On a world supported on the back of a giant turtle (sex unknown), a gleeful, explosive, wickedly eccentric expedition sets out. There's an avaricious but inept wizard, a naive tourist whose luggage moves on hundreds of dear little legs, dragons who only exist if you believe in them, and of course THE EDGE of the planet...

It is known as the Discworld. It is a flat planet, supported on the backs of four elephants, who in turn stand on the back of the great turtle A'Tuin as it swims majestically through space. And it is quite possibly the funniest place in all of creation...As it moves towards a seemingly inevitable collision with a malevolent red star, the Discworld has only one possible saviour. Unfortunately, this happens to be the singularly inept and cowardly wizard called Rincewind, who was last seen falling off the edge of the world.

When the very fabric of time and space are about to be put through the wringer - in this instance by the imminent arrival of a very large and determinedly oncoming meteorite - circumstances require a very particular type of hero. Sadly what the situation does not need is a singularly inept wizard, still recovering from the trauma of falling off the edge of the world. Equally it does not need one well-meaning tourist and his luggage which has a mind of its own. Which is a shame because that's all there is...

It is known as the Discworld. It is a flat planet, supported on the backs of four elephants, who in turn stand on the back of the great turtle A'Tuin as it swims majestically through space. And it is quite possibly the funniest place in all of creation.The last thing the wizard Drum Billet did, before Death laid a bony hand on his shoulder, was to pass on his staff of power to the eighth son of an eighth son.

The last thing the wizard Drum Billet did, before Death laid a bony handon his shoulder, was to pass on his staff of power to the eighth son ofan eighth son. Unfortunately for his colleagues in the chauvinistic (not to say misogynistic) world of magic, he failed to check on the new-born baby's sex...

It is known as the Discworld. It is a flat planet, supported on the backs of four elephants, who in turn stand on the back of the great turtle A'Tuin as it swims majestically through space. And it is quite possibly the funniest place in all of creation...Death comes to us all. When he came to Mort, he offered him a job.After being assured that being dead was not compulsory, Mort accepted.

Death comes to us all. When he came to Mort, he offered him a job. Afterbeing assured that being dead was not compulsory, Mort accepted. However, he soon found that romantic longings did not mix easily with the responsibilities of being Death's apprentice...

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.Sourcery sees the return of Rincewind and the Luggage as the Discworld faces its greatest - and funniest - challenge yet.

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 betternot go into), he had seven sons. And then he had an eighth son... a wizard squared...a source of magic...a Sourcerer.

Witches are not by nature gregarious, and they certainly don't have leaders.Granny Weatherwax was the most highly regarded of the leaders they didn't have.But even she found that meddling in royal politics was a lot more difficult than certain playwrights would have you believe...

'Look after the dead', said the priests, 'and the dead will look after you'. Wise words in all probability, but a tall order when you have just become the pharaoh of a small and penniless country whose largesse - and indeed treasury - is unlikely to stretch to the building of a monumental pyramid to honour your dead father.

Being trained by the Assassin's Guild in Ankh-Morpork did not fit Teppicfor the task assigned to him by fate. He inherited the throne of the desert kingdom of Djelibeybi rather earlier than he expected (his fatherwasn't too happy about it either), but that was only the beginning of his problems...

This is where the dragons went. They lie... not dead, not asleep, but...dormant. And although the space they occupy isn't like normal space, nevertheless they are packed in tightly. They could put you in mind of a can of sardines, if you thought sardines were huge and scaly. And presumably, somewhere, there's a key...GUARDS! GUARDS! is the 8th Discworld novel - and after this, dragons will never be the same again!

This is where the dragons went. They lie...not dead, not asleep, but...dormant. And although the space they occupy isn't like normal space, nevertheless they are packed in tightly. They could put you in mind of a can of sardines, if you thought sardines were huge and scaly. And presumably, somewhere, there's a key...`Guards! Guards!` is the eighth `Discworld` novel - and after this, dragons will never be the same again!

A beautiful gift edition of the classic Discworld novel.Eric is the Discworld's only demonology hacker. The trouble is, he's not very good at it. All he wants is the usual three wishes: to be immortal, rule the world and have the most beautiful woman fall madly in love with him.

