Sourcery - Страница 15

‘What? On my head?’

Good grief.

‘But I’m not an Archchancellor!’ said Rincewind. ‘I mean, I’ve heard of cool-headed, but—’

I need to use your eyes. Now put me on. On your head.

‘Um.’

Trust me.

Rincewind couldn’t disobey. He gingerly removed his battered grey hat, looked longingly at its dishevelled star, and lifted the Archchancellor’s hat out of its box. It felt rather heavier than he’d expected. The octarines around the crown were glowing faintly.

He lowered it carefully on to his new hairstyle, clutching the brim tightly in case he felt the first icy chill.

In fact he simply felt incredibly light. And there was a feeling of great knowledge and power – not actually present, but just, mentally speaking, on the tip of his metaphorical tongue.

Odd scraps of memory flickered across his mind, and they weren’t any memories he remembered remembering before. He probed gently, as one touches a hollow tooth with the tongue, and there they were—

Two hundred dead Archchancellors, dwindling into the leaden, freezing past, one behind the other, watched him with blank grey eyes.

That’s why it’s so cold, he told himself, the warmth seeps into the dead world. Oh, no…

When the hat spoke, he saw two hundred pairs of pale lips move.

Who are you?

Rincewind, thought Rincewind. And in the inner recesses of his head he tried to think privately to himself … help.

He felt his knees begin to buckle under the weight of centuries.

What’s it like, being dead? he thought.

Death is but a sleep, said the dead mages.

But what does it feel like? Rincewind thought.

You will have an unrivalled chance to find out when those war canoes get here, Rincewind.

With a yelp of terror he thrust upwards and forced the hat off his head. Real life and sound flooded back in, but since someone was frantically banging a gong very close to his ear this was not much of an improvement. The canoes were visible to everyone now, cutting through the water with an eerie silence. Those black-clad figures manning the paddles should have been whooping and screaming; it wouldn’t have made it any better, but it would have seemed more appropriate. The silence bespoke an unpleasant air of purpose.

‘Gods, that was awful,’ he said. ‘Mind you, so is this.’

Crew members scurried across the deck, cutlasses in hand. Conina tapped Rincewind on the shoulder.

‘They’ll try to take us alive,’ she said.

‘Oh,’ said Rincewind weakly. ‘Good.’

Then he remembered something else about Klatchian slavers, and his throat went dry.

‘You’ll – you’ll be the one they’ll really be after,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard about what they do—’

‘Should I know?’ said Conina. To Rincewind’s horror she didn’t appear to have found a weapon.

‘They’ll throw you in a seraglio!’

She shrugged. ‘Could be worse.’

‘But it’s got all these spikes and when they shut the door—’ hazarded Rincewind. The canoes were close enough now to see the determined expressions of the rowers.

‘That’s not a seraglio. That’s an Iron Maiden. Don’t you know what a seraglio is?’

‘Um…’

She told him. He went crimson.

‘Anyway, they’ll have to capture me first,’ said Conina primly. ‘It’s you who should be worrying.’

‘Why me?’

‘You’re the only other one who’s wearing a dress.’

Rincewind bridled. ‘It’s a robe—’

‘Robe, dress. You better hope they know the difference.’

A hand like a bunch of bananas with rings on grabbed Rincewind’s shoulder and spun him around. The captain, a Hublander built on generous bear-like lines, beamed at him through a mass of facial hair.

‘Hah!’ he said. ‘They know not that we aboard a wizard have! To create in their bellies the burning green fire! Hah?’

The dark forests of his eyebrows wrinkled as it became apparent that Rincewind wasn’t immediately ready to hurl vengeful magic at the invaders.

‘Hah?’ he insisted, making a mere single syllable do the work of a whole string of blood-congealing threats.

‘Yes, well, I’m just – I’m just girding my loins,’ said Rincewind. ‘That’s what I’m doing. Girding them. Green fire, you want?’

‘Also to make hot lead run in their bones,’ said the captain. ‘Also their skins to blister and living scorpions without mercy to eat their brains from inside, and—’

The leading canoe came alongside and a couple of grapnels thudded into the rail. As the first of the slavers appeared the captain hurried away, drawing his sword. He stopped for a moment and turned to Rincewind.

‘You gird quickly,’ he said. ‘Or no loins. Hah?’

