Leroy Neiman Chicago Board of Trade

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bothering how things worked. It was how people worked that intrigued him.
Further along the row Soll leaned across to his uncle and dropped a small coil of film in his lap.
‘This belongs to you,’ he said sweetly.
‘What is it?’ said Dibbler.
‘Well I thought I’d have a quick look at the click before it got shown‑‘
‘You diddidn’t trust me? That wounds me, Soll. I’m really wounded. Whatever happened to integrity round here?’
‘I think you probably sold it to someone, Uncle.’
‘I’m really hurt,’ said Dibbler.
‘But you didn’t keep your promise, Uncle.’
‘That’s got nothing to do with it. That’s just business?’ said Dibbler.‘And what did I find, in the middle of the burning city scene, but five minutes showing nothing but a plate of spare ribs in Harga’s Special Peanut Sauce. I know why, of course. I just want to know why this.’Dibbler grinned guiltily. ‘The way I see it,’ he said, ‘if one little quick picture can make people want to go and buy things, just think what five minutes’ worth could do.’Soll stared at him. .‘I’m really hurt by this,’ said Dibbler. ‘You didn’t trust me. Your own uncle. After I gave you my solemn promise not to try anything again, you

Pino LONG STEMMED LOVELIES

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That’s the fleabag that’s been hanging around,’ he said. ‘It gives me the creeps.’
‘Heave something at it,’ suggested the other man.
The trainer reached down and picked up a stone. When he stood up again the alley was empty. Drunk or sober, Gaspode had perfect reflexes in certain circumstances.
‘See?’ the other side of the fence said, ‘I could send you a bone with a file in it, only you’d eat it.’
Laddie perked up.
‘Good boy Laddie! Good boy Gaspode!’
‘Ssh! Ssh! At least they ort to let you speak to a lawyer,’ said Gaspode. ‘Chaining someone up’s against human rights.’ trainer said, glaring at the shadows. ‘It’s like it’s some kind of mind reader.’ ‘It’s just a mutt,’ said his companion. ‘Don’t worry about it. Come on, get the leash on this one and let’s get him back before Mr Dibbler finds out.’ Laddie followed them obediently back to Century of the Fruitbat, and allowed himself to be chained up to his kennel. Possibly he didn’t like the idea, but it was hard to be sure in the network of duties, obligations and vague emotional shadows that made up what, for want of a better word, had to be called his mind. He pulled experimentally on the chain once or twice, and then lay down, awaiting developments. After a while a small hoarse voice on the

William Bouguereau Youth

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, Vic.’
‘Places, everyone,’ said Dibbler. ‘We’ll - what is it, Rock?’
‘Er, I was just wondering, Mr Dibbler . . . what is my motivation for this scene?’
‘Motivation?’
‘Yes. And Victor awoke. It was like rising slowly out of a pink cloud, or a magnificent dream which, try as you might, drains out of your mind as the daylight shuffles in, leaving a terrible sense of loss; nothing, you know instinctively, nothing you’re going to experience for the rest of the day is going to be one half as good as that dream.
He blinked. The images faded away. He was aware of
an ache in his muscles, as if he’d recently been really exerting himself.
‘What happened?’ he mumbled. Er. I got to know, see,’ said Rock. ‘How about: I’ll fire you if you don’t do it properly?’ Rock grinned. ‘Right you are, Mr Dibbler,’ he said. ‘OK,’ said Dibbler. ‘Everyone ready . . . turn ‘em!’ Evil-minded Son of a Bitch turned awkwardly, legs flailing at odd camel angles, and then lumbered into a complicated trot. The handle turned . . . The air glittered.

Thomas Kinkade Cobblestone Brooke

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Dibbler, behind all this is a creative artist–’
‘–how did you know my name was–’
‘–a creative is really more in–’
‘Right! Right!’ said Dibbler. ‘Tom, I accept!’
Silverfish’s eyes were glassy.
‘Er,’ he said.
Dibbler punched him playfully on the shoulder. ‘Just you show me the paperwork,’ he said, ‘and then you can get right out there and do whatever it is you do so well.’ artist, I thought, who should be free to pursue his muse instead of being- burdened with all the fussy details of management, am I right?’ ‘Well . . . it’s true that all this paperwork is a bit–’ ‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Dibbler, ‘and I said, Dibbler, you should go there right now and offer him your services. You know. Administrate. Take the load off his shoulders. Let him get on with what he does best, am I right? Tom?’ ‘I, I, I, yes, of course, it’s true that my forte

Tamara de Lempicka Adam and Eve

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squared their shoulders, stuck out their chins, and marched away. A moment later they turned about smartly and, exchanging the merest flicker of an embarrassed grin, headed back to their own sides.