Twoflower was a tourist, the first ever seen on the Discworld. Tourist, Rincewind decided, meant idiot. Somewhere on the frontier between thought and reality exists the Discworld, a parallel time and place which might sound and smell very much like our own, but which looks completely different. It plays by different rules.Certainly it refuses to succumb to the quaint notion that universes are ruled by pure logic and the harmony of numbers. But just because the Disc is different doesn't mean that some things don't stay the same. Its very existence is about to be threatened by a strange new blight: the arrival of the first tourist, upon whose survival rests the peace and prosperity of the land. But if the person charged with maintaining that survival in the face of robbers, mercenaries and, well, Death is a spectacularly inept wizard, a little logic might turn out to be a very good idea...

On a world supported on the back of a giant turtle (sex unknown), a gleeful, explosive, wickedly eccentric expedition sets out. There's an avaricious buy inept wizard, a naive tourist whose luggage moves on hundreds of dear little legs, dragons who only exist if you believe in them, and of course The Edge of the planet...

The second Discworld novel. When the very fabric of time and space are about to be put through the wringer -- in this instance by the imminent arrival of a very large and determinedly oncoming meteorite - circumstances require a very particular type of hero. Sadly what the situation does not need is a singularly inept wizard, still recovering from the trauma of falling off the edge of the world. Equally it does not need one well-meaning tourist and his luggage which has a mind of its own. Which is a shame because that's all there is.

The Discworld is very much like our own - if our own were to consist of a flat planet balanced on the back of four elephants which stand on the back of a giant turtle, that is . . . They say that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but it's not half so bad as a lot of ignorance. The last thing the wizard Drum Billet did, before Death laid a bony hand on his shoulder, was to pass on his staff of power to the eighth son of an eighth son. Unfortunately for his colleagues in the chauvinistic (not to say misogynistic) world of magic, he failed to check that the baby in question was a son. Everybody knows that there's no such thing as a female wizard. But now it's gone and happened, there's nothing much anyone can do about it. Let the battle of the sexes begin . . .

The Discworld is very much like our own - if our own were to consist of a flat planet balanced on the back of four elephants which stand on the back of a giant turtle, that is . . . Death comes to us all. When he came to Mort, he offered him a job. Death is the Grim Reaper of the Discworld, a black-robed skeleton carrying a scythe who must collect a minimum number of souls in order to keep the momentum of dying, well . . . alive. He is also fond of cats and endlessly baffled by humanity. Soon Death is yearning to experience what humanity really has to offer . . . but to do that, he'll need to hire some help. It's an offer Mort can't refuse. As Death's apprentice he'll have free board, use of the company horse - and being dead isn't compulsory. It's a dream job - until Mort falls in love with Death's daughter, Ysabell, and discovers that your boss can be a killer on your love life . . .

The Discworld is very much like our own - if our own were to consist of a flat planet balanced on the back of four elephants which stand on the back of a giant turtle, that is . . . All this books and stuff, that isn't what it should all be about. What we need is real wizardry. Once there was an eighth son of an eighth son, a wizard squared, a source of magic. A Sourcerer. Unseen University, the most magical establishment on the Discworld, has finally got its wish: the emergence of a wizard more powerful than they've ever seen. You'd think the smartest men on the Disc would have been a little more careful what they wished for. As the drastic consequences of sourcery begin to unfold, one wizard holds the solution in his cowardly, incompetent hands. Rincewind must take the University's most precious artefact, the very embodiment of magic itself, and deliver it halfway across the disc to safety . . . If he doesn't make it, the death of all wizardry is at hand. And the end of the world, depending who you listen to.

The alchemists of the Discworld have discovered the magic of the silver screen. But what is the dark secret of Holy Wood hill? It's up to Victor Tugelbend ('Can't sing. Can't dance. Can handle a sword a little') and Theda Withel ('I come from a little town you've probably never heard of') to find out..

What if, for once, the predictions are right, and the Apocalypse really is due to arrive next Saturday, just after tea? It's a predicament that Aziraphale, a somewhat fussy angel, and Crowley, a fast-living demon, now find themselves in. They've been living amongst Earth's mortals since The Beginning and, truth be told, have grown rather fond of the lifestyle and, in all honesty, are not actually looking forward to the coming Apocalypse. Now people have been predicting the end of the world almost from its very beginning, so it's only natural to be sceptical when a new date is set for Judgement Day. You could spend the time left drowning your sorrows, giving away all your possessions in preparation for the rapture, or laughing it off as (hopefully) just another hoax. Or you could just try to do something about it. And then there's the small matter that someone appears to have misplaced the Antichrist . . .

