Discworld 27 - The Last Hero (13 page)

 
 
   
“I could see that could present a difficulty,” he said, “but only for
mortals, o' course.” He tossed the die up in the air once or twice.
“Seven?” he said.
“Seven,” said Fate.
“Could be a knotty one.” said Cohen.
The minstrel stared at him, and felt a shiver run down his spine.
“You'll remember I said that, lad?” Cohen added.
The Kite banked through high cloud. “Ook!” said the Librarian happily.
“He flies it better than Leonard did!” said Rincewind.
“It must come more ... easily,” whispered Carrot. “You know ... what with
him being naturally atavistic.”
“Really? I've always thought of him as quite good-natured. Except when
he's called a monkey, of course.”
The Kite turned again, curving through the sky like a pendulum.
“Ook!”
“”If you look out of the left window you can see practically
everywhere“.” Rincewind translated.
“Ook!”
“”And if you look out of the right window, you can see-“ Good grief!”
There was the Mountain. And there, glittering in the sunlight, was the
home of the gods. Above it, just visible even in the brilliant air, was
the shimmering misty funnel of the world's magical field earthing itself
at the centre of the world.
“Are you, er, are you much of a religious man yourself?” said Rincewind
as clouds whipped by the window.
“I believe all religions do reflect some aspect of an eternal truth,
yes,” said Carrot.
“Good wheeze.” said Rincewind. “You might just get away with it”
“And you?” said Carrot.
“We-ll... you know that religion that thinks that whirling round in
circles is a form of prayer?”
“Oh, yes. The Hurtling Whirlers of Klatch.”
“Mine is like that, only we go more in ... straight lines. Yes. That's
it. Speed is a sacrament.”
“You believe it gives you some sort of eternal life?”
“Not eternal, as such. More ... well, just more, really. More life. That
is,” Rincewind added, “more life than you would have if you did not go
very fast in a straight line. Although curving lines are acceptable in
broken country.”
Carrot sighed. “You're just a coward really, aren't you?”
“Yes, but I've never understood what's wrong with the idea. It takes guts
to run away, you know. Lots of people would be as cowardly as me if they
were brave enough.”
They looked out of the window again. The mountain was nearer.
“According to the mission notes,” said Carrot, thumbing through the sheaf
of hastily written research notes that Ponder had thrust into his hand
just before departure. “a number of humans have entered Dunmanifestin in
the past and returned alive.”
“Returned alive per se is not hugely comforting.” said Rincewind. “With
their arms and legs? Sanity? All minor extremities?”
“Mostly they were mythical characters,” said Carrot, uncertainly.
“Before or after?”
“The gods traditionally look favourably on boldness, daring and
audacity,” Carrot went on.
“Good. You can go in first.”
“Ook,” said the Librarian.
“He says we'll have to land soon,” said Carrot. “Was there some position
we're supposed to get into?”

 
 
