Discworld 02 - The Light Fantastic

by Terry Pratchett

  “It’s a trap.”

  “That’s right,” said Weems, white-faced. “You take it from me.”

  Reluctantly they reined their horses around the glittering temptation and trotted on along the track. Weems glanced back fearfully, dreading to see the chest coming after him.

  What he saw was almost worse. It had gone.

  Far off to one side of the path the long grass moved mysteriously and was still.

  Rincewind wasn’t much of a wizard and even less of a fighter, but he was an expert at cowardice and he knew fear when he smelled it. He said, quietly, “It’ll follow you, you know.”

  “What?” said Weems, distractedly. He was still peering at the grass.

  “It’s very patient and it never gives up. That’s sapient pearwood you’re dealing with. It’ll let you think it’s forgotten you, then one day you’ll be walking along a dark street and you’ll hear these little footsteps behind you—shlup, shlup, they’ll go, then you’ll start running and they’ll speed up, shlupshlupSHLUP—”

  “Shut up!” shouted Weems.

  “It’s probably already recognized you, so—”

  “I said shut up!”

  Herrena turned around in her saddle and glared at them. Weems scowled and pulled Rincewind’s ear until it was right in front of his mouth, and said hoarsely, “I’m afraid of nothing, understand? This wizard stuff, I spit on it.”

  “They all say that until they hear the footsteps,” said Rincewind. He stopped. A knifepoint was pricking his ribs.

  Nothing happened for the rest of the day but, to Rincewind’s satisfaction and Weems’s mounting paranoia, the Luggage showed itself several times. Here it would be perched incongruously on a crag, there it would be half-hidden in a ditch with moss growing over it.

  By late afternoon they came to the crest of a hill and looked down on the broad valley of the upper Smarl, the longest river on the Disc. It was already half a mile across, and heavy with the silt that made the lower valley the most fertile area on the continent. A few wisps of early mist wreathed its banks.

  “Shlup,” said Rincewind. He felt Weems jerk upright in the saddle.

  “Eh?”

  “Just clearing my throat,” said Rincewind, and grinned. He had put a lot of thought into that grin. It was the sort of grin people use when they stare at your left ear and tell you in an urgent tone of voice that they are being spied on by secret agents from the next galaxy. It was not a grin to inspire confidence. More horrible grins had probably been seen, but only on the sort of grinner that is orange with black stripes, has a long tail and hangs around in jungles looking for victims to grin at.

  “Wipe that off,” said Herrena, trotting up.

  Where the track led down to the river bank there was a crude jetty and a big bronze gong.

  “It’ll summon the ferryman,” said Herrena. “If we cross here we can cut off a big bend in the river. Might even make it to a town tonight.”

  Weems looked doubtful. The sun was getting fat and red, and the mists were beginning to thicken.

  “Or maybe you want to spend the night this side of the water?”

  Weems picked up the hammer and hit the gong so hard that it spun right around on its hanger and fell off.

  They waited in silence. Then with a wet clinking sound a chain sprang out of the water and pulled taut against an iron peg set into the bank. Eventually the slow flat shape of the ferry emerged from the mist, its hooded ferryman heaving on a big wheel set in its center as he winched his way toward the shore.

  The ferry’s flat bottom grated on the gravel, and the hooded figure leaned against the wheel panting.

  “Two at a time,” it muttered. “That’sh all. Jusht two, with horshesh.”

  Rincewind swallowed, and tried not to look at Twoflower. The man would probably be grinning and mugging like an idiot. He risked a sideways glance.

  Twoflower was sitting with his mouth open.

  “You’re not the usual ferryman,” said Herrena. “I’ve been here before, the usual man is a big fellow, sort of—”

  “It’sh hish day off.”

  “Well, okay,” she said doubtfully. “In that case—What’s he laughing at?”

  Twoflower’s shoulders were shaking, his face had gone red, and he was emitting muffled snorts. Herrena glared at him, then looked hard at the ferryman.

  “Two of you—grab him!”

  There was a pause. Then one of the men said, “What, the ferryman?”