There is a hint of Armageddon in the air. According to the Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch (recorded, thankfully, in 1655, before she blew up her entire village and all its inhabitants, who had gathered to watch her burn), the world will end on a Saturday. Next Saturday, in fact. So the Armies of Good and Evil are massing, the four Bikers of the Apocalypse are revving up their mighty hogs and hitting the road, and the world's last two remaining witchfinders are getting
ready to Fight the Good Fight. Atlantis is rising. Frogs are falling. Tempers are flaring, and everything appears to be going to Divine Plan. Except that a somewhat fussy angel and a fast-living demon are not particularly looking forward to the coming Rapture. They've lived amongst Humanity for millennia, and have grown rather fond of the lifestyle. So if Crowley and Aziraphale are going to stop it from happening, they've got to find and kill the AntiChrist (which is a shame, really, as he's a nice kid). There's just one glitch: someone seems to have misplaced him.

This is the first book in the Johnny Maxwell trilogy. Johnny Maxwell is just an ordinary boy – not smart, popular or rich. But he does love video games. And as his parents argue themselves out of a marriage, Johnny plays at becoming humanity’s last hope, shooting invading aliens out of a pixelated sky. Then comes a message from the last remaining alien spaceship: We Wish to Talk...

Hilariously inventive, marvellously witty and highly original, THE BROMELIAD is a magnificent trilogy of tales about a race of little people struggling to survive in a world full of humans. Truckers . Diggers . Wings. To the thousands of tiny nomes living under the floorboards of a large department Store, there is no Outside. No Day or Night, no Sun or Rain. They’re just daft old legends. Until they hear the devastating news that the Store is to be demolished . . .

2070-71. Nearly six decades after Step Day and in the Long Earth, the new Next post-human society continues to evolve. For Joshua Valiente, now in his late sixties, it is time to take one last solo journey into the High Meggers: an adventure that turns into a disaster. Alone and facing death, his only hope of salvation lies with a group of trolls. But as Joshua confronts his mortality, the Long Earth receives a signal from the stars. A signal that is picked up by radio astronomers but also in more abstract ways - by the trolls and by the Great Traversers. Its message is simple but ts implications are enormous:
JOIN US.

Which leads to the kind of chaos you always get when an important publicservice is withdrawn. Meanwhile, on a little farm far, far away, a talldark stranger is turning out to be really good with a scythe. There's a harvest to be gathered in...

In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was: "Hey, you!" For Brutha the novice is the Chosen One. He wants peace and justice and brotherly love. He also wants the Inquisition to stop torturing him now, please...

Yes. There's a Death in the family.It's hard to grow up normally when Grandfather rides a white horse and wields a scythe - especially when you have to take over the family business, and everyone mistakes you for the Tooth Fairy. And especially when you have to face the new and addictive music that has entered Discworld. It's lawless. It changes people.It's called Music With Rocks In.It's got a beat and you can dance to it, but...It's alive.

Now 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. But there are monsters on his trail. They're bright. They're fast. They're werewolves - and they're catching up. The Fifth Elephant is Terry Pratchett's latest instalment in the Discworld cycle, this time starring dwarfs, diplomacy, intrigue and big lumps of fat.

Living in the past is hard. Dying in the past is incredibly easy. But hemust survive, because he has a job to do. He must track down a murderer, teach his younger self how to be a good copper and change the outcome of a bloody rebellion. There's a problem: if he wins, he's got no wife, no child, no future...

What Tiffany doesn't know is that an insidious, disembodied creature is pursuing her. This time, neither Mistress Weatherwax (the greatest witchin 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.

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.But he's got to see that the mail gets through, 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.

To the consternation of the patrician, Lord Vetinari, a new invention has arrived in Ankh-Morpork - a great clanging monster of a machine thatharnesses the power of all of the elements: earth, air, fire and water.This being Ankh-Morpork, it's soon drawing astonished crowds, some of whom caught the zeitgeist early and arrive armed with notepads and very sensible rainwear.

Deep in the Chalk, something is stirring. The owls and the foxes can sense it, and Tiffany Aching feels it in her boots. An old enemy is gathering strength.This is a time of endings and beginnings, old friends and new, a blurring of edges and a shifting of power. Now Tiffany stands between the light and the dark, the good and the bad. As the fairy horde prepares for invasion, Tiffany must summon all the witches to stand with her. To protect the land. Her land.

