Discworld 27 - The Last Hero (12 page)

 
 
   
“It's been done.” said the minstrel, before Evil Harry could reply.
“Vometia. Goddess in Ankh-Morpork. thousands of years ago. ”To give an
offering to Vometia“ meant to-”
“So you'd better think of something else, growled Cohen.
”Oh? And what are you going to be, Harry?“ said Willie.
”Me? Er ... I'm going to be a Dark God,“ said Evil Harry. ”There's a lot
of them around-“
”Here, you never said we could be demonic, said Caleb. “If we can be
demonic, I'm blowed if I'm gonna be a stupid cupid.”
“But if I'd said we could be demons you'd all have wanted to be demons.”
Harry pointed out. “An' we'd have been arguing for hours. Besides, the
other gods're goin' to smell a rat if a whole bunch of dark gods turn up
all at once.”
“Mrs McGarry hasn't done a thing? said Truckle.
”Well. I thought if I could borrow Evil Harry's helmet I could slip in as
a Valkyrie maiden,“ said Vena.
”Good sensible thinkin',“ said Evil Harry. ”There's bound to be a few of
them around.“
”And Harry won't need it because in a minute he's going to make an excuse
about his leg or his back or something and how he can't come in with us,“
said Cohen, in a conversational voice. ”On account of him havin' betrayed
us. Right. Harry?“
The game was getting more exciting. Most of the gods were watching now.
Gods enjoy a good laugh, although it has to be said that their sense of
humour is not subtle.
Blind Io, the elderly chief of the gods, said, ”I suppose there is no
harm they can do us?“
”No,“ said Fate, passing the dice box. ”If they were very intelligent,
they would not be heroes.“
There was the rattle of a die, and one flew across the board and then
began to spin in the air, tumbling faster and faster. Finally it vanished
in a puff of ivory.
”Someone has thrown uncertainty, said Fate. He looked along the table.
“Ah ... my Lady ...”
“My lord.” said the Lady. Her name was never spoken, although everyone
knew what it was; speaking her name aloud would mean that she would
instantly depart. Despite the fact that she had very few actual
worshippers, she was nevertheless one of the most powerful of the deities
on the Disc, since in their hearts nearly everyone hoped and believed
that she existed.
“And what is your move, my dear?” said Io.
“I have already made it.” said the Lady. “But I've thrown the dice where
you can't see them.”
“Good, I like a challenge,” said Io. “In that case-”
“If I may suggest a diversion, sir?” said Fate smoothly.
“And that is?”
“Well, they do want to be treated like gods.” said Fate. “So I suggest we
do so...”
“Are you thaying we thould take them theriouthly?” said Offler.
“Up to a point. Up to a point.”
“Up to which point?” said the Lady.
“Up the the point, madam, where it ceases to amuse,”
On the veldt of Howondaland five the N'tuitif people, the only tribe in
the world to have no imagination whatsoever.
For example, their story about the thunder runs something like this:
“Thunder is a loud noise in the sky, resulting from the disturbance of
the air masses by the passage of lightning.” And their legend “How the
Giraffe Got His Long Neck” runs: "In the old days the ancestors of Old

 
 