[NextPage]
BOOK IV

The Bookout below him.
He hadn't expected chilly, damp mists.
It is now known to science that there are many more dimensions than the classical four. Scientists say that these don't normally impinge on the world because the extra dimensions are very small and curve in on themselves, and that since reality is fractal most of it is tucked inside itself. This means either that the universe is more full of wonders than we can hope to understand or, more probably, that scientists make things up as they go along.
But the multiverse is full of little dimensionettes, playstreets of creation where creatures of the imagination of 101 Things A Boy Can Do Teppic had expected- -what? Possibly the splat of flesh hitting rock. Possibly, although this was on the very edge of expectation, the sight of the Old Kingdom spread

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years' time and him in calico, I'd like to know. He'd lurch halfway down the corridor, maybe throttle one of them, I'll grant you, but then he's coming undone, right? The elbows'll be out in no time, I'll never live it down.'
'But you'll be dead, master!'
'Dead? he was looking forward to, but at least it would get everyone's mind off him marrying relatives. He reached down in what he hoped was a kingly fashion to stroke one of the palace cats. This also was not a good move. The creature sniffed it, went cross-eyed with the effort of thought, and then bit his fingers.
'Cats are sacred,' said Dios, shocked at the words Teppic uttered.
'Long-legged cats with silver fur and disdainful expressions are, maybe,' said Teppic, nursing his handWhat's that got to do with it?' Dil riffled through the samples. 'No, it'll be the hessian. Got plenty of give in it, hessian. Good traction, too. He'll really be able to lurch up speed in the passages, if he ever needs to.' The king sighed. He'd have preferred something lightweight in taffeta. 'And go and shut the door,' Dil added. 'It's getting breezy in here.' 'And now it's time,' said the high priest, 'for us to see our late father.' He allowed himself a quiet smile. 'I am sure he is looking forward to it,' he added. Teppic considered this. It wasn't something

Fabian Perez Untitled II

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Tomjon.
The mayor hesitated. 'Pardon?' he said.
'I won't accept it.'
The mayor hesitated again. His lips moved and his eyes glazed slightly. He felt that he had got lost somewhere, and decided it would be best to start again.
'A proper coronation will take—' he ventured.
'It won't,' only kingdom I know how to rule has got curtains in front of it. I'm sorry.'
Dead silence greeted this. They did not appear to have been the right words.
'Another problem,' said Hwel conversationally, 'is that you don't actually have a choice. You are the king, you see. It's a job you are lined up for when you're born.'
'I'd be no good at it!'said Tomjon. 'I will not be king.'The mayor was mouthing like a carp.'Hwel?' said Tomjon desperately. 'You're good with words.'The problem we've got here,' said the dwarf, 'is that "no" is apparently not among the options when you are offered a crown. I think he could cope with "maybe".'Tomjon stood up, and grabbed the crown. He held it above his head like a tambourine.'Listen to me, all of you,' he said. 'I thank you for your offer, it's a great honour. But I can't accept it. I've worn more crowns than you can count, and the

Jean Beraud A Game of Billiards

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Tragedy in Eight Five Six Three Nine Acts.
Characters: Felmet, A Good King.
Verence, A Bad King.
Wethewacs, Ane Evil Witch
Hogg, Ane Likewise Evil Witch
, knowing that none of this really existed or ever would exist and all he really had was a few square yards of planking, some canvas and some paint on which to trap the beckoning images that invaded his head.
Only in our dreams are we free. The rest of the time we need wages.Magerat, Ane Sirene . . . Tomjon flicked over the page. Scene: A Drawing Room Ship at See Street in Pseudopolis Blasted Moor. Enter Three Witches . . . The boy read for a while and then turned to the last page. Gentles, leave us dance and sing, and wish good health unto the king (Exeunt all, singing falala, etc. Shower of rose petals. Ringing of bells. Gods descend from heaven, demons rise from hell, much ado with turntable, etc.) The End. Hwel snored.In his dreams gods rose and fell, ships moved with cunning and art across canvas oceans, pictures jumped and ran together and became flickering images; men flew on wires, flew without wires, great ships of illusion fought against one another in imaginary skies, seas opened, ladies were sawn in half, a thousand special effects men giggled and gibbered. Through it all he ran with his arms open in desperation

