells for Lovers (Anathema Bugloss) [ISWM]

  Stripfettle’s Believe-It-Or-Not Grimoire [RM]

  Summoning of Dragons, The (Tubul de Malachite) [GG]

  Survival in the Snow (T. H. Mouseholder) [W]

  Synonyms for the Word ‘Plimsoll’ [GP]

  Tactical Defence [MR]

  Tacticus: Thye Campaigns [MR]

  Temple Frescos of Old N’Couf, [NOCB]

  Testament from the Mountains (Pastor Oates) [ISWM]

  Thaumic Imponderability, Theory of, The (Marrowleaf)

  Theologies (Hierarch) [SG]

  Thoughts (Bouffant) [GP]

  Torquus Simiae Maleficarum [CJ]

  Toujours, Quirm [NOCB]

  Travels in the Dark Hinterland (Lady Alice Venturi) [DM]

  True Arte of Levitatione [P]

  Trumpet of Equestrianism (Spout) [UA]

  Twenty-Four Years Without Eyebrows (Col. Charles Augustus Makepeace) [SN]

  Twurp’s Peerage [LL, MA]

  Unusual Days, Book of (Waspmire) [W]

  Use of Pliers in Warfare, The (Sir Roderick Purdeigh) [DM]

  Veni, Vidi, Vici: A Soldier’s Life (Gen. A. Tacitus) [J]

  Vicar Is Coming To Tea, The, and 127 Other Warnings of Social Embarrassment [Dr Bentley Purchase, UU Press) [SN]

  Walking in the Koom Valley (Eric Wheelbrace) [T!]

  War With the Snot Goblins, The (Felicity Beedle) [SN]

  Way of the Scorpion, The [WA]

  Wee (Felicity Beedle) [SN]

  Wee Wee Men (Felicity Beedle) [SN]

  Wen the Eternally Surprised, The Life of [TOT]

  Wesentlichen Ungewissheiten Zugehörig der Offenkundigen Männlichkeit, Das (Ofleberger) [UA]

  What I Did On My Holidays (Twoflower) [IT]

  Where’s My Cow? [T!]

  Whom’s Whom [MM]

  Why Men Get Under Your Feet (Releventia Flout) [MM]

  Why Things Are Not Otherwise (Crumberry) [W]

  Woddeley’s Basic Gods [H]

  World of Poo, The (Felicity Beedle) [SN]

  Wormold’s Steerage [NOCB]

  (See also PLAYS, MAGAZINES)

  HISTORY BOOKS

  The books from which history is derived. Guarded by the History Monks, in their monastery in a hidden valley in the high RAMTOPS. There are over 20,000 of them, each 10 feet high, bound in lead, and the letters are so small that they have to be read with a magnifying glass. When people say ‘It is written’, it is written here. [SG]

  MAGICAL BOOKS

  Magical books are more than just pulp and paper; their curly magical writing moves around the page, twisting and writhing in an attempt not to be read by a non-wizard.

  All books of magic have a life of their own. In the LIBRARY of Unseen University some of the really energetic ones can’t simply be chained to the bookshelves; they have to be nailed shut or kept between steel plates. Or – in the case of the volumes on tantric sex magic for the serious connoisseur – kept under very cold water to stop them bursting into flames and scorching their severely plain covers.

  Things can happen to browsers in magical libraries that make having your face pulled off by tentacled monstrosities from the DUNGEON DIMENSIONS seem a mere light massage by comparison. No one in possession of a complete set of marbles would like to settle down with a book of magic, because even the individual words have a private and vindictive life of their own and reading them, in short, is a kind of mental Indian wrestling. Many a young wizard has tried to read a grimoire that is too strong for him, and people who hear the screams find only his pointy shoes with a wisp of smoke coming out of them.