Rincewind turned to Conina, who was leaning on the rail examining her fingernails.

‘You’d better get on with it,’ she said. ‘That’s fifty green fires and hot leads to go, with a side order for blisters and scorpions. Hold the mercy.’

‘This sort of thing is always happening to me,’ he moaned.

He peered over the rail to what he thought of as the main floor of the boat. The invaders were winning by sheer weight of numbers, using nets and ropes to tangle the struggling crew. They worked in absolute silence, clubbing and dodging, avoiding the use of swords wherever possible.

‘Mustn’t damage the merchandise,’ said Conina. Rincewind watched in horror as the captain went down under a press of dark shapes, screaming, ‘Green fire! Green fire!’

Rincewind backed away. He wasn’t any good at magic, but he’d had a hundred per cent success at staying alive up to now and didn’t want to spoil the record. All he needed to do was to learn how to swim in the time it took to dive into the sea. It was worth a try.

‘What are you waiting for? Let’s go while they’re occupied,’ he said to Conina.

‘I need a sword,’ she said.

‘You’ll be spoilt for choice in a minute.’

‘One will be enough.’

Rincewind kicked the Luggage.

‘Come on,’ he snarled. ‘You’ve got a lot of floating to do.’

The Luggage extended its little legs with exaggerated nonchalance, turned slowly, and settled down beside the girl.

‘Traitor,’ said Rincewind to its hinges.

The battle already seemed to be over. Five of the raiders stalked up the ladder to the afterdeck, leaving most of their colleagues to round up the defeated crew below. The leader pulled down his mask and leered briefly and swarthily at Conina; and then he turned and leered for a slightly longer period at Rincewind.

‘This is a robe,’ said Rincewind quickly. ‘And you’d better watch out, because I’m a wizard.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Lay a finger on me, and you’ll make me wish you hadn’t. I warn you.’

‘A wizard? Wizards don’t make good strong slaves,’ mused the leader.

‘Absolutely right,’ said Rincewind. ‘So if you’ll just see your way clear to letting me go—’

The leader turned back to Conina, and signalled to one of his companions. He jerked a tattooed thumb towards Rincewind.

‘Do not kill him too quickly. In fact—’ he paused, and treated Rincewind to a smile full of teeth. ‘Maybe … yes. And why not? Can you sing, wizard?’

‘I might be able to,’ said Rincewind, cautiously. ‘Why?’

‘You could be just the man the Seriph needs for a job in the harem.’ A couple of slavers sniggered.

‘It could be a unique opportunity,’ the leader went on, encouraged by this audience appreciation. There was more broad-minded approval from behind him.

Rincewind backed away. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, ‘thanks all the same. I’m not cut out for that kind of thing.’

‘Oh, but you could be,’ said the leader, his eyes bright. ‘You could be.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ muttered Conina. She glanced at the men on either side of her, and then her hands moved. The one stabbed with the scissors was possibly better off than the one she raked with the comb, given the kind of mess a steel comb can make of a face. Then she reached down, snatched up a sword dropped by one of the stricken men, and lunged at the other two.

The leader turned at the screams, and saw the Luggage behind him with its lid open. And then Rincewind cannoned into the back of him, pitching him forward into whatever oblivion lay in the multidimensional depths of the chest.

There was the start of a bellow, abruptly cut off.

Then there was a click like the shooting of the bolt on the gates of Hell.

Rincewind backed away, trembling. ‘A unique opportunity,’ he muttered under his breath, having just got the reference.

At least he had a unique opportunity to watch Conina fight. Not many men ever got to see it twice.

Her opponents started off grinning at the temerity of a slight young girl in attacking them, and then rapidly passed through various stages of puzzlement, doubt, concern and abject gibbering terror as they apparently became the centre of a flashing, tightening circle of steel.

She disposed of the last of the leader’s bodyguard with a couple of thrusts that made Rincewind’s eyes water and, with a sigh, vaulted the rail on the main deck. To Rincewind’s annoyance the Luggage barrelled after her, cushioning its fall by dropping heavily on to a slaver, and adding to the sudden panic of the invaders because, while it was bad enough to be attacked with deadly and ferocious accuracy by a rather pretty girl in a white dress with flowers on it, it was even worse for the male ego to be tripped up and bitten by a travel accessory; it was pretty bad for all the rest of the male, too.