Secrets of the Wee Free Men and Discworld

by Linda Washington

  And there’s Ludmilla, another werewolf and daughter of the medium Mrs. Cake, who with Windle Poons helps save the city in Reaper Man. Doreen Winkings is another comrade in the fight against the parasitic life force. While Ludmilla’s existence as a werewolf is denied by her mother, Doreen is in denial about her own status. She insists that she’s a vampire simply because she married one. Thankfully, there is such a thing as therapy.

  Don’t discount a kid.

  In some Steven Spielberg films and Stephen King novels, kids and teens help save the day. That’s par for the course in juvenile fiction and young adult fiction but is not usual in adult fiction. But in Discworld, you can take your pick among kid or teen rescuers. We’ve already talked about Tiffany Aching and Roland de Chums-fanleigh. There’s also Nijel the Destroyer, the painfully thin hero wannabe who falls for Conina in Sourcery. Nijel may think being a hero is something you have to read about, but he tries like Keith and Malicia, who help defeat the rat king in The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents. And then there are Coin and Lobsang, who act to destroy Discworld but then help save it once they’re in their right minds. And who could forget Twyla and Gawain, Susan Sto Helit’s charges who stand up to the menacing Teatime in Hogfather? Although they aren’t full-fledged members of the hall of heroes, perhaps they will be someday, having had Susan as a nanny.

  Many adults tend to underestimate or patronize kids, which Pratchett shows in a number of Discworld books. The wizards learn the hard way that underestimating Coin is the act of a fool. Lobsang also is measured and found wanting until his connection to the personification of Time is discovered. No one makes that mistake twice.

  Aim for the assassin.

  In Day of the Jackal, the 1971 novel by Frederick Forsyth, the assassin (the jackal) earned the grudging respect of the police detective who tracked him. In The Fifth Elephant, don’t look for warm fuzzies between Vimes and Inigo Skimmer, an assassin and a member of the ambassadorial staff. Vimes only tolerates him. Yet, like Moist von Lipwig is for the Post Office in Going Postal, Inigo’s the right man for the right job: to help school Vimes on Uberwald political protocol, as well as to safeguard Vimes and the others. Being an assassin certainly helps in an area as tough as Uberwald, especially if one has spy work to do. But like his namesake in William Goldman’s The Princess Bride (Inigo Montoya the swordsman), he runs afoul of someone truly evil. Montoya had a better outcome.

  Pay attention to Wordes.

  No, that’s not a typo. Journalist William de Worde—a man who shares Terry Pratchett’s former profession—shows the power of the press to effect change. Oh, and annoy people as well, to which Commander Vimes and many others can attest. With the help of Gunilla Goodmountain, Sacharissa Crisplock (his “Girl Friday”), and black ribboner Otto Chriek, de Worde in The Truth exposes yet another nefarious plot aimed at deposing Vetinari—a plot with a Man in the Iron Mask twist. And like other journalists covering wars, de Worde heads for the hot spot—Borogravia in Monstrous Regiment . His reporting there helps expose the truth about the war.

  De Worde is like crusading real-life journalists Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, who, in All the President’s Men, wrote about their experiences covering the Watergate scandal during the 1970s, and fictional journalists such as Gray Grantham in The Pelican Brief (John Grisham) and the Lone Gunmen from The X-Files and the Lone Gunmen TV series, whose search for the truth helped save lives but also ended careers. Life’s all about hard choices. Speaking of hard choices …

  Trust a con man.

  One of the most unlikely heroes of Discworld has to be Moist von Lipwig, who makes a living bilking others out of their hard-earned cash. (For shame!) But he’s the perfect man to outcon the ultimate con artist Reacher Gilt, whose management of the Grand Trunk costs lives. (See next chapter for more on him.) Unlike the Joker, who smugly asked, “Who do you trust?,” in the 1989 Tim Burton-directed Batman, when Moist says, “Trust me,” you can’t help doing so without fear of losing your shirt.

  Countless graphic novels, books, and movies prove that we love a good hero story and sometimes even an antihero story. In Discworld, you can be sure to find both.

  12

  Who’s Wanted and Why: The Villains, Stooges, and Thugs of Discworld

  IN THE DISCWORLD SCHOOL OF VILLAINY

  If you make the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted Fugitives List, you know you’ve done something really wrong—something beyond simply being late with library books and DVDs or dumping your boyfriend or girlfriend without a good explanation (although that ranks right up there with kidnapping and terrorism in the opinions of some).