  “Yes!”

  “Why?”

  Herrena looked blank. This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen. It was accepted that when someone yelled something like “Get him!” or “Guards!” people jumped to it, they weren’t supposed to sit around discussing things.

  “Because I said so!” was the best she could manage. The two men nearest to the bowed figure looked at each other, shrugged, dismounted, and each took a shoulder. The ferryman was about half their size.

  “Like this?” said one of them. Twoflower was choking for breath.

  “Now I want to see what he’s got under that robe.”

  The two men exchanged glances.

  “I’m not sure that—” said one.

  He got no further because a knobbly elbow jerked into his stomach like a piston. His companion looked down incredulously and got the other elbow in the kidneys.

  Cohen cursed as he struggled to untangle his sword from his robe while hopping crabwise toward Herrena. Rincewind groaned, gritted his teeth, and jerked his head backward hard. There was a scream from Weems and Rincewind rolled sideways, landed heavily in the mud, scrambled up madly and looked around for somewhere to hide.

  With a cry of triumph Cohen managed to free his sword and waved it triumphantly, severely wounding a man who had been creeping up behind him.

  Herrena pushed Twoflower off her horse and fumbled for her own blade. Twoflower tried to stand up and caused the horse of another man to rear, throwing him off and bringing his head down to the right level for Rincewind to kick it as hard as possible. Rincewind would be the first to call himself a rat, but even rats fight in a corner.

  Weems’s hands dropped onto his shoulder and a fist like a medium-sized rock slammed into his head.

  As he went down he heard Herrena say, quite quietly, “Kill them both. I’ll deal with this old fool.”

  “Right!” said Weems, and turned toward Twoflower with his sword drawn.

  Rincewind saw him hesitate. There was a moment of silence, and then even Herrena could hear the splashing as the Luggage surged ashore, water pouring from it.

  Weems stared at it in horror. His sword fell from his hand. He turned and ran into the mists. A moment later the Luggage bounded over Rincewind and followed him.

  Herrena lunged at Cohen, who parried the thrust and grunted as his arm twinged. The blades clanged wetly, and then Herrena was forced to back away as a cunning upward sweep from Cohen nearly disarmed her.

  Rincewind staggered toward Twoflower and tugged at him ineffectually.

  “Time to be going,” he muttered.

  “This is great!” said Twoflower. “Did you see the way he—”

  “Yes, yes, come on.”

  “But I want—I say, well done!”

  Herrena’s sword spun out of her hand and stood quivering in the dirt. With a snort of satisfaction Cohen brought his own sword back, went momentarily cross-eyed, gave a little yelp of pain, and stood absolutely motionless.

  Herrena looked at him, puzzled. She made an experimental move in the direction of her own sword and when nothing happened she grasped it, tested its balance, and stared at Cohen. Only his agonized eyes moved to follow her as she circled him cautiously.

  “His back’s gone again!” whispered Twoflower. “What can we do?”

  “We can see if we can catch the horses?”

  “Well,” said Herrena, “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, and there’s nothing personal about this, you understand.”

  She ra
ised her sword in both hands.

  There was a sudden movement in the mists and the dull thud of a heavy piece of wood hitting a head. Herrena looked bewildered for a moment, and then fell forward.

  Bethan dropped the branch she had been holding and looked at Cohen. Then she grabbed him by the shoulders, stuck her knee in the small of his back, gave a businesslike twist and let him go.

  An expression of bliss passed across his face. He gave an experimental bend.

  “It’s gone!” he said. “The back! Gone!”

  Twoflower turned to Rincewind.

  “My father used to recommend hanging from the top of a door,” he said conversationally.

  Weems crept very cautiously through the scrubby, mistladen trees. The pale damp air muffled all sounds, but he was certain that there had been nothing to hear for the past ten minutes. He turned around very slowly, and then allowed himself the luxury of a long, heartfelt sigh. He stepped back into the cover of the bushes.

  Something nudged the back of his knees, very gently. Something angular.

