[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Twoflower reached out gingerly and touched the wall, not quite believing it. What s in the bag? said Rincewind.It was a thick brown paper bag, with string handles. If it sprouts legs I don t want to know about it, said Bethan.Twoflower peered inside, and pulled out the contents.Is that all? said Rincewind. A little house with shells on? It s very useful, said Twoflower defensively. You can keep cigarettes in it. And they re what you really need, are they? said Rincewind.129 I d plump for a bottle of really strong sun-tan oil, said Bethan. Come on, said Rincewind, and set off down the street.The others followed.It occurred to Twoflower that some words of comfort were called for, a littletactful small talk to take Bethan out f herself, as he would put it, and generallycheer her up. Don t worry, he said.There s just a chance that Cohen might still be alive. Oh, I expect he s alive all right, she said, stamping along the cobbles as ifshe nursed a personal grievance against each one of them. You don t live to beeighty-seven in his job if you go around dying all the time.But he s not here. Nor is my Luggage, said Twoflower. Of course, that s not the same thing. Do you think the star is going to hit the Disc? No, said Twoflower confidently. Why not? Because Rincewind doesn t think so.She looked at him in amazement. You see, the tourist went on,  you know that thing you do with seaweed?Bethan, brought up on the Vortex Plains, had only heard of the sea in stories,and had decided she didn t like it.She looked blank. Eat it? No, what you do is, you hang it up outside your door, and it tells you if it sgoing to rain.Another thing Bethan had learned was that there was no real point in tryingto understand anything Twoflower said, and that all anyone could do was runalongside the conversation and hope to jump on as it turned a corner. I see, she said. Rincewind is like that, you see. Like seaweed. Yes.If there was anything at all to be frightened about, he d be frightened.But he s not.The star is just about the only thing I ve ever seen him not frightenedof.If he s not worried, then take it from me, there s nothing to worry about. It s not going to rain? said Bethan. Well, no.Metaphorically speaking. Oh. Bethan decided not to ask what  metaphorically meant, in case it wassomething to do with seaweed.Rincewind turned around. Come on, he said. Not far now. Where to? said Twoflower. Unseen University, of course. Is that wise? Probably not, but I m still going  Rincewind paused, his face a mask ofpain.He put his hand to his ears and groaned.130 Spell giving you trouble? Yargh. Try humming.Rincewind grimaced. I m going to get rid of this thing, he said thickly. It sgoing back into the book where it belongs.I want my head back! But then  Twoflower began, and stopped.They could all hear it  a distantchanting and the stamping of many feet. Do you think it s star people? said Bethan.It was.The lead marchers came around a corner a hundred yards away, behinda ragged white banner with an eight-pointed star on it. Not just star people, said Twoflower. All kinds of people!The crowd swept them up in its passage.One moment they were standing inthe deserted street, the next they were perforce moving with a tide of humanitythat bore them onwards through the city.Torchlight flickered easily on the damp tunnels far under the University as theheads of the eight Orders of wizardry filed onwards. At least it s cool down here, said one. We shouldn t be down here.Trymon, who was leading the party, said nothing.But he was thinking veryhard.He was thinking about the ottle of oil in his belt, and the eight keys thewizards carried  eight keys that would fit the eight locks that chained the Octavoto its lectern.He was thinking that old wizards who sense that magic is drainingaway are preoccupied with their own problems and are perhaps less alert than theyshould be.He was thinking that within a few minutes the Octavo, the greatestconcentration of magic on the Disc, would be under his hands.Despite the coolness of the tunnel he began to sweat.They came to a lead-lined door set in the sheer stone.Trymon took a heavykey  a good, honest iron key, not like the twisted and disconcerting keys thatwould unlock the Octavo  gave the lock a squirt of oil, inserted the key, turned it.The lock squeaked open protestingly. Are we of one resolve? said Trymon.There was a series of vaguely affirma-tive grunts.He pushed at the door.A warm gale of thick and somehow oily air rolled over them.The air wasfilled with a high-pitched and unpleasant chittering.Tiny sparks of octarine fireflared off every nose, fingernail and beard.The wizards, their heads bowed against the storm of randomised magic that131blew out of the room, pushed forward.Half-formed shapes giggled and flutteredaround them as the nightmare inhabitants of the Dungeon Dimensions constantlyprobed (with things that passed for fingers only because they were at the ends oftheir arms) for an unguarded entry into the circle of firelight that passed for theuniverse of reason and order.Even at this bad time for all things magical, even in a room designed to dampdown all magical vibrations, the Octavo was still crackling with power.There was no real need for the torches.The Octavo filled the room with a dull,sullen light, which wasn t strictly light at all but the opposite of light; darknessisn t the opposite of light, it is simply its absence, and what was radiating fromthe book was the light that lies on the far side of darkness, the light fantastic.It was a rather disappointing purple colour.As has been noted before, the Octavo was chained to a lectern carved into theshape of something that looked vaguely avian, slightly reptilian and horribly alive.Two glittering eyes regarded the wizards with hooded hatred. I saw it move, said one of them. We re safe so long as we don t touch the book, said Trymon.He pulled ascroll out of his belt and unrolled it. Bring that torch here, he said,  and put that cigarette out!He waited for the explosion of infuriated pride [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]