  It should be of no surprise to anyone that international terrorists head the list, followed by kidnappers and murderers. But if a most-wanted list were made for sci-fi/fantasy or spy fiction villains and betrayers, it would include the usual suspects: Darth Vader. Darth Maul. Darken Rahl. (Hey, that rhymes.) Darth Sidious. He Who Must Not Be Named (Voldemort) and his Death Eaters. Chired Anigrel and the seriously twisted demon queen Savilla (Obsidian Trilogy). Smaug. The Borg. The Daleks and Cybermen (Doctor Who). The Vogons (The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy). Dracula. The Forsaken and Shai’tan. Sauron. Saruman. Orcs and trollocs and goblins (oh my!). The Joker. Venom. Ras Al Ghul. Dr. Doom. The White Witch of Narnia. Blofeld. Goldfinger. SPECTRE. Rosa Klebb. Gustav Graves. Le Chiffre. Prince Humperdinck. Count Rugen. Islington. Vandemar and Croup. King Galbatorix. Barry the evil mastermind (My Super Ex-Girlfriend). The sky’s the limit for sci-fi /fantasy or spy fiction villains and betrayers.

  Some villains in fiction are easily spotted, because they’re the snarling, hysterical kind who burst into Snidley Whiplash laughter (“Nyeah-ha-ha” or “Ha-ha-ha-ha!”) at the drop of a hat and croon over their plans to take over the world. (Boris Badenov, anyone?) Terry Pratchett even makes fun of that notion with the notes from the villain of Maskerade—the Opera Ghost (Ahahahahaha! Ahahahaha! Ahahahaha! BEWARE!!!!! Yrs sincerely The Opera Ghost112) and through comments made by Dark Lord Harry Dread and his posse, for whom villainy is a legitimate hazard of the hero’s quest, one that Cohen the Barbarian and the Silver Horde accept.

  Villains are what drive the hero(ine) to up and at ’em. The most memorable villains aren’t prone to maniacal laughter or spittle-spewing diatribes. They get quietly biz-ay in their scheduled attempts to take over the world. After all, they don’t believe they’re being villainous. They do what they do because they believe they’re right. It’s all a matter of perspective.

  In Discworld, Pratchett will sometimes throw a curve in regard to the villain. You might start off thinking that someone or something is evil (such as the dragon in Guards! Guards!) and wind up scratching your head at the end of the book. Much of the time, however, the villains are as plain as the nose on your face (unless you happen to be Voldemort in the movie version of Goblet of Fire, in which case you’re lacking a nose of sorts).

  Yes, the Discworld villains are a special breed—front-runners in what we call the Discworld School of Villainy—those who could teach other fictional villains a thing or two about villainy. Before we get into the enrollees, here’s a handy list of prerequisites for anyone interested in villainy as a profession. You will need:

  A good plan or at least a compelling one, since good has nothing to do with it

  A will to succeed no matter what the cost

  An ego the size of Texas, Alaska, or the continent of Asia

  A secret weapon

  A broken moral compass

  DISC-CLAIMERS:

  Plot spoilers ahead. Read at your own risk. Please note also that even though Jeremy Clockson helped the Auditors to destroy Discworld, he can’t be considered a villain, because he probably was not in his right mind at the time (more probably the left). Plus, since he is also Lobsang Ludd and helped save Discworld, one act cancels the other.

  THE VILLAINS

  Human Creeps

  There’s a whole slew of ’em: Deacon Vorbis the Omnian Exquisitor (Small Gods); Carcer (Ni
ght Watch); Reacher Gilt (Going Postal); Lupine Wonse, a.k.a. the Grand Supreme Master of the Elucidated Brethren of the Ebon Night (Guards! Guards!); Captain Findthee Swing of the Unmentionables (Night Watch); Duke Felmet and the Duchess (Wyrd Sisters; see also chapter 5 of this book); Jonathan Teatime (Hogfather); Mr. Salzella the Opera Ghost (Maskerade); and even the genteel Lord de Worde (The Truth), just to name a few. They’re like roaches or mice—they breed in just the right atmosphere. They live and die by their code of beliefs. Those who dare to stand in their way don’t stand for long.

