49 results 1-20
Terry Pratchett (Author) , Laura Ellen Andersen (Illustrator) , Laura Ellen Andersen (Cover/Jacket Illustrator)
Witches are odd.
That much is clear to Tiffany. But she likes them . . . in an odd sort of way. Just as she likes Roland . . . in a friend sort of way (which most certainly isn’t odd).
But Tiffany hasn’t really got time to think about Roland, because she has accidentally danced with Winter himself – the Wintersmith.
And now the Wintersmith has a bit of a crush on Tiffany.
According to her friend Daft Wullie, if Tiffany kisses the Wintersmith (an awful thought), her nose turns blue and fall off. According to the witches, if she doesn’t shake off her admirer, there will never be another springtime . . .
Published: 25 May 2017
'Whoever said you can't fool an honest man wasn't one'
The Royal Bank is facing a crisis, and it’s time for a change of management. Who would not to wish for that job?
It's a job for life. But, as former con-man Moist von Lipwig is learning, the life is not necessarily for long.
The Chief Cashier is almost certainly a vampire. There's something nameless in the cellar (and the cellar itself is pretty nameless), it turns out that the Royal Mint runs at a loss, and people actually want to know where the money’s gone. A 300 year old wizard is after his girlfriend, he's about to be exposed as a fraud, but the Assassins Guild might get him first. In fact lot of people want him dead
Oh. And every day he has to take the Chairman for walkies.
Everywhere he looks he's making enemies.
What he should be doing is . . . Making Money!
In this and indeed other lives there are givers and takers. It's safe to say that vampires are very much in the latter camp. They don’t have much time for the givers of this world – except perhaps mealtimes – and even less for priests.
Mightily Oats has not picked a good time to be a priest.
Lancre’s newest residents are a thoroughly modern, sophisticated vampire family. They've got style and fancy waistcoats. They're out of the casket and want a bite of the future. But they haven’t met the neighbours yet: between them and Lancre stand Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg. And Magrat, who is trying to combine witchcraft and nappies. And young Agnes, although she is really in two minds about everything.
Mightily Oats knows he has a prayer, but he wishes he had an axe.
Eric is the Discworld's only demonology hacker. Pity he's not very good at it.
All he wants is his three wishes granted.Nothing fancy - to be immortal, rule the world, have the most beautiful woman in the world fall madly in love with him, the usual stuff.
But instead of a tractable demon, he calls up Rincewind, probably the most incompetent wizard in the universe, and the extremely intractable and hostile form of travel accessory known as the Luggage.
With them on his side, Eric's in for a ride through space and time that is bound to make him wish (quite fervently) again - this time that he'd never been born.
Susan had never hung up a stocking . She'd never put a tooth under her pillow in the serious expectation that a dentally inclined fairy would turn up. It wasn't that her parents didn't believe in such things. They didn't need to believe in them. They know they existed. They just wished they didn't.
It’s the night before Hogswatch. And it’s too quiet.
Where is the big jolly fat man? There are those who believe and those who don't, but either way it’s not right to find Death creeping down chimneys and trying to say Ho Ho Ho. Superstition makes things work in Discworld, and undermining it can have Consequences, particularly on the last night of the year when the time is turning. Susan the gothic governess has got to sort everything out by morning, otherwise there won't be a morning. Ever again...
The 20th Discworld novel is a festive feast of darkness and Death (but with jolly robins and tinsel too). As they say: 'You'd better watch out...'
EVERY LAND NEEDS ITS OWN WITCH . . .
Up on the Wold, there's a monster in the river and a headless horseman in the drive. And now Granny Aching has gone, there's only young Tiffany Aching left to guard the boundaries. To stop . . . things getting through.
It's her land. Her duty.
But it's amazing how useful a horde of unruly pictsies can be - as long as they are pointed in the right direction and can stop fighting each other first . . .
FROM MASTER STORYTELLER TERRY PRATCHETT
'A foot on the neck is nine points of the law'
There are many who say that the art of diplomacy is an intricate and complex dance. There are others who maintain that it's merely a matter of who carries the biggest stick. The oldest and most inscrutable (not to mention heavily fortified) empire on the Discworld is in turmoil, brought about by the revolutionary treatise What I did on My Holidays. Workers are uniting, with nothing to lose but their water buffaloes; warlords are struggling for power - and what the nation wants, to avoid terrible doom for everyone, is a wizard. Rincewind is not the Disc’s premier wizard – in fact, he can’t even spell ‘wizard’ – but no-one specified whether competence was an issue. And they do have a very big stick…
Mighty Battles! Revolution! Death! War! (And his sons Terror and Panic and daughter Clancy).
