Sometime in the early years of the new millennium, the A&R bookstore in Perth was buzzing. A handful of fantasy fans were clustering around a small sign that I had stuck to the display window at the front of the store, proclaiming “Terry Pratchett Book Signing Today!”
“Did you hear?” asked fans as they brought up their purchases to the front counter. “Pratchett is coming. We never get authors like this in Perth!”
Perth, the capital of Western Australia, is generally considered a safe and clean city to raise a family in, but in terms of excitement the city’s inhabitants refer to the place as “the ass end of the world.” A&R had hosted a few author signings during my time there, mostly little-known local authors who would sit in embarrassed silence next to empty chairs and a large pile of unsold books. Occasionally A&R would snag a nationally regarded author such as John Marsden or Tim Winton, who could be relied on to draw a crowd. My only brush with fame so far had been a visit by internationally acclaimed crime author Laura Moss, whose calm, professional style won over the small crowd of middle-aged women who had waited hours in front of the store to see her.
Fantasy author Terry Pratchett was in a different league entirely. His Discworld series, set upon the aforementioned flat world carried through space on the backs of four elephants and a space-faring turtle, had been a global hit for two decades. To be fair, Pratchett’s career had begun to wane by this point, and fans were more likely to talk about their favorite previous hits rather than Pratchett’s latest work. The amazing, eccentric characters of the Discworld had reached their height in the 1990s, but in the new millennium they were just another series being edged out of the limelight by Harry Potter.
Nonetheless, the characters of Granny Weatherwax, Captain Vimes, Death and the inept Wizzard Rincewind still had legions of devoted fans in high schools, universities and beyond. Pratchett’s latest book, Monstrous Regiment, already had a slew of positive reviews, and a visit by Pratchett was guaranteed to pack any venue.
The casual staff of A&R were already prepping the store in readiness for Pratchett’s arrival. A wide table flanked by pyramids of the author’s latest work was set up next to the front counter, and the entire front third of the store had been cleared of shelves and display tables to make room for the mass of university students dressed up as witches and wizards filing through the doors.
“Wow, the nerds are really out in force,” observed Dan, peering out into the crowd of Pratchett fans.
“I think it’s fantastic,” grinned Elaine, giving Dan a gentle nudge. “And don’t be such a snob. Weren’t you the one telling me all about that Hercules show the other night?”
“That’s totally different!” Dan protested. “That show is about the classics.”
“Pratchett takes on the classics too,” said Lana, the small arts student struggling to make her way up the counter as the crowd began to press around us. “Haven’t you read Wyrd Sisters?”
“There’s no need to argue,” said Denise from behind the front counter, smiling at the rest of the group. “It’s ok for us to like different things.”
“Well I can’t wait!” said Anton, pushing his way through the fans. “I’ve wanting to get my copy of Soul Music signed for months!”
I grinned and said nothing as I took my position at the front counter next to Denise. Anton was something of a late convert to fantasy fiction, and I’d taken great pride in introducing him to Tolkien and Pratchett. I don’t know whether Anton had simply spent so much time studying music that he never got a chance to read, or if it was something to do with him being a devout Jehovah’s Witness, but fantasy had gone from something he’d never touched to his new-found obsession.
As for myself, I had loved the Discworld books since reading The Colour of Magic as a kid, and had devoured every book Pratchett had released ever since. One of my most prized possessions was a dog-eared copy of Small Gods, signed by Pratchett himself when he had visited Perth almost ten years before. I was happy enough to stand at the counter with Denise and watch.
Presently the back doors of the store opened and the crowd erupted as an elderly man was ushered through to the table waiting at the front of the store. Dressed in black, with his signature wide-brimmed fedora, Terry Pratchett waved amicably at his adoring fans and seated himself next to a huge stack of books, followed by a tall woman who acted as his manager. Pratchett was an old hand at these events, saying little and just getting work signing books for the line that wound around the store.
I was serving a uni student dressed as Nanny Ogg when Denise nudged me and smiled.