  Gilt-edged. With an eyepatch and a cockatoo on the shoulder, Reacher Gilt may look like a stereotypical pirate à la Long John Silver (Treasure Island), but he’s never foolish or charmingly drunk like Captain Jack Sparrow in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. He’s more of a business pirate with the success of real-life early-nineteenth-century gentleman pirate Jean Lafitte; the panache of Captain James Hook (Peter Pan); and the ruthlessness of Gordon Gekko, the corporate raider in Wall Street, the 1987 movie starring Michael Douglas (“Greed is good”), or Captain Barbossa and the squid-faced Davy Jones in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.

  Con man Moist von Lipwig even admires the flimflam of Gilt, whose antics go beyond those of a con artist like Harold Hill in The Music Man. Gilt’s not small-time like the guys who hustle people in three-card monte games. He’s strictly a big-time gambler who fervently believes in “winner take all.” That’s the pirate’s way.

  The City Watch’s Most Wanted. In the City Watch series, you find plenty of villains. After all, the job of a City watchperson is to catch criminals. And what better place to find a criminal than a big city like Ankh-Morpork? This is where you find your psychotic killers, such as Carcer (Night Watch), and your assassins, such as Edward d’Eath and Dr. Cruces (Men at Arms), whose purpose goes beyond the assassins’ code.

  Some criminals, like Dr. Cruces, sound so reasonable, you almost want to invite them to dinner to look at their brochures. (“Yes, I understand now why you’re willing to kill anyone, including the Patrician, who stands in your way of putting the rightful king back on his throne. How can I donate to your cause?”) But others, like the torturous, calipers-carrying Captain Findthee Swing (he of the rat’s eyes), are more insidious, like Darth Sidious, the emperor in the Star Wars series of movies. Swing is like Toht, the Nazi torturer in Raiders of the Lost Ark, in that he tortures and maims because he loves to do it. And he hires people just like him to carry out some of his tasks—others bearing the uniform of authority. (For more on stooges and thugs, see “The Stooges and Thugs”.) As with Wolfgang, death is a far better choice, in Vimes’s opinion, than his continuing to walk the earth. You have to wonder what a good dose of Zoloft or even Thorazine would have accomplished in Swing’s life.

  Lupine Wonse is another villain with a get-rid-of-the-Patrician-and-get-the-rightful-king-on-the-throne agenda. He’s of the maniacal laughter caliber of criminal, driven to the edge of madness by the noble dragon he summons.

  Carcer, however, starts on the edge of insanity and keeps on going. He’s a Jack the Ripper brand of serial killer—another person Vimes would rather see dead than alive. Vimes barely restrains himself from making that happen.

  But among the most villainous in Ankh-Morpork—at least in Vimes’s opinion—are the politicians—the ones on the right side of the law; the ones he can’t prosecute, no matter how hard he tries. (Lords Rust, Downey, and Selachii—take note.) Many would agree.

  Twisted Terrors. Jonathan Teatime, or Teh-ah-tim-eh as he prefers, the twisted assassin of Hogfather, has the same sort of joy the Swing displays in his work. Even Lord Downey, the head of the assassins and a man with “no actual morals,”113 finds him repugnant. But that doesn’t stop Downey from suggesting him as a possible assassin to do away with the Hogfather.

  Deacon Vorbis, as we mentioned in chapter 4, exudes a kind of rational evil. He doesn’t get hysterical or foam at the mouth. Watch the master at work. Vorbis calmly places the tortoise god Om on his back in the hot sun so that Om will die. Later, he hands someone a harpoon to kill a porpoise. Now that’s evil. But to Brutha, the hapless devotee of Om, Vorbis is villainous because he has no real belief in Om. That is Vorbis’s downfall.

  And what of Lord de Worde in The Truth? What a guy. Like Dr. Cruces and other villains, he plots to replace Vetinari. He belongs to the same Icy Fathers League as Lycaelon Tavadon, in Mercedes Lackey’s Obsidian Trilogy, or Darth Vader—someone who could betray his son at the drop of a hat and not consider anything wrong with that. Worde also is just as prone to look down on the “lesser races” as is Tavadon. Don’t look for any speeches from either of them on Father’s or Friendship Day.

  Nonhuman or Undead Creeps

  The Auditors of the Universe. They may be just gray cloaks (until they take on human flesh, as they do in Thief of Time), but the Auditors are a plague on humanity. Orderliness in the universe is their passion. Unfortunately, humans are too disorderly, in their opinion. And Death is a continual nuisance to them.

