Sourcery - Страница 24

Which brings us rather neatly on to the subject of magic.

A long way out in the dark gulfs of interstellar space, one single inspiration particle is clipping along unaware of its destiny, which is just as well, because its destiny is to strike, in a matter of hours, a tiny area of Rincewind’s mind.

It would be a tough destiny even if Rincewind’s creative node was a reasonable size, but the particle’s karma had handed it the problem of hitting a moving target the size of a small raisin over a distance of several hundred lightyears. Life can be very difficult for a little sub-atomic particle in a great big universe.

If it pulls it off, however, Rincewind will have a serious philosophic idea. If it doesn’t, a nearby brick will have an important insight which it will be totally unequipped to deal with.

———

The Seriph’s palace, known to legend as the Rhoxie, occupied most of the centre of Al Khali that wasn’t occupied by the wilderness. Most things connected with Creosote were famed in mythology and the arched, domed, many-pillared palace was said to have more rooms than any man had been able to count. Rincewind didn’t know which number he was in.

‘It’s magic, isn’t it?’ said Abrim the vizier.

He prodded Rincewind in the ribs.

‘You’re a wizard,’ he said. ‘Tell me what it does.’

‘How do you know I’m a wizard?’ said Rincewind desperately.

‘It’s written on your hat,’ said the vizier.

‘Ah.’

‘And you were on the boat with it. My men saw you.’

‘The Seriph employs slavers?’ snapped Conina. ‘That doesn’t sound very simple!’

‘Oh, I employ the slavers. I am the vizier, after all,’ said Abrim. ‘It is rather expected of me.’

He gazed thoughtfully at the girl, and then nodded at a couple of the guards.

‘The current Seriph is rather literary in his views,’ he said. ‘I, on the other hand, am not. Take her to the seraglio, although,’ he rolled his eyes and gave an irritable sigh, ‘I’m sure the only fate that awaits her there is boredom, and possibly a sore throat.’

He turned to Rincewind.

‘Don’t say anything,’ he said. ‘Don’t move your hands. Don’t try any sudden feats of magic. I am protected by strange and powerful amulets.’

‘Now just hold on a minute—’ Rincewind began, and Conina said, ‘All right. I’ve always wondered what a harem looked like.’

Rincewind’s mouth went on opening and shutting, but no sounds came out. Finally he managed, ‘Have you?’

She waggled an eyebrow at him. It was probably a signal of some sort. Rincewind felt he ought to have understood it, but peculiar passions were stirring in the depths of his being. They weren’t actually going to make him brave, but they were making him angry. Speeded up, the dialogue behind his eyes was going something like this: Ugh.

Who’s that?

Your conscience. I feel terrible. Look, they’re marching her off to the harem.

Rather her than me, thought Rincewind, but without much conviction.

Do something!

There’s too many guards! They’ll kill me!

So they’ll kill you, it’s not the end of the world.

It will be for me, thought Rincewind grimly.

But just think how good you’ll feel in your next life—

Look, just shut up, will I? I’ve had just about enough of me.

Abrim stepped across to Rincewind and looked at him curiously.

‘Who are you talking to?’ he said.

‘I warn you,’ said Rincewind, between clenched teeth, ‘I have this magical box on legs which is absolutely merciless with attackers, one word from me and—’

‘I’m impressed,’ said Abrim. ‘Is it invisible?’

Rincewind risked a look behind him.

‘I’m sure I had it when I came in,’ he said, and sagged.

It would be mistaken to say the Luggage was nowhere to be seen. It was somewhere to be seen, it was just that the place wasn’t anywhere near Rincewind.

Abrim walked slowly around the table on which sat the hat, twirling his moustache.

‘Once again,’ he said, ‘I ask you: this is an artifact of power, I feel it, and you must tell me what it does.’

‘Why don’t you ask it?’ said Rincewind.

‘It refuses to tell me.’

‘Well, why do you want to know?’

Abrim laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound. It sounded as though he had had laughter explained to him, probably slowly and repeatedly, but had never heard anyone actually do it.

‘You’re a wizard,’ he said. ‘Wizardry is about power. I have taken an interest in magic myself. I have the talent, you know.’ The vizier drew himself up stiffly. ‘Oh, yes. But they wouldn’t accept me at your University. They said I was mentally unstable, can you believe that?’