   
Man Giraffe had slightly longer necks than other grassland creatures, and
the access to the high leaves was so advantageous that it was mostly
long-necked giraffes that survived, passing on the long neck in their
blood just as a man might inherit his grandfather's spear. Some say,
however, that it is all a lot more complicated and this explanation only
applies to the shorter neck of the okapi. And so it is.“
The N'tuitif are a peaceful people, and have been hunted almost to
extinction by neighbouring tribes, who have lots of imagination, and
therefore plenty of gods, superstitions and ideas about how much better
life would be if they had a bigger hunting ground.
Of the events on the moon that day, the N'tuitif said: ”The moon was
brightly lit and from it rose another light which then split into three
lights and faded. We do not know why this happened. It was just a thing.“
They were then wiped out by a nearby tribe who knew that the lights had
been a signal from the god Ukli to expand the hunting ground a bit more.
However, they were soon defeated entirely by a tribe who knew that the
lights were their ancestors, who lived in the moon, and who were urging
them to kill all non-believers in the goddess Glipzo. Three years later
they in turn were killed by a rock falling from the sky. as a result of a
star exploding a billion years ago.
What goes around, comes around. If not examined too closely, it passes
for justice.
In the shaking, rattling Kite, Rincewind watched the last two dragon pods
drop from the wings. They tumbled alongside for a moment, broke up, and
fell away.
He stared at the levers again. Someone, he thought rnuzzily, really
should be doing something with them, shouldn't they?
Dragons contrailed across the sky. Now they were free of the pods, they
were in a hurry to get home.
The wizards had created Thurlow's Interesting Lens just above the deck.
The display was quite impressive.
”Better than fireworks,“ observed die Dean. Ponder banged on the
omniscope. ”All, it's working now,“ he said, ”but all I can see is this
huge-“ More of Rincewind's face than a giant nose became visible as he
drew back. ”What levers do I pull? What levers do I pull?“ he screamed.
”What's happened?“
”Leonard's still out cold and the Librarian is pulling Carrot out of all
the junk and this is definitely a bumpy ride! We've got no dragons left!
What are all these dials for? I dunk we're falling! What shall I do?“
”Didn't you watch how Leonard did it?“
”He had his feet on two pedals and was pulling all the levers all the
time!“
”All right, all right, I'll see if I can work out what to do from his
plans and we can talk you down!“
”Don't! Talk me Up! Up is where we want to stay! Not down!“
”Are any of the levers marked?“ said Ponder, scrabbling through Leonard's
sketches. ”Yes, but I don't understand them! Here's one marked “Troba”!“
Ponder scanned the pages, covered in Leonard's backwards writing. ”Er ...
er ...“ he muttered.
”Do not pull the lever marked “Troba”!“ snapped Lord Vetinari, leaning
forward.
”My lord!“ said Ponder, and went red as Lord Vetinari's gaze fell upon
him. ”I'm sorry, my lord, but this is rather technical, it is about
machinery., and it would perhaps be better if those whose education had
been more in the field of the arts did not...“
His voice faded under the Patrician's stare.
”This one's got a normal label! It's called “Prince Haran's Tiller”!"
said a desperate voice from the omniscope.

 
 