THE NUMBER ONE BESTSELLER
‘Everybody wanted the railway close, oh yes please, but not so close that they could hear it or smell it’
It’s only in dictatorships that the trains run on time. Everywhere else, signal failures, leaves on the line, the wrong type of snow and the wrong type of sunlight make departure and arrival times just a nice, idealistic theory. So when it becomes a matter of life and death to get a train somewhere on time, the odds don’t look good – especially if that somewhere is a completely new destination. The only thing that upsets people more than railway delays, after all, is building more railway. Past their back gardens. And some of those people will go to extremes to stop locomotion in its tracks…
‘British fiction’s most brilliant satire on contemporary life’
‘The most serious of comedies, the most relevant and real of fantasies…at once hilariously cynical and idealistically practical’
It's not a game any more . . .
Every town on Discworld knows the stories about rats and pipers, and Maurice - a streetwise tomcat - leads a band of educated ratty friends (and a stupid kid) on a nice little earner. Piper plus rats equals lots and lots of money.
Until they run across someone playing a different tune.
Now he and his rats must learn a new concept: evil . . .
Tiffany Aching put one foot wrong, made one little mistake . . .
And now the spirit of winter is in love with her. He gives her roses and icebergs, says it with avalanches and showers her with snowflakes - which is tough when you're 13, but also just a little bit . . . cool.
And just because the Wintersmith wants to marry you is no excuse for neglecting your chores. So Tiffany must look after Miss Treason, who's 113 and has far too many eyes, learn the secret of Boffo, catch Horace the cheese, stop the gods from seeing her in the bath -
Oh, yes, and be helped by the Nac Mac Feegles - whether she wants it or not.
But if Tiffany doesn't work it all out, there will never be another springtime . . .
Published: 4 Jun 2009
Something is coming after Tiffany . . .
Tiffany Aching is ready to begin her apprenticeship in magic. She expects spells and magic – not chores and ill-tempered goats! Surely there must be more to witchcraft than this!
What Tiffany doesn't know is that an insidious, disembodied creature is pursuing her. This time, neither Mistress Weatherwax (the greatest witch in the world) nor the fierce, six-inch-high Wee Free Men can protect her. In the end, it will take all of Tiffany's inner strength to save herself . . . if it can be done at all.
THE SECOND BOOK IN THE TIFFANY ACHING SEQUENCE
'Anything you do in the past changes the future. The tiniest little actions have huge consequences. You might tread on an ant now and it might entirely prevent someone from being born in the future.'
There's nothing like the issue of evolution to get under the skin of academics. Even if their field of expertise is magic rather than biology. With the best and most interfering minds of Unseen University somehow left in charge at a critical evolutionary turning point, the Discworld’s last continent needs a saviour…
Who is this hero striding across the red desert? Sheep shearer, beer drinker, bush ranger, and someone who'll even eat a Meat Pie Floater when he's sober.
In fact, it's Rincewind, a wizard so inept he can't even spell wizard. He's the only hero left.
Still...no worries, eh?
The fairies are back – but this time they don’t just want your teeth…
It's Midsummer Night - no time for dreaming. Because sometimes, when there's more than one reality at play, too much dreaming can make the walls between them come tumbling down. Unfortunately there's usually a damned good reason for there being walls between them in the first place - to keep things out. Things who want to make mischief and play havoc with the natural order.
Granny Weatherwax and her tiny coven are up against real elves. And even in a world of dwarfs, wizards, trolls, Morris dancers and the odd orang-utan, this is going to cause real trouble. With lots of hey-nonny-nonny and blood all over the place.
The post was an old thing, of course, but it was so old that it had magically become new again.
Moist von Lipwig is a con artist and a fraud and a man faced with a life choice: be hanged, or put Ankh-Morpork's ailing postal service back on its feet.
It’s a tough decision.
The post is a creaking old institution, overshadowed by new technology. But there are people who still believe in it, and Moist must become one of them if he's going to see that the mail gets though, come rain, hail, sleet, dogs, the Post Office Workers Friendly and Benevolent Society, the evil chairman of the Grand Trunk Semaphore Company, and a midnight killer.