Vincent van Gogh The Bedroom at Arles

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Behind her, very gently, the door was breaking into leaf.
Granny stared at it for a few seconds, and then met Magrat's terrified gaze.
'Run!' she yelled.
They raw life pounding through them.
'If it had been me,' said Granny Weatherwax, as part of the ceiling caved in further along the passage, 'I wouldn't have done it like that. Not that I'm objecting, mind you,' she said, as Magrat opened her mouth. 'It's a reasonable job. I think you might have overdone it a bit, that's all.'
'Excuse me,' said the Fool.grabbed the Fool and scurried into the shelter of a convenient buttress.The door gave a warning creak. Several of its planks twisted in vegetable agony and there was a shower of rock splinters when nails were expelled like thorns from a wound, ricocheting off the stonework. The Fool ducked as part of the lock whirred over his head and smashed into the opposite wall.The lower parts of the planks extended questing white roots, which slithered across the damp stone to the nearest crack and began to auger in. Knotholes bulged, burst and thrust out branches which hit the stones of the doorway and tumbled them aside. And all the time there was a low groan, the sound of the cells of the wood trying to contain the surge of

Salvador Dali Dali at the Age of Six

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sir—' said the Fool nervously, and gave his hated mandolin a quick strum.
The duke sat down on the throne.
'I am already extremely married,' he said. 'Advise me, my Fool.'
'I'faith, nuncle—' said the Fool.
'Nor am I thy nuncle. I feel sure I would have remembered,' said Lord Felmet, leaning down until the prow of his nose was a few inches from the Fool's stricken face. 'If you preface your next remark with nuncle, i'faith or marry, it will go hard with you.'
The Fool moved his lips silently, and then said, 'How do you feel about Prithee?'
The duke 'Family tradition, sir,' said the Fool. 'Prithee, I mean.'
The duke smiled again, and the Fool was too worried to notice how many teeth it contained.
'You come from these parts, don't you?' said the duke.
'Ma – Yes, sir.'knew when to allow some slack. 'Prithee I can live with,' he said. 'So can you. But no capering.' He grinned encouragingly. 'How long have you been a Fool, boy?''Prithee, sirrah—''The sirrah,' said the duke, holding up a hand, 'on the whole, I think not.''Prithee, sirra – sir,' said the Fool, and swallowed nervously. 'All my life, sir. Seventeen years under the bladder, man and boy. And my father before me. And my nuncle at the same time as him. And my grandad before them. And his-''Your whole family have been Fools?'
'So you would know all about the native beliefs and so on?'
'I suppose so, sir. Prithee.'

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had been like that all evening. The eggs were bright and shiny, the beans glistened like rubies, and the chips were the crisp golden brown of sunburned bodies on expensive beaches. Harga's last cook had turned out chips like little paper bags full of pus.
Harga looked RIGHT.
Harga decided not to argue.
'Well, you're doing a damn fine job in there, boy,' he said.
WHAT is IT CALLED WHEN YOU FEEL WARM AND CONTENT AND WISH THINGS WOULD STAY THAT WAY?
'I guess you'd call it happiness,' said Harga.around the steamy cafe. No-one was watching him. He was going to get to the bottom of this. He rapped on the hatch again.'Alligator sandwich,' he said. 'And make it sna —'The hatch shot up. After a few seconds to pluck up enough courage, Harga peered under the top slice of the long sarny in front of him. He wasn't saying that it was alligator, and he wasn't saying it wasn't. He knuckled the hatch again.'Okay,' he said, I'm not complaining, I just want to know how you did it so fast.'TIME IS NOT IMPORTANT.'You say?'

Paul Gauguin When Will You Marry

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She looked around slowly and met the impertinent gaze of the doorknocker. It waggled its metal eyebrows at her and spoke indistinctly through its wrought-iron ring.
'I am Princess word?'
The knocker perceptibly sneered. 'Haff you been taught nothing, miss?'
She drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't really worth the effort. She felt she'd had a trying day too. Her father had personally executed a hundred enemies in battle. She should be able to manage a doorknocker.
'I have been educated,' she informed it with icy precision, 'by some of the finest scholars in the land.'
The doorknocker did not appear to be impressed.Keli, heir to the throne of Sto Lat,' she said haughtily, holding down the lid on her terror. 'And I don't talk to door furniture.''Fwell, I'm just a doorknocker and I can talk to fwhoever I please,' said the gargoyle pleasantly. 'And I can ftell you the fmaster iff having a trying day and duff fnot fwant to be disturbed. But you could ftry to use the magic word,' it added. 'Coming from an attractiff fwoman it works nine times out of eight.''Magic word? What's the magic