   
“Ook!” said the Librarian. He seemed to be fighting the levers.
“What do you mean, ”lie on your back with your arms folded across your
chest“?”
“Eek!”
“Didn't you watch what Leonard did when he landed us on the moon?”
“Ook!”
“And that was a good landing,” said Rincewind. “Oh well, shame about the
end of the world, but these things happen, eh?”
WOULD YOU LIKE A PEANUT? I AM AFRAID IT IS A LITTLE HARD TO GET THE
PACKET OPEN.
A ghostly chair hung in the air next to Rincewind. A violet flaring round
the edge of his vision told him that he was suddenly in a little private
time and space of his own.
“So we are going to crash?” he said.
POSSIBLY. I'M AFRAID THE UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPLE IS MAKING MY JOB VERY
DIFFICULT. HOW ABOUT A MAGAZINE?
The Kite curved around and began to glide gently towards the clouds aroud
Cori Celesti. The Librarian glared at the levers, bit one of two of them,
tugged the handle of Prince Haran's Tiller and then swung himself back
along the cabin and hid under a blanket.
“We're going to land in that snowfield.” said Carrot, slipping into the
pilot's seat. “Leonard designed the ship to land in snow, didn't he?
After all-”
The Kite did not so much land as kiss the snow. It bounced up into the
air, glided a little further, and touched down again. There were a few
more skips, and then the keel was running crisply and smoothly over the
snowfield.
“Outstanding!” said Carrot. “It's just a walk in the park!”
“You mean people are going to mug us and steal all our money and kick us
viciously in the ribs?” said Rincewind. “Could be. We're heading directly
towards the city. Have you noticed?”
They stared ahead. The gates of Dunmanifestin were getting closer very
quickly. The Kite breasted a snowdrift and sailed on.
“This is not the time to panic,” said Rincewind.
The Kite hit the snow, rebounded into the air and flew through the
gateway of the gods.
Halfway through the gateway of the gods.
“So ... seven and I win.” said Cohen. “It comes down showin' seven and I
win, right?”
“Yes. Of course,” said Fate.
“Sounds like a million-to-one chance to me.” said Cohen.
He tossed the die high in the air, and it slowed as it rose, tumbling
glacially with a noise like the swish of windmill blades.
It reached the top of its arc and began to fall.
Cohen was staring fixedly at it, absolutely still. Then his sword was out
of its scabbard and it whirled around in a complex curve. There was a
snick and a green flash in the middle of the air and ...
... two halves of an ivory cube bounced across the table.
One landed showing the six. The other landed showing the one.
One or two of the gods, to the minstrel's amazement, began to applaud.
“I think we had a deal?” said Cohen, still holding his sword.
“Really? And have you heard the saying ”You cannot cheat Fate“?” said
Fate.
Mad Hamish rose in his wheelchair. “Ha' ye heard the sayin' ”Can yer
mither stitch, pal“?” he yelled.
As one man, or god, the Silver Horde closed up and drew its weaponry.
“No fighting!” shouted Blind Io. “That is the rule here! We've got the
world to fight in!”

 
 
   
“That wasn't cheating!” Cohen growled. “Leavin' scrolls around to lure
heroes to their death, that's cheatin”!“
”But where would heroes be without magic maps?“ said Blind Io.
”Many of' em 'd still be alive!“ snapped Cohen. ”Not pieces in some damn
game!“
”You cut the thing in half? said Fate.
“Show me where it says that in the rules! Yeah, why not show me the
rules, eh?” said Cohen. dancing with rage. “Show me all the rules! What's
up, Mr Fate? You want another go, is it? Double or quits? Double stakes?”
“You mutht admit it wath a good thtroke,” said Offler. Several of the
lesser gods nodded.
“What? Are you prepared to let them stand here and defy us?” said Fate.
“Defy you, my lord,” said a new voice. “I suggest they have won. He did
cheat Fate. If you do cheat Fate, I do not believe it says anywhere that
Fate's subsequent opinion matters.”
The Lady stepped daintily through the crowd. The gods parted to let her
pass. They recognised a legend in the making when they saw it.
“And who are you?” snapped Cohen, still red with rage.
“I?” The Lady unfolded her hands. A dice lay on each palm, the solitary
single dot facing up. But at a flick of her wrist the two flew together,
lengthened, entwined, became a hissing snake writhing in the air - and
vanished.
“I... am the million-to-one-chance,” she said.
“Yeah?” said Cohen, less impressed than the minstrel thought he ought to
be. “And who are all the other chances?”
“I am those, also.”
Cohen sniffed. “Then you ain't no lady.”
“Er, that's not really-” the minstrel began.
“Oh, that wasn't what I was supposed to say, was it?” said Cohen. “I was
supposed to say. ”Ooh, ta, missus, much obliged“? Well, I ain't. They say
fortune favours the brave, but I say I've seen too many brave men walkin'
into battles they never walked out of. The hell with all of it- What's up
with you?” The minstrel was staring at a god on the edge of the crowd.
“It's you, isn't it?” he growled. “You're Nuggan, aren't you?”
The little god took a step backward, but made the mistake of trying
dignity. “Be silent, mortal!”
“You utter, utter ... fifteen years! Fifteen damn years before I ever
tasted garlic! And the priests used to get up early in the countryside
round us to jump on all the mushrooms! And do you know how much a small
slab of chocolate cost in our town, and what they did to people who were
caught with one?” The minstrel shouldered the Horde aside and advanced on
the retreating god. his lyre raised like a club.
“I shall smite you with lightning!” squeaked Nuggan, raising his hands to
protect himself. “You can't! Not here! You can only do that stuff back in
the world! All you can do here is bluff and illusion! And bullying.
That's what prayers are ... it's frightened people trying to make friends
with the bully! All those temples were built and ... and you're nothing
but a little-” Cohen laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Well said, lad.
Well said. But it's time you were goin”
“Broccoli,” murmured Offler to Sweevo, God of Cut Timber. “You can't go
wrong with broccoli?
”I prohibit the practice of panupunitoplasty.“ said Sweevo.
”What'th that?“
”Search me, but it's got them worried?
“Just let me give him one wallop-” shouted the minstrel.
“Listen, son, listen,” said Cohen, struggling to hold him. "You got
better things to do with that lyre than smash it over someone's head,
right? A few little verses -it's 'mazin' how they stick in the mind.