  After the first Age of Magic the disposal of grimoires became a severe problem on the Discworld. A spell is still a spell even when imprisoned temporarily in parchment and ink. It has potency. This is not a problem while the book’s owner still lives, but on his death the spell book becomes a source of uncontrolled power that cannot easily be defused. In short, spell books leak magic. Various solutions have been tried. Countries near the Rim simply took the books and threw them over the Edge. Near the Hub, less satisfactory alternatives were available. Inserting the offending books in canisters of negatively polarised OCTIRON and sinking them in the fathomless depths of the sea was one (burial in deep caves on land was earlier ruled out after some districts complained of walking trees and five-headed cats), but before long the magic seeped out and eventually fishermen complained of shoals of invisible fish and psychic clams.

  A temporary solution was the construction, in various centres of magical lore, of large rooms made of denatured octiron, which is impervious to most forms of magic. Here the more critical grimoires can be stored until their potency has attenuated. That was how there came to be, at the Library of Unseen University, the OCTAVO, greatest of all grimoires. At least one legend suggests that it has always been there and that the University grew up around it.

  Bookworm, .303. The fastest insect on the Discworld. It evolved in magical libraries, where it is necessary to eat extremely quickly to avoid being affected by the thaumic radiations. An adult .303 bookworm can eat through a shelf of books so fast that it ricochets off the wall. [P, GG]

  Borgle, Nodar. The Klatchian who ran a large canteen in Holy Wood, with a cuisine very nearly on a par with that of C.M.O.T. DIBBLER himself. [MP]

  Borogravia. In its own view, a peace-loving country in the midst of treacherous, devious, warlike enemies. Borogravia fights with everyone. It is ruled by the Grand Duchess ANNAGOVIA. Borogravia’s capital, (PrinceMarmadukePiotreAlbertHansJosephBerhardtWilhelmsberg), is 2300 miles from Ankh-Morpork by broomstick. It
s principal river, the meandering Kneck, separates it from its warlike neighbour, Zlobenia. The Kneck wanders across a wide rich, silty plain like a piece of dropped string. The country does have some tallow mines, Borogravians are not bad farmers, but the country has no great architecture, no big libraries, no famous composers, no very high mountains, no wonderful views. It has many small towns, mostly with names such as Lipz, Drok, Plotz, Crotz, Pln (a dump, allegedly) and Tbz (watch out for the troll bridge).

  Its national anthem (in translation) runs:

  ‘Awake, ye sons of the Motherland

  Taste no more the wine of the sour apples

  Woodsman, grasp your choppers!

  Farmers, slaughter with the tool formerly used for lifting beets the foe!

  Frustrate the endless wiles of our enemies

  We into the darkness march singing

  Against the whole world in arms coming

  But see the golden light upon the mountain tops!

  The new day is a great big fish!’

  The last line, it seems, is a literal translation. It means something like ‘an amazing opportunity’ or ‘a glittering prize’. [MR]

  Borrowing. Magical technique employed by some witches to enter the mind of other living creatures. The witch reaches out to share a mind with a forest creature, while her body remains behind in a sleep so deep that it can be mistaken for death (which is why when Granny Weatherwax, a very skilled exponent of the craft, goes borrowing, her apparently lifeless hands hold a piece of card on which is written ‘I ATE’NT DEAD’). The witch rides on the animal’s mind, steering it gently; it is important not to upset the owner, who would undoubtedly panic if it realised that the witch’s mind was there as well. There is a price for this skill: no one asks you to pay it, but the very absence of a demand is a moral obligation to a witch. The borrower’s motto is: Leave nothing but memories, take nothing but experience.

  The more apparently complex a mind is, the harder it is to borrow. For the purposes of most witches the ‘best’ minds are those of small uncomplicated creatures, like rabbits and most birds. Humans, with their interweaving parallel streams of thought, are very hard. Hardest of all, though, is a hive mind; borrowing the mind of a swarm of bees, for example, when all its components might be travelling in various directions and at varying speeds, is the Everest of borrowing. It is known to have been achieved once.

  A built-in danger is that a witch, by accident or design, will become so immersed in the mind of the ‘borrowed’ creature that she will not return. Indeed, it has sometimes been suggested that witches never die – they merely don’t come back.