Claude Monet Venice Twilight

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phases of the moon section, showing Dethe thee Great Levyller Comes To Alle Menne. He'd stared at it hundreds of times when learning his letters. It wouldn't have been half so impressive if it had been generally known that the flame-breathing horse the spectre rode was called Binky.
'I would have thought something like Fang or Sabre or Ebony,' Albert continued, 'but the master will have his little fancies, you know. Looking forward to it, are you?'
'I think soeverything that needed to be said a long time ago and were simply content, now, to get on with their jobs with the minimum of inconvenience all round. To Mort it was rather like going for a walk after a really bad thunderstorm – everything was quite fresh, nothing was particularly unpleasant, but there was the sense of vast energies just expended.,' said Mort uncertainly. 'I've never seen Death actually at work.''Not many have,' said Albert. 'Not twice, at any rate.'Mort took a deep breath.'About this daughter of his —' he began.AH. GOOD EVENING, ALBERT, BOY.'Mort,' said Mort automatically.Death strode into the stable, stooping a little to clear the ceiling. Albert nodded, not in any subservient way, Mort noticed, but simply out of form. Mort had met one or two servants, on the rare occasions he'd been taken into town, and Albert wasn't like any of them. He seemed to act as though the house really belonged to him and its owner was just a passing guest, something to be tolerated like peeling paintwork or spiders in the lavatory. Death put up with it too, as though he and Albert had said

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said Cutangle, brightening up. "Do you really think so?"
Granny nodded.
Cutangle patted at various bits of his robe until he located a tarry bag of tobacco and a roll of paper. His hands shook as he fumbled a few shreds of second-hand pipeweed into a . He ran the wretched thing across his tongue, and barely moistened it. Then a dim remembrance of propriety welled up in the back of his mind.
"Um," he There was a pause while they contemplated what might come back, inhabiting living bodies, acting almost like the original inhabitants.
"It's probably my fault -"they said in unison, and stopped in astonishment. said, "do you mind if I smoke?" Granny shrugged. Cutangle struck a match on the wall and tried desperately to navigate the flame and the cigarette into approximately the same position. Granny gently took the match from his trembling hand and lit it for him. Cutangle sucked on the tobacco, had a ritual cough and settled back, the glowing end of the rollup the only light in the dim corridor. "They've gone Wandering," said Granny at last. "I know," said Cutangle. "Your wizards won't be able to get them back." "I know that, too." "They might get something back, though." "I wish you hadn't said that."

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Occasionally some sort of lighting would sparkle briefly inside the gently turning funnel of motes.
Granny blinked and looked up. The room seemed very dark.
"Odd sort of weather," she said, because she couldn't really think of anything better. Even with her eyes shut the glittering motes still danced across her vision.
"I don't think it's weather," said Hilta. "I don't actually think people can see it, but the crystal shows it. I think it's magic, condensing out of the air."
"Into she knew more about how wizards worked their magic. She had a vision of Esk filling up with magic, until every tissue and pore was bloated with the stuff. Then it would start leaking - slowly at first, arcing to ground in little bursts, but then building up to a great discharge of occult potentiality. It could do all kinds of damage.
"Drat," she said. "I never did like that staff."the staff?" "Yes. That's what a wizard's staff does. It sort of distils magic." Granny risked another glance at the crystal. "Into Esk," she said, carefully. "Yes." "There looks like quite a lot of it." "Yes." Not for the first time, Granny wished

Pino remember when

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Granny sighed. There was only one way to be sure, and she was getting rather old for this sort of thing.
She picked up the candle and went out through the scullery into the lean-to that housed her goats. They watched one day would leave her good for nothing in the morning, and with a terrible desire to eat mice. Of course, when she was younger she thought nothing of it, running with the stags, hunting with the foxes, learning the strange dark ways of the moles, hardly spending a night in her own body. But it was getting harder now, especially coming back. Maybe the time would come when she couldn't get back, her without fear, each sitting in its pen like a furry blob, three mouths working rhythmically on the day's hay. The air smelled warm and slightly flatulent. Up in the rafters was a small owl, one of a number of creatures who found that living with Granny was worth the occasional inconvenience. It came to her hand at a word, and she stroked its bullet head thoughtfully as she looked for somewhere comfortable to lie. A pile of hay it would have to be. She blew out the candle and lay back, with the owl perched on her finger. The goats chewed, burped and swallowed their way through their cozy night. They made the only sound in the building. Granny's body stilled. The owl felt her enter its mind, and graciously made room. Granny knew she would regret this, Borrowing twice in