  The Auditors are petty bureaucrats, with their penchant for rules and having things done their way. (Perhaps you’re thinking of the DMV or some other civic office right now.) They are the “rat king” (see next section) of the universe with their collective mind-speak and avoidance of the first person. Think Big Brother (1984 by George Orwell) is bad? They watch the human drama, not unlike the black-robed Auditor in Samuel Beckett’s play Not I. They’re so lacking in imagination that the only names they can come up with after taking on flesh are those of colors (Mr. White, Mr. Orange).

  When they’re not trying to replace Death (Reaper Man), destroy Discworld (Thief of Time), or arrange for the elimination of the Hogfather and other personifications (Hogfather), we’re not exactly sure what the Auditors do. Sweep stars, maybe? Tidy drawers?

  The Undead and Fairyland Creeps. Angua’s brother, Wolfgang (The Fifth Elephant), is in good company with the de Magpyr family of vampires (Carpe Jugulum), the Dragon King of Arms (an old vampire in Feet of Clay), the Fairy Queen (The Wee Free Men; Lords and Ladies), and Mr. Slant, the zombie lawyer. In most cases, they’re respectable but villainous. They’re the kind who send others to do their dirty work. (Well, Wolfgang does his own dirty work.)

  Slant works for such human creeps as Reacher Gilt, Lord de Worde, and Lord Downey. You can usually find him weaseling people out of trouble or hiring such thugs as Mr. Pin and Mr. Tulip (see “The Stooges and Thugs,” page 172). He’s like a walking episode of Law and Order (insert the subtitle of your favorite spinoff), where the criminals sometimes go scot-free.

  While Angua’s von Uberwald clan (the baron and baroness) enjoys the power and prestige of the werewolf in Uberwald, Wolfgang thinks only of being at the top of the food chain. Even a vampire like Lady Margolotta—who has some Godfather tendencies, in Vimes’s estimation—considers him to be a monster. Ironic, isn’t it? He’s like the worst of the Bond villains—completely mental.

  Back in Ankh-Morpork, the Dragon King of Arms is not only a snob, but a meddler in politics. In Feet of Clay, he’s content to work in the shadows, putting the person of his choice on the throne of Ankh-Morpork, in the vein of Dr. Cruces and the guild leaders. He has an ancient malevolence on par with many of the vampires in Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles and the Volturi in Stephenie Meyer’s New Moon. That’s why he’s considered the real villain, rather than the murdering golem. After all, the golem is an ignorant pawn made by other golems. But the Dragon King of Arms just screams “megalomaniac.” And anyone who tries to kill Vimes is just wrong in our book. (For more on the Dragon King of Arms, read chapter 15.)

  The Fairy Queen, like other treacherous queens in literature, especially the queen in the Snow White fairy tale and the Evil Queen of The 10th Kingdom, wants a world to control—the default wish list of the villain as well as that of the Brain of Pinky and the Brain—and has many elves to do her bidding. She’s beautiful. She’s deadly. She’s undoubtedly insane. But she’s pitiable, as Tif
fany Aching discovers in The Wee Free Men. After all, isn’t she just wookin’ pa nub?

  Creepy Animals and Insects. Many fantasy series (Anne McCaffrey’s Pern series, Christopher Paolini’s Inheritance series, a number of series by Mercedes Lackey) feature the bond between a human and a dragon. For the most part, this is a good thing. Not so in Discworld. The summoned noble dragon of Guards! Guards! acts the part of the wily, but vicious dragon—more on the Smaug end of the spectrum than on the lovable Saphira (Eragon), Ancaladar (To Light a Candle), or Ruth (The White Dragon) end. After all, quite a few deaths take place at her “hands” and she has a hoard like Smaug. Also, she has a mental link with Wonse and twists his strings like a maniacal puppet master. But then there’s the matter of her culinary needs—the usual diet of the marauding dragons. Hint: Lady Sybil Ramkin fits the profile. (In contrast, Ancaladar eats cattle.) Yet all of that changes when the dragon meets little Errol. She wanders off like a lovesick puppy—like the dragon in the first Shrek.

  And let us not forget Spider, the rat king of the rat catchers in Pratchett’s Carnegie Medal-winning book, The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents. Spider is really eight rats operating with one mind, thanks to their tails being tied together. Humans are the target of Spider’s wrath. (We get no respect.)