  Borvorius. Imperiator of the Tsortean army. [SG]

  Bottler, Violet. See Violet

  Bottomley, Duke. Leather-skinned farm worker who also helps out with the harvest at Miss FLITWORTH’S. Duke’s parents have upwardly mobile if rather simplistic ideas about class structure – his brothers are called Squire, Earl and King. [RM]

  Brass Neck. Village in the RAMTOPS, under Leaping Mountain and in the next valley to BAD ASS. [ER]

  Brattsley. Member of VITOLLER’S troupe of players. [WS]

  Bravd (the Hublander). Big, strong barbarian. Thick as two short planks, if the planks are extremely thick (see STANDARDS). [COM]

  Breccia. Troll actor in the clicks. Also the name of an oft-alluded-to secret society of trolls, similar to the popular images of the Mafia or the Chinese Tongs or the Rotary Club. [MP, SM]

  Brian (1). A wizard who works at ZakZak Stronginthearm’s. You could tell he was a wizard. Wizards never want you to have to guess. He has long flowing robes, with stars and magical symbols on them; there are even some sequins. His beard would have been long and flowing if indeed he’d been the kind of young man who could really grow a beard. Instead, it’s ragged and wispy and not very clean. And the general effect is also spoiled by the fact that he is normally found smoking a cigarette, with a mug of tea in his hand and a face that looks a bit like something that lives under damp logs.

  The mug is chipped and on it are the jolly words ‘You Don’t Have To Be Magic To Work Here But It Helps!!!!!’

  He is actually not really a wizard – he just did the evening clases at UU in fretwork. He read a few of the magic books and pinched the robes. [AHFOS]

  Brian (2). Brian Roberts. Sergeant of the Baron’s guard over on the Chalk. Brian taught the Baron’s son to ride a horse, and taught him how to hold a sword and how to hunt. He is married to Millie and he writes poetry, such as ‘What Good Is The Sky Without Stars?’ [ISWM]

  Brick. A young troll in Ankh-Morpork. When we first meet him, he is over-fond of banned substances such as Scrape. He was a loser’s loser – a troll without a clan or a gang. He was considered thick even by other trolls. He does not look very prepossessing – emaciated, with watery, fried-egg eyes and scarred knobbly arms. He was called Brick because he had been born in the city and trolls, being made of metamorphorical rock, often take on the nature of the local rocks. His hide was a dirty orange, with a network of horizontal and vertical lines; if Brick stood up close to a wall, he was quite hard to see. But most people didn’t see Brick anyway. He was the kind of person whose mere existence is an affront to the litter laws. [T!]

  Broadman. Former landlord of the Broken DRUM, Ankh-Morpork. A fat little man with small black beady eyes. He was killed while setting fire to his own pub shortly after learning the strange new concept of ‘insurance’. [COM]

  Broken Drum. (See DRUM).

  Bronze Psepha. One of the dragons of the WYRMBERG. This dragon, with its long, equine head and bronze-gold wings, is ridden by K!SDRA. Like all the dragons of the Wyrmberg, he was imaginary and given solid existence by the very high level of ambient magic (see MAGIC) in the area. [COM]

  Brooks, Mr. Royal Beekeeper in LANCRE. Although most of the Castle staff are known by their surname, Mr Brooks, like the cook and the butler, has the privilege of an honorific. He treats everyone as an equal – not his equal, but equal to everyone else and slightly inferior to him. This is perhaps because he deals with royalty in his hives every day. A truly skilled man, and probably as near to being a witch as you can be while wearing trousers. Hates wasps. [LL]

  Brown Islands. Land of big waves and men who surf, rumoured to be the place where bread grows on trees and young women find little white balls in oysters. Located somewhere between the CIRCLE SEA and the COUNTERWEIGHT CONTINENT. Insofar as there is any trading official between the two continents, it takes place here. [COM, SG]

  Brown, Mr. Locksmith in Ankh-Morpork. A neat, elderly, skinny man with a neat little voice and properly-polished shoes. He was a very skilled locksmith – a skill which led inevitably to his unfortunate demise. [H]