  He looked down. There seemed to be more feet down there than there ought to be.

  There was a short, sharp snap.

  The fire was a tiny dot of light in a dark landscape. The moon wasn’t up yet, but the star was a lurking glow on the horizon.

  “It’s circular now,” said Bethan. “It looks like a tiny sun. I’m sure it’s getting hotter, too.”

  “Don’t,” said Rincewind. “As if I hadn’t got enough to worry about.”

  “What I don’t undershtand,” said Cohen, who was having his back massaged, “ish how they captured you without ush hearing it. We wouldn’t have known at all if your Luggage hadn’t kept jumping up and down.”

  “And whining,” said Bethan. They all looked at her.

  “Well, it looked as if it was whining,” she said. “I think it’s rather sweet, really.”

  Four pairs of eyes turned toward the Luggage, which was squatting on the other side of the fire. It got up, and very pointedly moved back into the shadows.

  “Eashy to feed,” said Cohen.

  “Hard to lose,” agreed Rincewind.

  “Loyal,” suggested Twoflower.

  “Roomy,” said Cohen.

  “But I wouldn’t say sweet,” said Rincewind.

  “I shuppose you wouldn’t want to shell it?” said Cohen.

  Twoflower shook his head. “I don’t think it would understand,” he said.

  “No, I shupposhe not,” said Cohen. He sat up, and bit his lip. “I wash looking for a preshent for Bethan, you shee. We’re getting married.”

  “We thought you ought to be the first to know,” said Bethan, and blushed.

  Rincewind didn’t catch Twoflower’s eye.

  “Well, that’s very, er—”

  “Just as soon as we find a town where there’s a priest,” said Bethan. “I want it done properly.”

  “That’s very important,” said Twoflower seriously. “If there were more morals about we wouldn’t be crashing into stars.”

  They considered this for a moment. Then Twoflower said brightly, “This calls for a celebration. I’ve got some biscuits and water, if you’ve still got some of that jerky.”

  “Oh, good,” said Rincewind weakly. He beckoned Cohen to one side. With his beard trimmed the old man could easily have passed for seventy on a dark night.

  “This is, uh, serious?” he said. “You’re really going to marry her?”

  “Shure thing. Any objections?”

  “Well, no, of course not, but—I mean, she’s seventeen and you’re, how can I put it, you’re of the elderly persuasion.”

  “Time I shettled down, you mean?”

  Rincewind groped for words. “You’re seventy years older than her, Cohen. Are you sure that—”

  “I have been married before, you know. I’ve got quite a good memory,” said Cohen reproachfully.

  “No, what I mean is, well, I mean physically, the point is, what about, you know, the age difference and everything, it’s a matter of health, isn’t it, and—”

  “Ah,” said Cohen slowly, “I shee what you mean. The strain. I hadn’t looked at it like that.”

  “No,” said Rincewind, straightening up. “No, well, that’s only to be expected.”

  “You’ve given me something to think about and no mishtake,” said Cohen.

  “I hope I haven’t upset anything.”

  “No, no,” said Cohen vaguely. “Don’t apologishe. You were right to point it out.”

  He turned and looked at Bethan, who waved at him, and then he looked up at the star that glared through the mists.

  Eventually he said, “Dangerous times, these.”

  “That’s a fact.”

  “Who knows what tomorrow may bring?”

  “Not me.”

  Cohen clapped Rincewind on the shoulder. “Shometimesh we jusht have to take rishks,” he said. “Don’t be offended, but I think we’ll go ahead with the wedding anyway and, well,” he looked at Bethan and sighed, “we’ll just have to hope she’s shtrong enough.”

  Around noon the following day they rode into a small, mud-walled city surrounded by fields still lush and green. There seemed to be a lot of traffic going the other way, though. Huge carts rumbled past them. Herds of livestock ambled along the crown of the road. Old ladies stomped past carrying entire households and haystacks on their backs.

  “Plague?” said Rincewind, stopping a man pushing a handcart full of children.

  He shook his head. “It’s the star, friend,” he said. “Haven’t you seen it in the sky?”