   
Lord Vetinari patted Ponder Stibbons on the shoulder.
“I quite understand,” he said. “The last thing a trained machinery person
wants at a time like this is well-meant advice from ignorant people. I do
apologise. And what is it that you intend to do?”
“Well I, er, I .. .”
“As the Kite and all our hopes plunge towards the ground. I mean,” Lord
Vetinari went on.
“I, er, I, let's see, we've tried ...”
Ponder stared at the omniscope, and at his notes. His mind had become a
huge, white, sticky field of hot fluff.
“I imagine we have at least a minute left,” said Lord Vetinari. “No
rush.”
“I, er, perhaps we, er ...”
The Patrician leaned down towards the omniscope. “Rincewind, pull Prince
Haran's Tiller,” he said.
“We don't know what it does-” Ponder began.
“Do tell me if you have a better idea,” said Lord Vetinari. “In the
meantime, I suggest that the lever is pulled.”
On the Kite. Rincewind decided to respond to the voice of authority.
“Er ... there's a lot of clicking and whirring,..” he reported. “And ...
some of the levers are moving by themselves ... now the wings are
unfolding ... we're sort of flying in a straight line, at least... quite
gently, really ...”
“Good. I suggest you apply yourself to waking up Leonard,” said the
Patrician. He turned and nodded at Ponder. “You yourself have not studied
the classics, young man? I know Leonard has.”
“Well... no, sir.”
“Prince Haran was a legendary Klatchian hero who sailed around the world
on a ship with a magical tiller,” said Lord Vetinari. “It steered the
ship while he slept. If I can be of any further help, don't hesitate to
ask.”
Evil Harry stood frozen with terror as Cohen advanced across the snow,
hand raised.
“You tipped off the gods, Harry,” said Cohen.
“We all heard yez.” said Mad Hamish.
“But it's okay, Cohen added. ”Makes it more interestin'.“ His hand came
down and slapped the small man on the back.
”We thought: That Evil Harry, he may be dumber'n a thick brick, but
betrayin' us at a time like this ... well, that's what we call nerve,
said Cohen. “I've known a few Evil Dark Lords in my time. Harry, but I'd
def'nit'ly give you three great big goblins' heads for style. You might
have never made it into the, you know, big Dark Lord league, but you've
got... well, Harry, you've definitely got the Wrong Stuff.”
“We likes a man who sticks to his siege catapults,” said Boy Willie.
Evil Harry looked down and shuffled his feet, his face a battle between
pride and relief.
“Good of you to say that, lads,” he mumbled. “I mean, you know, if it was
up to me I wouldn't do this to yer, but I got a reputation to--”
“I said we understand,” said Cohen. “It's just like with us. You see a
big hairy thing galloping towards you, you don't stop to think: Is this a
rare species on the point of extinction? No, you hack its head off. 'Cos
that's heroing. am I right? An'you see someone, you betray 'em, quick as
wink, 'cos that's villaining,”
There was a murmur of approval from the rest of the Horde. In a strange
way. this too was part of the Code.
“You're letting him go?” said the minstrel.

 
 
   
“Of course. You haven't been paying attention, lad. The Dark Lord always
gets away. But you'd better put in the song that he betrayed us. That'll
look good.”
“And ... er ... you wouldn't mind saying I fiendishly tried to cut your
throats?” said Harry.
“All right,” said Cohen loftily. “Put in that he fought like a black-
hearted tiger.”
Harry wiped a tear from his eye. “Thanks, lads.” he said. “I don't know
what to say. I won't forget this. This could turn things right round for
me.”
“But do us a favour and see the bard gets back all right, though, will
you?” said Cohen.
“Sure.” said Evil Harry.
“Um .. . I'm not going back,” said the minstrel.
This surprised everyone. It certain surprised him. But life had suddenly
opened two roads in front of him. One of them led back to a life singing
songs about love and flowers. The other could lead anywhere. There was
something about these old men that made the first choice completely
impossible. He couldn't explain it. That was just how it was.
“You've got to go back-” said Cohen.
“No, I've got to see how it ends,” said the minstrel. “I must be mad, but
that's what I want to do.”
“You can make that bit up,” said Vena.
“No, ma'am,” said the minstrel. “I don't think I can. I don't think this
is going to end in any way that I could make up. Not when I look at Mr
Cohen there in his fish hat and Mr Willie as the God of Being Sick Again.
No, I want to come along. Mr Dread can wait for me here. And I'll be
perfectly safe, sir. No matter what. Because I'm absolutely certain that
when the gods find they're under attack by a man with a tomato on his
head and another one disguised as the Muse of Swearing they're really,
really going to want the whole world to know what happened next.”
Leonard was still out cold. Rincewind tried mopping his brow with a wet
sponge. “Of course I watched him,” said Carrot, glancing back at the
gently moving levers. “But he built it. so it was easy for him. Um ... I
shouldn't touch that, sir ...” The Librarian had swung himself into the
drivers seat and was sniffing the levers. Somewhere underneath them, the
automatic tiller clicked and purred. “We're going to have to come up with
some ideas soon,” Rincewind said. “It won't fly itself for ever.”
“Perhaps if we gently ... I shouldn't do that, sir-”
The Librarian gave the pedals a cursory glance. Then he pushed Carrot
away with one hand while the other unhooked Leonard's flying goggles from
their hook. His feet curled around the pedals. He pushed the handle that
operated Prince Haran's Tiller and, far under his feet, something went
thud.
Then, as the ship shook, he cracked his knuckles, reached out, waggled
his fingers for a moment, and grabbed the steering column.
Carrot and Rincewind dived for their seats.
The gates of Dunmanifestin swung open, apparently by themselves. The
Silver Horde walked inside, keeping together, peering around
suspiciously.
“You better mark our cards for us, lad.” whispered Cohen, looking around
the busy streets. “I wasn't expecting this.”
“Sir?” said the minstrel.
“We expected a lot of carousing in a big 'all,” said Boy Willie. “Not...
shops. And everyone's different sizes!”
“Gods can be any size, I reckon,” said Cohen, as gods burned towards
them.
“Maybe we could ... come back another time?” said Caleb.