  Brunt, Ossie. A bit of a loner. Friends would have called him a quiet sort who kept himself to himself but they didn’t because he didn’t have any friends. Or relatives. He used to do odd jobs. He was implicated in the attempted assassination of the Prince KHUFURAH. He was described as ‘a weird little twerp, as impressionable as wet clay’. [J]

  Brutha. First seen as a loyal and devout novice in the Omnian church, wearing huge sandals and a grubby robe, tending the Temple garden. He was then about seventeen years old, with a big, round, red, honest face and ham-sized hands, a body like a barrel, and tree-trunk legs ending in splay-feet and knock-ankles.

  Brutha didn’t leave his small village until he was twelve. He was by nature kind, generous and therefore marked down by FATE as a natural target. The other novices called him the Big Dumb Ox. Brutha mastered neither reading nor writing, but he had an absolutely perfect memory, which more or less compensated; all he needed to do was glance at a text in order to be able to write it – or, from his point of view, draw it – in its entirety. When the Great God OM was trapped in the form of a tortoise, Brutha – whose quiet and unquestioning belief meant he was the only person left in the entire country who could hear the god speak – carried him round in a wickerwork box slung over his shoulder. After many adventures, both pr
ospered in their chosen spheres.

  Although Brutha was made a bishop by VORBIS, he was later personally appointed CENOBIARCH by the Great God OM. He died after having reached a great age.

  Brutha’s reinterpretation of the Omnian religion as one of peace and love almost immediately fractured it into a thousand different sects, who have subsequently spent their time arguing about what he said, what it meant, or if he really existed, or if any of them really existed, or if it meant anything, or if anything really meant anything when you got right down to it . . . thus leaving large parts of the world free to amble through history without being put to the sword every other week. [SG]

  Bucket, Seldom. Proprietor and owner of the Ankh-Morpork Opera House. A moustached, self-made man, and proud of his handiwork. He confuses bluffness and honesty with merely being rude. He bought the Opera House with the assistance of money borrowed from CHRISTINE’S father. He made his money in the cheese and milk derivatives business. His companies include Bucket’s Cheese Factory, Bucket’s Dairy Products, Bucket’s Spreads and Bucket’s Bovine, Ovine and Caprine-Based Drinks, ALC. [M!, CWD]

  Bucket, the. A tavern, of sorts, in Gleam Street, Ankh-Morpork. The Bucket, which lacks charm, ambience or even many customers, is now the bar of choice for the City WATCH. Watchmen don’t like to see things that’d put them back on duty when they just want a quiet drink. There’s little passing trade in Gleam Steet. The street is, if not a dead end, then seriously wounded by the area’s change of fortunes.

  Bugarup. Major university city of Xxxx. Famous for its Opera House, which looks like a box of tissues, its harbour, and for its wizards’ university. [TLC]

  Bugarup University. The corrugated iron Xxxx equivalent of Unseen University, Ankh-Morpork. The iron sheets around its gates (also corrugated iron, nailed to bits of wood with second-hand nails) have been bent and hammered into the shape of a stone arch. Over it, burned into the thin metal, are the words ‘Nullus Anxietas’, the university’s motto. The walls incorporate a loose sheet to get in after hours. Alongside this loose sheet is a chalked message, ‘Nulli Sheilae Sanguineae’, a wizardly philosophy. Inside the walls, there is a short, pleasant lawn illuminated at night by the light from a large, low building. In fact, all the buildings are low with wide roofs – like a lot of square mushrooms that’ve been stepped on, according to the wizard Rincewind. There is also a tower, which is twenty feet high from the outside, although it is half a mile high at the top. The tower’s base is stonework, but about halfway the builders got fed up and resorted to rusted tin sheets nailed onto a wooden framework, telling the Archchancellor of the time ‘No worries, mate, she’ll be right!’ If you brave the rickety ladder leading to the top, you’ll find a plank flooring surrounded by corrugated battlements. [TLC]