tp.lightfantastic-第15章

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hen　it　hit　him　like　a　sandbag。
　'Daddy？'
　She　looked　down　demurely。　'Adopted；　actually；'　she　said。　'He　found　me　when　I　was　a　little　girl；　he　says。　It　was　all　rather　sad。'　She　brightened。　'But　e　and　meet　him　…　he's　got　his　friends　in　tonight；　I'm　sure　hell　be　interested　to　see　you。　He　doesn't　meet　many　people　socially。　Nor　do　I；　actually；'　she　added。
　'Sorry；'　said　Rincewind。　'Have　I　got　it　right？　We're　talking　about　Death；　yes？　Tall；　thin；　empty　eye…sockets；　handy　in　the　scythe　department？'
　She　sighed。　'Yes。　His　looks　are　against　him；　I'm　afraid。'
　While　it　was　true　that；　as　has　already　been　indicated；　Rincewind　was　to　magic　what　a　bicycle　is　to　a　bumblebee；　he　nevertheless　retained　one　privilege　available　to　practitioners　of　the　art；　which　was　that　at　the　point　of　death　it　would　be　Death　himself　who　turned　up　to　claim　him　（instead　of　delegating　the　job　to　a　lesser　mythological　anthropomorphic　personification；　as　is　usually　the　case）。　Owing　largely　to　inefficiency　Rincewind　had　consistently　failed　to　die　at　the　right　time；　and　if　there　is　one　thing　that　Death　does　not　like　it　is　unpunctuality。
　'Look；　I　expect　my　friend　has　just　wandered　off　somewhere；'　he　said。　'He's　always　doing　that；　story　of　his　life；　nice　to　have　met　you；　must　be　going　…'
　But　she　had　already　stopped　in　front　of　a　tall　door　padded　with　purple　velvet。　There　were　voices　on　the　other　side　…　eldritch　voices；　the　sort　of　voices　that　mere　typography　will　remain　totally　unable　to　convey　until　someone　can　make　a　linotype　machine　with　echo…reverb　and；　possibly；　a　typeface　that　looks　like　something　said　by　a　slug。
　This　is　what　the　voices　were　saying：
　WOULD　YOU　MIND　EXPLAINING　THAT　AGAIN？
　Well；　if　you　return　anything　except　a　trump；　South　will　be　able　to　get　in　his　two　ruffs；　losing　only　one　Turtle；　one　Elephant　and　one　Major　Arcana；　then　…'
　'That's　Twoflower！'　hissed　Rincewind。　'I'd　know　that　voice　anywhere！'
　JUST　A　MINUTE　…　PESTILENCE　IS　SOUTH？
　'Oh；　e　on；　Mort；　He　explained　that。　What　if　Famine　had　played　a　…　what　was　it　…　a　trump　return！'　It　was　a　breathy；　wet　voice；　practically　contagious　all　by　itself。
　'Ah；　then　you'd　only　be　able　to　ruff　one　Turtle　instead　of　two；'　said　Twoflower　enthusiastically。
　'But　if　War　had　chosen　a　trump　lead　originally；　then　the　contract　would　have　gone　two　down？'
　'Exactly！'
　I　DIDN'T　QUITE　FOLLOW　THAT。　TELL　ME　ABOUT　PSYCHIC　BIDS　AGAIN；　I　THOUGHT　I　WAS　GETTING　THE　HANG　OF　THAT。　It　was　a　heavy；　hollow　voice；　like　two　large　lumps　of　lead　smashing　together。
　'That's　when　you　make　a　bid　primarily　to　deceive　your　opponents；　but　of　course　it　might　cause　problems　for　your　partner　…'
　Twoflower's　voice　rambled　on　in　its　enthusiastic　way。　Rincewind　looked　blankly　at　Ysabell　as　words　like　rebiddable　suit'；　'double　finesse'　and　'grand　slam'　floated　through　the　velvet。
　'Do　you　understand　any　of　that？'　she　asked。
　'Not　a　word；'　he　said。
　'It　sounds　awfully　plicated。'
　On　the　other　side　of　the　door　the　heavy　voice　said：　'DID　YOU　SAY　HUMANS　PLAY　THIS　FOR　FUN？'
　'Some　of　them　get　to　be　very　good　at　it；　yes。　I'm　only　an　amateur；　I'm　afraid。'
　BUT　THEY　ONLY　LIVE　EIGHTY　OR　NINETY　YEARS！
　'You　should　know；　Mort；'　said　a　voice　that　Rincewind　hadn't　heard　before　and　certainly　never　wanted　to　hear　again；　especially　after　dark。
　'It's　certainly　very　…　intriguing。'
　DEAL　AGAIN　AND　LET'S　SEE　IF　I'VE　GOT　THE　HANG　OF　IT。
　'Do　you　think　perhaps　we　should　go　in？'　said　Ysabell。　A　voice　behind　the　door　said；　I　BID　。　。　。　THE　KNAVE　OF　TERRAPINS。
　'No；　sorry；　I'm　sure　you're　wrong；　let's　have　a　look　at　your　…'
　Ysabell　pushed　the　door　open。