 
 
   
The doors slammed behind them. “No,” said Cohen.
And suddenly there was a crowd around them.
“You must be the new gods,” said a voice from the sky. “Welcome to
Dunmanifestin! You'd better come along with us!”
“Ah, the God of Fish,” said a god to Cohen, falling in beside him. “And
how are the fish, your mightiness?”
“Er ... what?” said Cohen. “Oh ... er ... wet. Still very wet. Very wet
things.”
“And dungs?” a goddess asked Hamish. “How are things?”
“Still lyin' aroond!”
“And are you omnipotent?”
“Aye, lass, but there's pills I'm takin' f'r it!”
“And you're the Muse of Swearing?” said a god to Truckle.
“Bloody right!” said Truckle desperately. Cohen looked up and saw Offler
the Crocodile God. He wasn't a god who was hard to recognise, but in any
case Cohen had seen him many times before. His statue in temples
throughout the world was a pretty good likeness, and now was the time for
a man to reflect on the fact that so many of those temples had been left
a good deal poorer as a result of Cohen's activities. He didn't, however,
because it was not the kind of thing he ever did. But it did seem to him
that the Horde was being hustled along. “Where're we off to, friend?” he
said.
“To watch the Gameth, your fithneth.” said Offler.
“Oh, yeah. That's where yo- we play around with u- mortals, right?” said
Cohen.
“Yes, indeed,” said a god on the other side of Cohen. “And currently
we've found some mortals actually attempting to enter Dunmanifestin.”
“The devils, eh?” said Cohen pleasantly. “Give 'em a taste of hot
thunderbolt, that's my advice. It's the only language they understand.”
“Mostly because it's the only language you use,” mumbled the minstrel,
eyeing the surrounded gods.
“Yes, we thought something like that would be a good idea,” said the god.
“I'm Fate, by the way.”
“Oh, you're Fate?” said Cohen, as they reached the gaming table. “Always
wanted to meet you. I thought you were supposed to be blind?”
“No.”
“How about if someone stuck two fingers in yer eyes?”
“I'm sorry?”
“Just my little joke.”
“Ha. Ha,” said Fate. “I wonder, O God of Fish, how good a player you
are?”
“Never been much of a gambler.” said Cohen, as a solitary dice appeared
between Fate's fingers. “A mug's game.”
“Perhaps you would care for a little .. . venture?”
The crowd went silent. The minstrel looked into Fate's bottomless eyes,
and knew that if you played dice with Fate the roll was always fixed.
You could have heard a sparrow fall.
“Yeah.” said Cohen, at last. “Why not?”
Fate tossed the die on to the board. “Six,” he said, without breaking eye
contact.
“Right,” said Cohen. “So I've got to a get a six too, yeah?”
Fate smiled. “Oh. no. You are, after all. a god. And gods play to win.
You, O mighty one, must throw a seven.”
“Seven?” said the minstrel.
“I fail to see why this should present a difficulty,” said Fate, “to one
entitled to be here.”
Cohen turned the die over and over. It had the regulation six sides.