Pino Soft Light

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'So we ought to leave them and find our horses and move on,' said Rincewind.
'That's a bit of a mean trick, isn't it?'
'They'll be all right,' said Rincewind heartily. 'The point is, would you feel happy in the company of someone who would attack the Luggage with his bare hands?'
'That Twoflower thought. 'Couldn't somebody tell Great A'Tuin to avoid it?' he said. 'Sort of go around it?'
'That sort of thing has been tried before,' said Rincewind. Wizards tried to tune in to Great A'Tuin's mind.'
'It didn't work?'
'Oh, it worked all right,' said Rincewind. 'Only . . .'
Only there had been certain unforeseen risks in reading a mind as great as the World Turtle's, he explained. The wizards had trained up on tortoises and giant sea turtles first, to get the hang is a point,' said Twoflower.'They'll probably be better off without us anyway.''Are you sure?''said Rincewind. They found the horses wandering aimlessly in the scrub, breakfasted on badly-dried horse jerky, and set off in what Rincewind believed was the right direction. A few minutes later the Luggage emerged from the bushes and followed them.The sun rose higher in the sky, but still failed to blot out the light of the star.'It's got bigger overnight,' said Twoflower. 'Why isn't anybody doing something?''Such as what?'

George Inness Pond at Milton on the Hudson

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Trymon glared at him.
'The other Orders are searching all the lands between here and the Hub,' he continued, counting the points on his fingers, 'because it seems unreasonable that a man can fly into a cloud and not come out . . .'
'Unless it was stuffed with rocks,' said the astrologer, in a wretched and, as it turned out, entirely unsuccessful attempt to lighten the mood.
'But come down he must – somewhere. Where? we ask ourselves.'
'Where?' said the astrologer loyally.
'And immediately a course of action suggests itself to us.'
'Ah,' said .
'Right! And therefore all we need do is cast Rincewind's precise horoscope and we will know exactly where he is!'
The astrologer grinned like a man who, having tap-danced on quicksand, feels the press of solid rock under his feet.
'I shall need to know his precise place and time of birth,' he said.the astrologer, running in an attempt to keep up as the wizard stalked across The Two Fat Cousins.'And that course is . . .?'The astrologer looked up into two eyes as grey and bland as steel.'Um. We stop looking?' he ventured.'Precisely! We use the gifts the Creator has given us, to whit, we look down and what is it we see?'The astrologer groaned inwardly. He looked down.'Tiles?' he hazarded.'Tiles, yes, which together make up the . . .?' Trymon looked expectant.'Zodiac?' ventured the astrologer, a desperate man

Albert Bierstadt the oregon trail

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greasy feel that indicated a powerful magical discharge. The flung bottle slowed and then stopped in mid-air, rotating gently.
At the same time an invisible force picked Rincewind up and hurled him down the length of the room, pinning him awkwardly halfway up the far wall with no breath left in his body. He hung there with his mouth open in rage and astonishment.
Garhartra lowered his hand and brushed it slowly on his robe.
"I didn't !" wailed Twoflower.
"It's not really worth it, is it? What with you being sacrificed in the morning," said Garhartra. "It's hardly worth the bother of knowing, really. Sleep well. Comparatively well, anyway."
He shut the door. A brief octarine flicker of balefire around it suggested enjoy doing that, you know," he said."I could tell," muttered Rincewind."But what do you want to sacrifice us for?" asked Twoflower. "You hardly know us!""That's rather the point, isn't it? It's not very good manners to sacrifice a friend. Besides, you were, um, specified. I don't know a lot about the god in question, but He was quite clear on that point. Look, I must be running along now. So much to organise, you know how it is," the Guestmaster opened the door, and then peered back around it. "Please make yourselves comfortable, and don't worry.""But you haven't actually told us anything

Pino DANCING IN BARCELONA

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The Loremaster wiped his nose on a handkerchief, held the little silken square aloft for a moment, then let it fall.
A boom of wings made Hrun spin around.
Lio!rt's dragon was already airborne and circling around towards them. As it swooped low over the turf a billow of , and Hrun was forced to take a badly-judged standing jump to escape the flame. The dragon's tail whipped around as it passed and caught him a stinging blow across the forehead. He pushed himself upright, shaking his head to make the wheeling stars go away. His blistered back screamed pain at him.
Lio!rt came in for a second run, but slower flame shot from its mouth, scoring a black streak across the grass that rushed towards Hrun.At the last minute he pushed Liessa aside, and felt the wild pain of the flame on his arm as he dived for safety. He rolled as he hit the ground, and flipped on to his feet again while he looked around frantically for the other dragon. It came in from one side