　It　was；　in　fact；　a　rather　pleasant　study；　perhaps　a　little　on　the　sombre　side；　possibly　created　on　a　bad　day　by　an　interior　designer　who　had　a　headache　and　a　craving　for　putting　large　hourglasses　on　every　flat　surface　and　also　a　lot　of　large；　fat；　yellow　and　extremely　runny　candles　he　wanted　to　get　rid　of。
　The　Death　of　the　Disc　was　a　traditionalist　who　prided　himself　on　his　personal　service　and　spent　most　of　the　time　being　depressed　because　this　was　not　appreciated。　He　would　point　out　that　no…one　feared　death　itself；　just　pain　and　separation　and　oblivion；　and　that　it　was　quite　unreasonable　to　take　against　someone　just　because　he　had　empty　eye…sockets　and　a　quiet　pride　in　his　work。　He　still　used　a　scythe；　he'd　point　out；　while　the　Deaths　of　other　worlds　had　long　ago　invested　in　bined　harvesters。
　Death　sat　at　one　side　of　a　black　baize　table　in　the　centre　of　the　room；　arguing　with　Famine；　War　and　Pestilence。　Twoflower　was　the　only　one　to　look　up　and　notice　Rincewind。
　'Hey；　how　did　you　get　here？'　he　said。
　'Well；　some　say　the　Creator　took　a　handful　…　oh；　I　see；　well；　it's　hard　to　explain　but　I　…'
　'Have　you　got　the　Luggage？'
　The　wooden　box　pushed　past　Rincewind　and　settled　down　in　front　of　its　owner；　who　opened　its　lid　and　rummaged　around　inside　until　he　came　up　with　a　small；　leatherbound　book　which　he　handed　to　War；　who　was　hammering　the　table　with　a　mailed　fist。
　'It's　：Nosehinger　on　the　Laws　of　Contract：；'　he　said。　It's　quite　good；　there's　a　lot　in　it　about　double　finessing　and　how　to　…'
　Death　snatched　the　book　with　a　bony　hand　and　flipped　through　the　pages；　quite　oblivious　to　the　presence　of　the　two　men。
　RIGHT；　he　said；　PESTILENCE；　OPEN　ANOTHER　PACK　OF　CARDS。　I'M　GOING　TO　GET　TO　THE　BOTTOM　OF　THIS　IF　IT　KILLS　ME；　FIGURATIVELY　SPEAKING　OF　COURSE。
　Rincewind　grabbed　Twoflower　and　pulled　him　out　of　the　room：　As　they　jogged　down　the　corridor　with　the　Luggage　galloping　behind　them　he　said：
　'What　was　all　that　about？'
　'Well；　they've　got　lots　of　time　and　I　thought　they　might　enjoy　it；'　panted　Twoflower。
　'What；　playing　with　cards？'
　'It's　a　special　kind　of　playing；'　said　Twoflower。　'It's　called…'　he　hesitated。　Language　wasn't　his　strong　point。　'In　your　language　it's　called　a　thing　you　put　across　a　river；　for　example；'　he　concluded；　'I　think。'
　'Aqueduct？'　hazarded　Rincewind。　'Fishing　line？　Weir？　Dam？'
　'Yes；　possibly。'
　They　reached　the　hallway；　where　the　big　clock　still　shaved　the　seconds　off　the　lives　of　the　world。
　'And　how　long　do　you　think　that'll　keep　them　occupied？'
　Twoflower　paused。　'I'm　not　sure；'　he　said　thoughtfully。　Probably　until　the　last　trump　…　what　an　amazing　clock。　。　。'
　'Don't　try　to　buy　it；'　Rincewind　advised。　'I　don't　think　they'd　appreciate　it　around　here。'
　'Where　is　here；　exactly？'　said　Twoflower；　beckoning　the　Luggage　and　opening　its　lid。
　Rincewind　looked　around。　The　hall　was　dark　and　deserted；　its　tall　narrow　windows　whorled　with　ice。　He　looked　down。　There　was　the　faint　blue　line　stretching　away　from　his　ankle。　Now　he　could　see　that　Twoflower　had　one　too。
　'We're　sort　of　informally　dead；'　he　said。　It　was　the　best　he　could　manage。
　'Oh。'　Twoflower　continued　to　rummage。
　'Doesn't　that　worry　you？'
　'Well；　things　tend　to　work　out　in　the　end；　don't　you　think？　Anyway；　I'm　a　firm　believer　in　reincarnation。　What　would　you　like　to　e　back　as？'
　'I　don't　want　to　go；'　said　Rincewind　firmly。　'e　on；　let's　get　out　of　…　oh；　no。　Not　that。'
　Twoflower　had　produced　a　box　from　the　depths　of　the　Luggage。　It　was　large　and　black　and　had　a　handle　on　one　side　and　a　little　round　window　in　front　and　a　strap　so　that　Twoflower　could　put　it　around　his　neck；　which　he　did。
