tp.lightfantastic-第27章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


ell　be　a　piece　of　rubbish　covered　with　the　diseased　secretions　of　a　dying　mollusc。
　There　have　been　bigger　cities。　There　have　been　richer　cities。　There　have　certainly　been　prettier　cities。　But　no　city　in　the　multiverse　could　rival　Ankh…Morpork　for　its　smell。
　The　Ancient　Ones；　who　know　everything　about　all　the　universes　and　have　smelt　the　smells　of　Calcutta　and　！Xrc　…！　and　dauntocum　Marsport；　have　agreed　that　even　these　fine　examples　of　nasal　poetry　are　mere　limericks　when　set　against　the　glory　of　the　Ankh…Morpork　smell。
　You　can　talk　about　ramps。　You　can　talk　about　garlic。　You　can　talk　about　France。　Go　on。　But　if　you　haven't　smelled　Ankh…Morpork　on　a　hot　day　you　haven't　smelled　anything。
　The　citizens　are　proud　of　it。　They　carry　chairs　outside　to　enjoy　it　on　a　really　good　day。　They　puff　out　their　cheeks　and　slap　their　chests　and　ment　cheerfully　on　its　little　distinctive　nuances。　They　have　even　put　up　a　statue　to　it；　to　memorate　the　time　when　the　troops　of　a　rival　state　tried　to　invade　by　stealth　one　dark　night　and　managed　to　get　to　the　top　of　the　walls　before；　to　their　horror；　their　nose　plugs　gave　out。　Rich　merchants　who　ave　spent　many　years　abroad　sent　back　home　for　specially…stoppered　and　sealed　bottles　of　the　stuff；　which　brings　tears　to　their　eyes。
　It　has　that　kind　of　effect。
　There　is　only　really　one　way　to　describe　the　effect　the　smell　of　Ankh…Morpork　has　on　the　visiting　nose；　and　that　is　by　analogy。
　Take　a　tartan。　Sprinkle　it　with　confetti。　Light　it　with　strobe　lights。
　Now　take　a　chameleon。
　Put　the　chameleon　on　the　tartan。
　Watch　it　closely。
　See？
　Which　explains　why；　when　the　shop　finally　materialised　in　Ankh…Morpork；　Rincewind　sat　bolt　upright　and　said　'We're　here；'　Bethan　went　pale　and　Twoflower；　who　had　no　sense　of　smell；　said；　'Really？　How　can　you　tell？'
　It　had　been　a　long　afternoon。　They　had　broken　into　realspace　in　a　number　of　walls　in　a　variety　of　cities　because；　according　to　the　shopkeeper；　the　Disc's　magical　field　was　playing　up　and　upsetting　everything。
　All　the　cities　were　empty　of　most　of　their　citizens　and　belonged　to　roaming　gangs　of　crazed　left…ear　people。
　'Where　do　they　all　e　from？'　said　Twoflower；　as　they　fled　yet　another　mob。
　'Inside　every　sane　person　there's　a　madman　struggling　to　get　out；'　said　the　shopkeeper。　'That's　what　I've　always　thought。　No　one　goes　mad　quicker　than　a　totally　sane　person。'
　'That　doesn't　make　sense；'　said　Bethan；　'or　if　it　makes　sense；　I　don't　like　it。'　。
　The　star　was　bigger　than　the　sun。　There　would　be　no　night　tonight。　On　the　opposite　horizon　the　Disc's　own　sunlet　was　doing　its　best　to　set　normally；　but　the　general　effect　of　all　that　red　light　was　to　make　the　city；　never　particularly　beautiful；　look　like　something　painted　by　a　fanatical　artist　after　a　bad　time　on　the　shoe　polish。
　But　it　was　home。　Rincewind　peered　up　and　down　the　mpty　street　and　felt　almost　happy。
　At　the　back　of　his　mind　the　Spell　was　kicking　up　a　ruckus；　but　he　ignored　it。　Maybe　it　was　true　that　magic　was　getting　weaker　as　the　star　got　nearer；　or　perhaps　he'd　had　the　Spell　in　his　head　for　so　long　he　had　built　up　some　kind　of　psychic　immunity；　but　he　found　he　could　resist　it。
　'We're　in　the　docks；'　he　declared。　'Just　smell　that　sea　air！'
　'Oh；'　said　Bethan；　leaning　against　the　wall；　'yes。'
　'That's　ozone；　that　is；'　said　Rincewind。　That's　air　with　character；　is　that。'　He　breathed　deeply。
　Twoflower　turned　to　the　shopkeeper。
　'Well；　I　hope　you　find　your　sorcerer；'　he　said。　'Sorry　we　didn't　buy　anything；　but　all　my　money's　in　my　Luggage；　you　see。'
　The　shopkeeper　pushed　something　into　his　hand。
　'A　little　gift；'　he　said。　'You'll　need　it。'
　He　darted　back　into　his　shop；　the　bell　jangled；　the　sign　saying　Call　Again　Tomorrow　For　Spoonfetcher's　Leeches；　the　Little　Suckers　banged　forlornly　against　the　door；　and　the　shop　faded　into　the　brickwork　as　though　it　had　never　been。　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。
　'I'd　plump　for　a　bottle　of　really　strong　sun…tan　oil；'　said　Bethan。
　'e　on；'　said　Rincewind；　and　set　off　down　the　street。　The　others　followed。
　It　occurred　to　Twoflower　that　some　words　of　fort　were　called　for；　a　little　tactful　small　talk　to　take　Bethan　out　f　herself；　as　he　would　put　it；　and　generally　cheer　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　if　she　nursed　a　personal　grievance　against　each　one　of　them。　'You　don't　live　to　be　eighty…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's　going　to　rain。'
　Another　thing　Bethan　had　learned　was　that　there　was　no　real　point　in　trying　to　understand　anything　Twoflower　said；　and　that　all　anyone　could　do　was　run　alongside　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　frightened　of。　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　was　something　to　do　with　seaweed。
　Rincewind　turned　around。
　'e　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　of　pain。　He　put　his　hand　to　his　ears　and　groaned。
　'Spell　giving　you　trouble？'
　'Yargh。'
　'Try　humming。'
　Rincewind　grimaced。　'I'm　going　to　get　rid　of　this　thing；'　he　said　thickly。　'It's　going　back　into　the　book　where　it　belongs。　I　want　my　head　back！'
　'But　then…'　Twoflower　began；　and　stopped。　They　could　all　hear　it　…　a　distant　chanting　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；　behind　a　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　in　the　deserted　street；　the　next　they　were　perforce　moving　with　a　tide　of　humanity　that　bore　them　onwards　through　the　city。
　