  “We couldn’t help noticing it, yes.”

  “They say that it’ll hit us on Hogswatchnight and the seas will boil and the countries of the Disc will be broken and kings will be brought down and the cities will be as lakes of glass,” said the man. “I’m off to the mountains.”

  “That’ll help, will it?” said Rincewind doubtfully.

  “No, but the view will be better.”

  Rincewind rode back to the others.

  “Everyone’s worried about the star,” he said. “Apparently there’s hardly anyone left in the cities, they’re all frightened of it.”

  “I don’t want to worry anyone,” said Bethan, “but hasn’t it struck you as unseasonably hot?”

  “That’s what I said last night,” said Twoflower. “Very warm, I thought.”

  “I shuspect it’ll get a lot hotter,” said Cohen. “Let’sh get on into the city.”

  They rode through echoing streets that were practically deserted. Cohen kept peering at merchants’ signs until he reined his horse and said, “Thish ish what I’ve been looking for. You find a temple and a priesht, I’ll join you shortly.”

  “A jeweler?” said Rincewind.

  “It’s a shuprishe.”

  “I could do with a new dress, too,” said Bethan.

  “I’ll shteal you one.”

  There was something very oppressive about the city, Rincewind decided. There was also something very odd.

  Almost every door was painted with a large red star.

  “It’s creepy,” said Bethan. “As if people wanted to bring the star here.”

  “Or keep it away,” said Twoflower.

  “That won’t work. It’s too big,” said Rincewind. He saw their faces turned toward him.

  “Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it?” he said lamely.

  “No,” said Bethan.

  “Stars are small lights in the sky,” said Twoflower. “One fell down near my home once—big white thing, size of a house, glowed for weeks before it went out.”

  “This star is different,” said a voice. “Great A’Tuin has climbed the beach of the universe. This is the great ocean of space.”

  “How do you know?” said Twoflower.

  “Know what?” said Rincewind.

  “What you just said. About beaches and oceans.”

  “I didn’t say anything!”

  “Yes you d
id, you silly man!” yelled Bethan. “We saw your lips going up and down and everything!”

  Rincewind shut his eyes. Inside his mind he could feel the Spell scuttling off to hide behind his conscience, and muttering to itself.

  “All right, all right,” he said. “No need to shout. I—I don’t know how I know, I just know—”

  “Well, I wish you’d tell us.”

  They turned the corner.

  All the cities around the Circle Sea had a special area set aside for the gods, of which the Disc had an elegant sufficiency. Usually they were crowded and not very attractive from an architectural point of view. The most senior gods, of course, had large and splendid temples, but the trouble was that later gods demanded equality and soon the holy areas were sprawling with lean-tos, annexes, loft conversions, subbasements, bijou flatlets, ecclesiastical infilling and trans-temporal timesharing, since no god would dream of living outside the holy quarter or, as it had become, three-eighths. There were usually three hundred different types of incense being burned and the noise was normally at pain threshold because of all the priests vying with each other to call their share of the faithful to prayer.

  But this street was deathly quiet, that particularly unpleasant quiet that comes when hundreds of frightened and angry people are standing very still.

  A man at the edge of the crowd turned around and scowled at the newcomers. He had a red star painted on his forehead.

  “What’s—” Rincewind began, and stopped as his voice seemed far too loud, “what’s this?”

  “You’re strangers?” said the man.

  “Actually we know one another quite—” Twoflower began, and fell silent. Bethan pointed up the street.

  Every temple had a star painted on it. There was a particularly big one daubed across the stone eye outside the temple of Blind Io, leader of the gods.

  “Urgh,” said Rincewind. “Io is going to be really pissed when he sees that. I don’t think we ought to hang around here, friends.”

  The crowd was facing a crude platform that had been built in the center of the wide street. A big banner had been draped across the front of it.

  “I always heard that Blind Io can see everything that happens everywhere,” said Bethan quietly. “Why hasn’t—”

  “Quiet!” said the man beside them. “Dahoney speaks!”