“Look,” she said, nodding to the back of the line. I chuckled as I spotted the slightly plump figure of Anton, flushed with excitement, holding a copy of his favorite Pratchett book and waiting for his chance to get the author’s signature. However, the tousle-haired music student was so intent on his place in the line that he failed so see Kimberly the floor manager emerge from the crowd behind him.
“Anton!” she snapped. “What do you think you’re doing? I need you at the downstairs counter now!”
“B-but, I cleared this with Katherine the store manager,” started Anton, stuttering into silence as the middle-aged woman glared down at him.
Hanging his head in shame, Anton slunk over to the front of the store and disappeared down the stairs to the lower floor.
“Wow, banished,” I said to Denise. “That was harsh.”
“Don’t worry,” replied the tall, tawny-haired young woman as she picked up the phone and dialed. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Hi Dan,” she said, speaking into the handset. “Can you swap with Anton and work with Elaine on the downstairs counter?”
“Oh, you’re twisting my arm, but ok,” came Dan’s voice at the other end of the phone. “I suppose I’ll just have to bear a shift with Elaine.”
Denise smiled and winked at me as she put down the phone, and sure enough Anton emerged from the stairs, looked around warily for Kimberly and re-joined the line of Terry Pratchett fans.
However, the young music student had only been in the line for a minute or two when a fat, young man wearing shorts and a singlet spotted him.
“Oi, do you work here?” said the man, scratching a scraggly beard. “I wanna book on surfing, but I can’t find it with all these nerds around. Who reads that made-up crap anyway?”
Trapped behind the counter, all I could do was watch as Anton’s face froze into a polite smile while the line moved on without him.
“Why… certainly,” replied Anton, his voice becoming a little desperate. “I’ll help you find the book you’re after as quickly as I can. Do you know what kind of surfing book you’re after?”
“Nah, I don’t read, it’s for me mate Dazza. You’ll have to show me what you’ve got.”
I figured Dazza must have had some pretty specific tastes, because Anton was kept in the sports section for a good quarter of an hour. When I finally put Dazza’s book into a bag for the customer, Anton gave me a tired nod and went to the back of the line to meet Pratchett.
The moment he did, Anton noticed an old woman struggling to get through the crowd of fans. The emotions warred across Anton’s round face, but eventually he sighed and left the line once again.
“Excuse me,” he asked politely. “Do you need any help?”
“Oh thank you, dear,” the old woman replied. “I’m trying to get a book for my grandson, it’s for his birthday, but I just make my way through all these young people. Could you give me a hand?”
“Yes,” replied Anton solemnly, and I knew how much the answer cost him. Denise and I exchanged another look, and I reached for the store intercom.
“Paging Lana to the front counter,” I intoned, and within a few minutes the short arts student pushed through the crowd to get to me.
“What’s up, Scruffy?” she asked, holding onto the counter with both hands as the fans ebbed and flowed around her.
“Anton’s still trying to get his book signed by Pratchett, but he’s caught up with a customer,” I replied. “Could you help him out?”
“Only because you know I’m awesome,” said Lana with an impish grin. “Come on. Who do you know is awesome?”
I tried to keep a neutral expression but my face twisted up into a smile.
“You’re awesome,” I replied.
“And don’t you forget it!” Lana answered, making her way back through the crowd.
A minute later she emerged next to Anton and the elderly woman, both of whom were still struggling to make their way out of the line. Anton gratefully accepted Lana’s help, and the old woman gave the round music student a friendly pat on the arm before disappearing with Lana into the hubbub of the store.
Relieved, Anton once again found his way to the back of the line, clutching his copy of Soul Music and looking apprehensive as time marched on. He was so busy looking at the clock that he didn’t notice me waving at him, or Kimberley bearing down on him with a stormy look on her face.
“Anton! What are you doing up here again?” snapped Kimberley, the middle-aged woman grimacing at the plump young man.
“I was, uh-,” stammered Anton, but the pure fear must have given him a flash of inspiration.
“I was just putting some books away for Dan, you know how confused he gets over things like history and science,” he continued, putting on his most innocent expression.
