I mean, it wouldn't be much, but it would be body contact.

"Sorry," he said again.

Thursley sighed. "The kettle's on," he said. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

Rincewind stepped forward into a crackle of psychic energy.

"Ah," said Thursley uncertainly, as the wizard sucked his fingers, "I'll tell you what. I'll put you under a conjuration of duress."

"There's no need, I assure you."

"No, it's best this way. It means you can move around. I had it all ready anyway, in case you could go and fetch, you know, her."

"Fine," said Rincewind. As the demonologist mumbled words from the book he thought: Feet. Door. Stairs. What a great combination.

It occurred to him that there was something about the demonologist that wasn't quite usual, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He looked pretty much like the demonologists Rincewind had known back in Ankh-Morpork, who were all bent and chemical-stained and had eyes with pupils like pinheads from all the chemical fumes. This one would have fitted in easily. It was just that there was something odd.

"To be honest," said Thursley, industriously mopping away part of the circle, "you're my first demon. It's never worked before. What is your name?"

"Rincewind."

Thursley thought about this. "It doesn't ring a bell," he said. "There's a Riinjswin in the Demonologie. And a Winswin. But they've got more wings than you. You can step out now. I must say that's a first-class materialisation. No-one would think you were a fiend, to look at you. Most demons, when they want to look human, materialise in the shape of nobles, kings and princes. This moth-eaten-wizard look is very clever. You could've almost fooled me. It's a shame you can't do any of those things."