They're four inches tall in a human-sized world.Under the floorboards of the Store is a world of four-inch-tall nomes that humans never see. It is commonly known among these nomes that Arnold Bros. created the Store for them to live in, and he declared: "Everything Under One Roof." Therefore there can be no such thing as Outside. It just makes sense.

A collection of short fiction from Terry Pratchett, spanning the whole of his writing career from schooldays to Discworld and the present day. In the four decades since his first book appeared in print, Terry Pratchett has become one of the world's best-selling and best-loved authors. Here for the first time are his short stories and other short-form fiction collected into one volume. A Blink of the Screen charts the course of Pratchett's long writing career: from his schooldays through to his first writing job on the Bucks Free Press, and the origins of his debut novel, The Carpet People; and on again to the dizzy mastery of the phenomenally successful Discworld series. Here are characters both familiar and yet to be discovered; abandoned worlds and others still expanding; adventure, chickens, death, disco and, actually, some quite disturbing ideas about Christmas, all of it shot through with Terry's inimitable brand of humour.

In Feet of Clay, Terry Pratchett continues the fantasy adventures on Discworld - where anything goes. Anything but murder, that is. Commander Vimes of the Watch must investigate a puzzling series of deaths, with help from various trolls and dwarfs. Pratchett's humor and excellent writing skills draw the reader effortlessly into his zany world. Feet of Clay is 19th in the series.

IT'S THE NIGHT BEFORE HOGSWATCH AND IT'S TOO QUIET. Where is the big jolly fat man? Why is Death creeping down chimneys and trying to say Ho Ho Ho? The darkest night of the year is getting a lot darker... Susan the gothic governess has got to sort it 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...

Jingo is the 20th of Pratchett's Discworld novels, and the fourth to feature the City Guard of Ankh-Morpork. As Jingo begins, an island suddenly rises between Ankh-Morpork and Al-Khali, capital of Klatch. Both cities claim it. Lord Vetinari, the Patrician, has failed to convince the Ruling Council that force is a bad idea, despite reminding them that they have no army, and "I believe one of those is generally considered vital to the successful prosecution of a war." Samuel Vimes, Commander of the City Watch, has to find out who shot the Klatchian envoy, Prince Khufurah, and set fire to their embassy, before war breaks out.

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. And 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 Opera House, Ankh-Morpork... A huge, rambling building, where innocent young sopranos are lured to their destiny by a strangely familiar evil mastermind in a hideously deformed evening dress... At least, he hopes so. But Granny Weatherwax, Discworld's most famous witch, is in the audience. And she doesn't hold with that sort of thing. So there's going to be trouble (but nevertheless a good evening's entertainment with murders you can really hum...).

Death is missing leaving Discworld in chaos. Ghosts and poltergeists fill the land and dead rights activist Reg Shoe suddenly has more work than he ever dreamed of. The task of saving the day is left to Windle and Discworlds undead.

In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was: "Hey, you!" For Brutha the novice is the Chosen One. He wants peace and justice and brotherly love. He also wants the Inquisition to stop torturing him now, please... Small Gods is the 13th book in the series. Where there are gods galore, there are priests, high and low, and ... there are novices. Brutha is a novice with little chance to become a priest--thinking does not come easily to him, although believing does. But it is to Brutha that the great god Om manifests, in the lowly form of a tortoise.

OTHER CHILDREN GET GIVEN XYLOPHONES. SUSAN JUST HAD TO ASK HER GRANDFATHER TO TAKE HIS VEST OFF. Yes. There's a Death in the family. It's hard to grow up normally when Grandfather rides a white horse and wields a scythe - especially when you have to take over the family business, and everyone mistakes you for the Tooth Fairy. And especially when you have to face the new and addictive music that has entered Discworld. It's lawless. It changes people. It's called Music With Rocks In. It's got a beat and you can dance to it, but... It's alive. And it won't fade away.

It seemed an easy job... After all, how difficult could it be to make sure that a servant girl doesn't marry a prince? But for the witches Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg and Magrat Garlick, travelling to the distant city of Genua, things are never that simple... Servant girls have to marry the prince. That's what life is all about. You can't fight a Happy Ending. At least - up until now...