Kimberly glared at the young man for a minute, but her low opinion of the muscular and athletic Dan got the better of her.
“Typical, I shouldn’t have expected much from someone like Dan,” she snorted. “Well, when you’ve finished, there’s two more stacks at the back counter to put away.”
Poor Anton gave the manager a pained smile and made his way to the back of the store. By the time he had finally finished sorting through all the books and putting them in their proper places, Pratchett’s time was almost up. The music student looked more than a little desperate as once again he re-joined the end of the line, which was starting to thin now that most of the fans had received their signatures.
Finally, Anton stepped forward, with only three people left between him and the chance to meet Pratchett. The first two were teenagers who chatted excitedly with Pratchett while he signed their books, the professional author still finding the energy for a few kind words and a smile. However the next person was a tall uni student carrying a black suitcase, who on opening the container proceeded to pull out a pile of books, photographs, and even some little-known Discworld merchandise.
Anton and the remaining fans in line looked on in horror, and even Pratchett looked a little aghast as object after object was pulled out of the suitcase.
“That guy is probably just going to sell everything he gets signed on eBay,” whispered Denise. “What a selfish bastard.”
I nodded in agreement but Pratchett, obviously uncomfortable with the situation, sighed and picked up his pen. By the time he had finished the poor man looked completely exhausted. Pratchett’s manager, hovering in the background, whispered in the author’s ear and nodded.
“Alright everyone!” she announced. “I want to thank you all for coming to this event. Mr Pratchett has however reached the end of this session and he needs to get back to the hotel to get some rest. Thank you all again for joining us today, and we hope you enjoy Monstrous Regiment!”
Pratchett received a standing ovation and chorus of cheers as he slowly got up and made his way to the back of the store, helped by his manager and Lana, who did their best to clear a path for the elderly man. The fans, most holding their freshly-signed copies of various Discworld books, chatted happily with each other and wandered away, leaving Anton standing dumbstruck at the front of the store. The young man’s usual calm and insightful demeanor looked more like a heartbroken child. Denise and I still had to deal with the remaining lines of customers and there was little else I could do than whisper “sorry mate,” as he stumbled past. To Anton’s credit, he didn’t lose his temper, he simply sighed, put his copy of Soul Music behind the counter and walked downstairs to put away another stack of books.
A little while later, we all found Anton sitting despondently in the upstairs staff room.
“How are you feeling?” asked Denise, eyeing the unsigned copy of Soul Music on the table.
“Okay, I guess,” replied Anton quietly. “It’s disappointing, but I can’t expect everything to go my way.”
“Oh I don’t know about that, mate,” replied Dan with a grin, earning a small nudge in the rubs from Elaine. Anton looked up at us in confusion until Lana stepped forward and placed a shiny new copy of Monstrous Regiment on the table. The young music student didn’t quite know what to make of it, until he flipped open the cover and saw the handwritten inscription inside.
“For Anton,” he read out loud. “Enjoy this book, Terry Pratchett.”
Anton’s face lit up with a smile and he looked up at us in amazement.
“How?” he asked.
Lana chuckled. “Remember that little old lady you stepped out of line to help? She was here to get a book signed for her grandson. When I explained that she was having trouble with the mass of fans to Pratchett’s manager, she let Pratchett sign one last book on his way out the back door. And when the old lady heard that you’d missed your chance because of that asshole with the suitcase, she insisted that Pratchett sign a copy for you too.”
Anton was dumbstruck, which was the first time I had ever seen him unable to come up with the right words to say.
“Thank you, all of you,” he finally managed. “I mean, I’ll pay you back for the cost-”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We all chipped in. You deserve it.”
“That’s right,” added Elaine. “You’re always there to help.”
“Again, thank you,” whispered Anton. None of us wanted to reply and interrupt the warm, happy moment.
Which was then broken by Kimberly bursting through the staff room door.
“What are you all doing in here?” she yelled. “There are customers downstairs waiting. Move!”
It was good to hear Anton laugh as we all scurried back down to the shop floor.
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