Terry Pratchett

Light Hardcover (1 lb or less)

New Mexico

It's true, there's a ghost in the Opera House of Ankh Morpork. Sardonic, flamboyant and, well, ghostly, it wears a bone-white Mask and terrorizes the entire company, including the immortal Enrico Basilica, who eats continuously even when he's singing. Mostly spaghetti with tomato sauce. What better way to flush out a ghost than with a witch? Or even two! And Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg happen to be in Discworld's capital city trying to recruit a third (since three witches make a coven, and two make only an argument). Enter the Opera's newest diva, the alarmingly fetching Perdita X. Nitt, who has such an astonishing range that she can sing harmony with herself, and is so agreeably large that she hangs out with the elephants in the cellar. They say that inside every fat women there's a thin woman struggling to get out (or at least dying for chocolate). In Perdita's case, the thin woman is more ambitious, since she would also dearly love to be a witch. Beginning to get the picture? One would hope so. For this isn't cheese. It's opera, which runs on a Catastrophe Curve. And to further complicate matters, there is a backstage cat named Greebo who occasionally becomes a person just because it's so easy. Not to mention Granny Weatherwax's old friend, Death, whose scythe arm is sore from so much use. And who has been known to don a Mask...

Maskerade

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Missing book cover, 1 corner is worn down. 


Massachusetts

Prisoner-turned-postal worker Moist von Lipwig tackles a new assignment in a different branch of the government through which he is directed to oversee the printing of Ankh-Morpork's first paper currency, a job with unexpected challenges. By the author of Going Postal. 150,000 first printing.

Making Money

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Hardcover (1 to 2 lbs)

Oregon

A Novel of Discworld

It was a dwarf's dream. Captain Vimes of the Watch was retiring. That put Corporal Carrot in charge of the new recruits guarding Ankh-Morpork, Discworld's greatest city, from the Barbarian Tribes, Miscellaneous Marauders, unlicensed Thieves, and such. It was a big job, particularly for an adopted dwarf who was so homesick for the gold mines of Ramtop that he often locked himself in the dark room and hit himself on the head with an axe-handle, just for fun. It was a young lord's nightmare. Edward, the 37th Lord d'Eath, newly graduated from the School for Assassins (the ideal institution for those whose rank is higher than their intelligence), had made an astonishing discovery. Ankh-Morpork, kingless for generations, and ruled by Disorganized Crime, had a sovereign! The new king just had to be convinces that he was, in fact, a king. Corporal Carrot had a job. Lord d'Eath had a Task. And so began the most awesome epic encounter of all time, or at least all afternoon, in which good and evil, greed and honor, trolls and dwarves, dogs and bells and swamp dragons would clash, crash, toll, bark, shimmer, and simmer. The fate of a city, indeed a kingdom--nay, a very universe!--was to depend on a young man's courage, an ancient sword's magic, and three-legged poodle's bladder. Don't look so surprised. This is Discworld, where anything can happen. Which means that everything always does.

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