 
 
   
Listen to me, listen, do you hear what I'm tellin' you? ... I've got a
sword and it's a good one, but all the bleedin' thing can do is keep
someone alive, listen. A song can keep someone immortal. Good or bad!“
The minstrel relaxed a little, but only a little. Nuggan had taken refuge
behind a group of other gods.
”He'll wait until I'm out of the gates-“ groaned the minstrel. ”He'll be
busy! Truckle, press that plunger!“
”Ah, your famous firework.“ said Blind Io. ”But, my dear mortal, fire
cannot harm the gods ...“
”Well now,“ said Cohen, ”that depends, right? 'Cos in a minute or so, the
top of this mountain is gonna look like a volcano. Everyone in the world
will see it. I wonder if they'll believe in the gods any more?“
”Hah!“ sneered Fate, but a few of the brighter gods looked suddenly
thoughtful.
”Anyway,“ Cohen went on. ”it dunt matter if someone kills the gods. It
does matter that, someone tried. Next time, someone'll try harder,“
”All that will happen is that you will be killed,“ said Fate, but the
more thoughtful gods were edging away.
”What have we got to lose?“ said Boy Willie. ”We're going to die anyway.
We're ready to die.“
”We've always been ready to die,“ said Caleb the Ripper.
”That's why we've lived such a long time,“ said Boy Willie.
”But... why be so upset?* said Blind Io. “You've had long eventful lives,
and the great cycle of nature-”
“Ach, the great cycle o' nature can eat ma loincloth!” said Mad Hamish.
“And there's not many as would want to do that,” said Cohen. “And I ain't
much good with words, but... I reckon we're doing this 'cos we are goin'
to die, d'yer see? And 'cos some bloke got to the edge of the world
somewhere and saw all them other worlds out there and burst into tears
'cos there was only one lifetime. So much universe, and so little time.
Arid that's not right...”
But the gods were looking around.
The wings had shattered and broken off. The fuselage smashed down on to
the cobbles, and slid on.
“Now is the time to panic,” said Rincewind. The stricken Kite continued
to scrape across the flagstones in a growing smell of scorched wood.
A pale hand reached past Rincewind.
“It would be advisable,” said Leonard, “to hold on to something.”
He pulled a small handle labelled “Sekarb”.
Now the Kite stopped. In a very dynamic sort of way.
The gods looked down.
A hatch opened in the strange wooden bird. It fell off and rolled a
little way.
The gods saw a figure get out. He appeared, in many ways, to be a hero,
except that he was far too clean.
He looked around, removed his helmet and saluted.
“Good afternoon. O mighty ones,” he said. “I do apologise, but this
should not take long. And may I take this opportunity to say on behalf of
the people of the Disc that you are doing a wonderful job here.” He
marched towards the Horde, past the astonished gods, and stopped in front
of Cohen. “Cohen the Barbarian?” “What's it to you?” said Cohen,
mystifed.
“I am Captain Carrot of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, and I hereby arrest
you on a charge of conspiracy to end the world. You need not say
anything-”
“I don't intend to say anything.” said Cohen, raising his sword. “I'm
just gonna cut your -ing head off.”

