“You can tell he’s a wizard, because he’s got a pointy hat with a floppy brim. It’s got the word “Wizzard” embroidered on it in big silver letters, by someone whose needlework is even worse than their spelling.”
“The Luggage was also extremely protective of its owner. It would be hard to describe its attitude to the rest of creation, but one could start with the phrase “bloody-minded malevolence” and work up from there.”
“The astro-philosophers of Krull once succeeded in proving conclusively that all places are one place and that the distance between them is an illusion, and this news was an embarrassment to all thinking philosophers because it did not explain, among other things, signposts. After years of wrangling the whole thing was then turned over to Ly Tin Wheedle, arguably the Disc’s greatest philosopher who after some thought proclaimed that although it was indeed true that all places were one place, that place was very large.”
What is it?” hissed Conina.
“It’s just the Luggage,” said Rincewind wearily.
“Does it belong to you?”
“Not really. Sort of.”
“Is it dangerous?”
The Luggage shuffled around to stare at her again. “There’s two schools of thought about that,” said Rincewind. “There’s some people who say it’s dangerous, and others who say it’s very dangerous"
“Magic uses people,” said Rincewind hurriedly. “It affects you as much as you affect it, sort of thing. You can’t mess around with magical things without it affecting you. I just thought I’d better warn you.”
It’s the familiar hot sinking feeling experienced by everyone who has let the waves of their own anger throw them far up on the beach of retribution, leaving them, in the poetic language of the everyday, up shit creek.