Getting a date with Adora Bell Dearheart would be nice, too.
Perhaps there's a shot at redemption in the mad world of the mail, waiting for a man who's prepared to push the envelope...
'Trousers. That's the secret...Put on trousers and the world changes. We walk different. We act different. I see these girls and I think: idiots! Get yourself some trousers!'
Women belong in the kitchen - everyone knows that. Not in jobs, pubs or indeed trousers, and certainly not on the front line. Polly Perks has to become a boy in a hurry if she wants to find her brother in the army. Cutting off her hair and wearing the trousers is easy. Learning to fart and belch in public and walk like an ape takes more time. And there’s a war on. There's always a war on. Polly and her fellow raw recruits are suddenly in the thick of it.
All they have on their side is the most artful sergeant in the army and a vampire with a lust for coffee. Well . . . they have the Secret. And it’s time to make a stand.
All this books and stuff, that isn't what it should all be about. What we need is real wizardry.
There was an eighth son of an eighth son. He was, quite naturally, a wizard. And there it should have ended. However (for reasons we'd better not go into), he had seven sons. And then he had an eighth son... a wizard squared...a source of magic...a Sourcerer.
Unseen University has finally got what it wished for: the most powerful wizard on the disc. Which, unfortunately, could mean that the death of all wizardry is at hand. And that the world is going to end, depending on whom you listen to. Unless of course one inept wizard can take the University's most precious artefact, the very embodiment of magic itself, and deliver it halfway across the disc to safety...
'They can tak' oour lives but they cannae tak' oour trousers!'
When the Queen of Fairyland steals away Tiffany Aching's young brother, Tiffany has to do something. Helped by the Nac Mac Feegle - the thievin', fightin', stealin' pictsies known as the Wee Free Men - she steps through into another world...
A terrific adventure set on the Discworld, filled with Terry Pratchett's inimitable wity, style and invention - and this new gift edition includes extra new material to give real added value for fans.
Published: 2 Oct 2008
'Neighbours... hah. People'd live for ages side by side, nodding at one another amicably on their way to work, and then some trivial thing would happen and someone would be having a garden fork removed from their ear.'
And when the neighbours in question are the proud empires of Klatch and Ankh-Morpork, those are going to be some pretty large garden tools indeed. Of course, no-one would dream of starting a war without a perfectly good reason…such as a 'strategic' piece of old rock in the middle of nowhere. It is after all every citizen's right to bear arms to defend what they consider to be their own. Even if it isn't. And even if they don’t have much in the way of actual weaponry. As two armies march, Commander Vimes of Ankh-Morpork City Watch faces unpleasant foes who are out to get him... and that's just the people on his side. The enemy might be even worse.
Discworld goes to war, with armies of sardines, warriors, fishermen, squid and at least one very camp follower.
They say that diplomacy is a gentle art. That mastering it is a lifetime's work. But you do need a certain inclination in that direction. It's not something you can just pick up on the job.
A few days ago Sam Vimes was a copper – an important copper, true – chief of police – but still, at his core, a policeman. But today he is an ambassador - to the mysterious, fat-rich country of Uberwald. Today, Sam Vimes is also a man on the run.
He has nothing but his native wit and the gloomy trousers of Uncle Vanya (don't ask). It's snowing. It's freezing. And if he can't make it through the forest to civilization there's going to be a terrible war.
There are monsters on his trail. They're bright. They're fast. They're werewolves - and they're catching up.
'What's so hard about pulling a sword out of a stone? The real work's already been done. You ought to make yourself useful and find the man who put the sword in the stone in the first place.'
The City Watch needs MEN! But what it's got includes Corporal Carrot (technically a dwarf), Lance-constable Cuddy (really a dwarf), Lance-constable Detritus (a troll), Lance-constable Angua (a woman... most of the time) and Corporal Nobbs (disqualified from the human race for shoving).
And they need all the help they can get, because someone in Ankh-Morpork has been getting dangerous ideas - about crowns and legendary swords, and destiny. And the problem with destiny is, of course, that she is not always careful where she points her finger. One minute you might be minding your own business on a normal if not spectacular career path, the next you might be in the frame for the big job, like saving the world...