　Torchlight　flickered　easily　on　the　damp　tunnels　far　under　the　University　as　the　heads　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　very　hard。　He　was　thinking　about　the　ottle　of　oil　in　his　belt；　and　the　eight　keys　the　wizards　carried　…　eight　keys　that　would　fit　the　eight　locks　that　chained　the　Octavo　to　its　lectern。　He　was　thinking　that　old　wizards　who　sense　that　magic　is　draining　away　are　preoccupied　with　their　own　problems　and　are　perhaps　less　alert　than　they　should　be。　He　was　thinking　that　within　a　few　minutes　the　Octavo；　the　greatest　concentration　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　heavy　key　…　a　good；　honest　iron　key；　not　like　the　twisted　and　disconcerting　keys　that　would　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　affirmative　grunts。
　He　pushed　at　the　door。
　A　warm　gale　of　thick　and　somehow　oily　air　rolled　over　them。　The　air　was　filled　with　a　high…pitched　and　unpleasant　chittering。　Tiny　sparks　of　octarine　fire　flared　off　every　nose；　fingernail　and　beard。
　The　wizards；　their　heads　bowed　against　the　storm　of　randomised　magic　that　blew　out　of　the　room；　pushed　forward。　Half…formed　shapes　giggled　and　fluttered　around　them　as　the　nightmare　inhabitants　of　the　Dungeon　Dimensions　constantly　probed　（with　things　that　passed　for　fingers　only　because　they　were　at　the　ends　of　their　arms）　for　an　unguarded　entry　into　the　circle　of　firelight　that　passed　for　the　universe　of　reason　and　order。
　Even　at　this　bad　time　for　all　things　magical；　even　in　a　room　designed　to　damp　down　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；　darkness　isn't　the　opposite　of　light；　it　is　simply　its　absence；　and　what　was　radiating　from　the　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　the　shape　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　a　scroll　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。　But　none　came。　Instead；　the　offending　mage　removed　the　dogend　from　his　lips　with　trembling　fingers　and　ground　it　into　the　floor。
　Trymon　exulted。　So；　he　thought；　they　do　what　I　say。　Just　for　now；　maybe　…　but　just　for　now　is　enough。
　He　peered　at　the　crabby　writing　of　a　wizard　long　dead。
　'Right；'　he　said；　let's　see：　〃To　Appease　Yt；　The　Thynge　That　Ys　The　Guardian　。　。　。〃　'
　

　The　crowd　surged　over　one　of　the　bridges　that　linked　Morpork　with　Ankh。　Below　it　the　river；　turgid　at　the　best　of　times；　was　a　mere　trickle　which　steamed。
　The　bridge　shook　under　their　feet　rather　more　than　it　should。　Strange　ripples　ran　across　the　muddy　remains　of　the　river。　A　few　tiles　slid　off　the　roof　of　a　nearby　house。
　'What　was　that？'　said　Twoflower。
　Bethan　looked　behind　them；　and　screamed。
　The　star　was　rising。　As　the　Disc's　own　sun　scurried　for　safety　below　the　horizon　the　great　bloated　ball　of　the　star　climbed　slowly　into　the　sky　until　the　whole　of　it　was　several　degrees　above　the　edge　of　the　wor