Caravaggio The Lute Player

Caravaggio The Lute PlayerCaravaggio The Inspiration of Saint MatthewCaravaggio The Fortune Teller
Some sort of rodent, anyway. He just steals things. He's harmless.'
'He looks incredibly cold.' Conina shivered.
'I expect he's gone to a warmer place. Don't you think we should shut the box?'
It's perfectly safe now, said the hat's voice from inside the glow. And so perish all enemies of wizardry.
Rincewind , am I?'
'I have others.'
'I'll bet.'
Rincewind reached out gingerly with the knife. As it neared the leather box its blade went white and started to steam. He whimpered a little as the cold struck his hand - a burning, stabbing cold, a cold that crept up his arm and made a determined assault on his mind. He forced wasn't about to trust what a hat said.'We need something to shut the lid,' he muttered. 'A knife or something. You wouldn't have one, would you?''Look the other way,' Conina warned.There was a rustle and another gust of perfume.'You can look back now.'Rincewind was handed a twelve-inch throwing knife. He took it gingerly. Little particles of metal glinted on its edge.'Thanks.' He turned back. 'Not leaving you short