　There　was　a　time　when　Rincewind　had　quite　liked　the　iconoscope。　He　believed；　against　all　experience；　that　the　world　was　fundamentally　understandable；　and　that　if　he　could　only　equip　himself　with　the　right　mental　toolbox　he　could　take　the　back　off　and　see　how　it　worked。　He　was；　of　course；　dead　wrong。　The　iconoscope　didn't　take　pictures　by　letting　light　fall　onto　specially　treated　paper；　as　he　had　surmised；　but　by　the　far　simpler　method　of　imprisoning　a　small　demon　with　a　good　eye　for　colour　and　a　speedy　hand　with　a　paintbrush。　He　had　been　very　upset　to　find　that　out。
　'You　haven't　got　time　to　take　pictures！'　he　hissed。
　'It　won't　take　long；'　said　Twoflower　firmly；　and　rapped　on　the　side　of　the　box。　A　tiny　door　flew　open　and　the　imp　poked　his　head　out。
　'Bloody　hell；'　it　said。　'Where　are　we？'
　'It　doesn't　matter；'　said　Twoflower。　The　clock　first；　I　think。'
　The　demon　squinted。
　'Poor　light；'　he　said。　Three　bloody　years　at　f8；　if　you　ask　me。'　He　slammed　the　door　shut。　A　second　later　there　was　the　tiny　scraping　noise　of　his　stool　being　dragged　up　to　his　easel。
　Rincewind　gritted　his　teeth。
　'You　don't　need　to　take　pictures；　you　can　just　remember　it！'　he　shouted。
　It's　not　the　same；'　said　Twoflower　calmly。
　'It's　better！　It's　more　real！'
　'It　isn't　really。　In　years　to　e；　when　I'm　sitting　by　the　fire　…'
　'You'll　be　sitting　by　the　fire　forever　if　we　don't　get　out　of　here！'
　'Oh；　I　do　hope　you're　not　going。'
　They　both　turned。　Ysabell　was　standing　in　the　archway；　smiling　faintly。　She　held　a　scythe　in　one　hand；　a　scythe　with　a　blade　of　proverbial　sharpness。　Rincewind　tried　not　to　look　down　at　his　blue　lifeline；　a　girl　holding　a　scythe　shouldn't　smile　in　that　unpleasant；　knowing　and　slightly　deranged　way。
　'Daddy　seems　a　little　preoccupied　at　the　moment　but　I'm　sure　he　wouldn't　dream　of　letting　you　go　off　just　like　that；'　she　added。　'Besides；　I'd　have　no…one　to　talk　to。'
　'Who's　this？'　said　Twoflower。
　'She　sort　of　lives　here；'　mumbled　Rincewind。　'She's　a　sort　of　girl；'　he　added。
　He　grabbed　Twoflower's　shoulder　and　tried　to　shuffle　imperceptibly　towards　the　door　into　the　dark；　cold　garden。　It　didn't　work；　largely　because　Twoflower　wasn't　the　sort　of　person　who　went　in　for　nuances　of　expression　and　somehow　never　assumed　that　anything　bad　might　apply　to　him。
　'Charmed；　I'm　sure；'　he　said。　Very　nice　place；　you　have　here。　Interesting　baroque　effect　with　the　bones　and　skulls。'
　Ysabell　smiled。　Rincewind　thought：　if　Death　ever　does　hand　over　the　family　business；　she'll　be　better　at　it　than　he　is　…　she's　bonkers。
　'Yes；　but　we　must　be　going；'　he　said。
　'I　really　won't　hear　of　it；'　she　said。　You　must　stay　and　tell　me　all　about　yourselves。　There's　plenty　of　time　and　it's　so　boring　here。'
　She　darted　sideways　and　swung　the　scythe　at　the　shining　threads。　It　screamed　through　the　air　like　a　neutered　tomcat　…　and　stopped　sharply。
　There　was　the　creak　of　wood。　The　Luggage　had　snapped　its　lid　shut　on　the　blade。
　Twoflower　looked　up　at　Rincewind　in　astonishment。
　And　the　wizard；　with　great　deliberation　and　a　certain　amount　of　satisfaction；　hit　him　smartly　on　the　chin。　As　the　little　man　fell　backwards　Rincewind　caught　him；　threw　him　over　a　shoulder　and　ran。
　Branches　whipped　at　him　in　the　starlit　garden；　and　small；　furry　and　probably　horrible　things　scampered　away　as　he　pounded　desperately　along　the　faint　lifeline　that　shone　eerily　on　the　freezing　grass。
　From　the　building　behind　him　came　a　shrill　scream　of　disappointment　and　rage。　He　cannoned　off　a　tree　and　sped　on。
　Somewhere　there　was　a　path；　he　remembered。　But　in　this　maze　of　silver　light　and　shadows；　tinted　now　with　red　as　the　terrible　new　star　made　its　presence　felt　even　in　the　netherworld；　nothing　looked　right。　Anyway；　the　lifeline　appeared　to　be　going　in　quite　the　wrong　direction。
　There　was　the　sound　of　feet　behind　him。　Rincewind　wheezed　with　effort；　it　sounded　like　the　Luggage；　and　at　the　moment　he　didn't　want　to　meet　the　Luggage；　because　it　might　have　got　the　wron