‘No,’ said Rincewind, truthfully. Most of the wizards at Unseen had always seemed to him to be several bricks short of a shilling. Abrim seemed pretty normal wizard material.

Abrim gave him an encouraging smile.

Rincewind looked sideways at the hat. It said nothing. He looked back at the vizier. If the laughter had been weird, the smile made it sound as normal as birdsong. It looked as though the vizier had learned it from diagrams.

‘Wild horses wouldn’t get me to help you in any way,’ he said.

‘Ah,’ said the vizier. ‘A challenge.’ He beckoned to the nearest guard.

‘Do we have any wild horses in the stables?’

‘Some fairly angry ones, master.’

‘Infuriate four of them and take them to the turn-wise courtyard. And, oh, bring several lengths of chain.’

‘Right away, master.’

‘Um. Look,’ said Rincewind.

‘Yes?’ said Abrim.

‘Well, if you put it like that…’

‘You wish to make a point?’

‘It’s the Archchancellor’s hat, if you must know,’ said Rincewind. ‘The symbol of wizardry.’

‘Powerful?’

Rincewind shivered. ‘Very,’ he said.

‘Why is it called the Archchancellor’s hat?’

‘The Archchancellor is the most senior wizard, you see. The leader. But, look—’

Abrim picked up the hat and turned it around and around in his hands.

‘It is, you might say, the symbol of office?’

‘Absolutely, but look, if you put it on, I’d better warn you—’

Shut up.

Abrim leapt back, the hat dropping to the floor.

The wizard knows nothing. Send him away. We must negotiate.

The vizier stared down at the glittering octarines around the hat.

‘I negotiate? With an item of apparel?’

I have much to offer, on the right head.

Rincewind was appalled. It has already been indicated that he had the kind of instinct for danger usually found only in certain small rodents, and it was currently battering on the side of his skull in an attempt to run away and hide somewhere.

‘Don’t listen!’ he shouted.

Put me on, said the hat beguilingly, in an ancient voice that sounded as though the speaker had a mouthful of felt.

If there really was a school for viziers, Abrim had come top of the class.

‘We’ll talk first,’ he said. He nodded at the guards, and pointed to Rincewind.

‘Take him away and throw him in the spider tank,’ he said.

‘No, not spiders, on top of everything else!’ moaned Rincewind.

The captain of the guard stepped forward and knuckled his forehead respectfully.

‘Run out of spiders, master,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ The vizier looked momentarily blank. ‘In that case, lock him in the tiger cage.’

The guard hesitated, trying to ignore the sudden out-burst of whimpering beside him. ‘The tiger’s been ill, master. Backwards and forwards all night.’

‘Then throw this snivelling coward down the shaft of eternal fire!’

A couple of the guards exchanged glances over the head of Rincewind, who had sunk to his knees.

‘Ah. We’ll need a bit of notice of that, master—’

‘—to get it going again, like.’

The vizier’s fist came down hard on the table. The captain of the guard brightened up horribly.

‘There’s the snake pit, master,’ he said. The other guards nodded. There was always the snake pit.

Four heads turned towards Rincewind, who stood up and brushed the sand off his knees.

‘How do you feel about snakes?’ said one of the guards.

‘Snakes? I don’t like snakes much—’

‘The snake pit,’ said Abrim.

‘Right. The snake pit,’ agreed the guards.

‘—I mean, some snakes are okay—’ Rincewind continued, as two guards grabbed him by the elbows.

In fact there was only one very cautious snake, which remained obstinately curled up in a corner of the shadowy pit watching Rincewind suspiciously, possibly because he reminded it of a mongoose.

‘Hi,’ it said eventually. ‘Are you a wizard?’

As a line of snake dialogue this was a considerable improvement on the normal string of esses, but Rincewind was sufficiently despondent not to waste time wondering and simply replied, ‘It’s on my hat, can’t you read?’

‘In seventeen languages, actually. I taught myself.’

‘Really?’

‘I sent off for courses. But I try not to read, of course. It’s not in character.’

‘I suppose it wouldn’t be.’ It was certainly the most cultured snake voice that Rincewind had ever heard.

‘It’s the same with the voice, I’m afraid,’ the snake added. ‘I shouldn’t really be talking to you now. Not like this, anyway. I suppose I could grunt a bit. I rather think I should be trying to kill you, in fact.’