Discworld 27 - The Last Hero

Discworld 27 - The Last Hero

 
 
   
“Hold it, hold it,” said Boy Willie urgently. “Do you know who we all
are?”
“Yessir. I believe so. You are Boy Willie, aka Mad Bill, Wilhelm the
Chopper, the Great-”
“And you are going to arrest us? You say you are some kind of a
watchman?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“We must've killed hundreds of watchmen in our time, lad!”
“I'm sorry to hear that, sir.”
“Ow much do they pay you. boy?” said Caleb.
“Forty-three dollars a month, Mr.Ripper. With allowances.”
The Horde burst out laughing. Then Carrot drew his sword.
“I must insist, sir. What you are planning to do will destroy the world.”
“Only this bit, lad,” said Cohen. “Now you could go off home and-”
“I'm being patient, sir. out of respect for your grey hairs.”
There was a further burst of laughing and Mad Hamish had to be slapped on
the back. “Just a moment, boys.” said Mrs McGarry quietly. Are we
thinking this one through? Look around you.“ They looked around.
”Well?“ Cohen demanded.
”There's me, and you,“ said Vena, ”and Truckle and Boy Willie and Harnish
and Caleb and the minstrel.“
”So? So?“
”That's seven,“ said Vena. ”Seven of us, against one of him. Seven
against one. And he thinks he's going to save the world. And he knows who
we are and he's still going to fight us ...“
”You think he's a hero?“ cackled Mad Hamish. ”Hah! Wha' kind o' hero
works for forty-three dollars a month? Plus allowances!“
But the cackle was all alone in the sudden quietness. The Horde could
calculate the peculiar mathematics of heroism quite quickly.
There was, there always was. at the start and finish ... the Code. They
lived by the Code. You followed the Code, and you became part of the Code
for those who followed you. The Code was it. Without the Code, you
weren't a hero. You were just a thug in a loincloth.
The Code was quite clear. One brave man against seven ... won. They knew
it was true. In the past, they'd all relied on it. The higher the odds,
the greater the victory. That was the Code.
Forget the Code, dismiss the Code, deny the Code ... and the Code would
take you.
They looked clown at Captain Carrot's sword. It was short, sharp and
plain. It was a working sword. It had no runes on it. No mystic gleam
twinkled on its edge.
If you believed in the Code, that was worrying. One simple sword in the
hands of a truly brave man would cut through a magical sword like suet.
It wasn't a frightening thought, but it was a thought.
”Funny thing,“ said Cohen, ”but I heard tell once that down in Ankh-
Morpork there's some watchman who's really heir to the throne but keeps
very quiet about it because he likes being a watchman .. .“
Oh dear, thought the Horde. Kings in disguise ... that was Code material,
right there.
Carrot met Cohen's gaze.
”Never heard of him,“ he said.
”To die for forty-three dollars a month,“ said Cohen, holding the gaze.
”a man's got to be very, very stupid or very, very brave ...“
”What's the difference?“ said Rincewind, stepping forward. ”Look, I don't
want to break up a moment of drama or anything, but he's not joking. If
that... keg explodes here, it will destroy the world. It'll... open a
sort of hole and all the magic will drain away.“
”Rincewind?“ said Cohen. ”What're you doing here, you old rat?"