tp.lightfantastic-第4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！


　Far　below；　in　the　Great　Hall；　the　eight　most　powerful　wizards　on　the　Discworld　gathered　at　the　angles　of　a　ceremonial　octogram。　Actually　they　probably　weren't　the　most　powerful；　if　the　truth　were　known；　but　they　certainly　had　great　powers　of　survival　which；　in　the　highly　petitive　world　of　magic；　was　pretty　much　the　same　thing。　Behind　every　wizard　of　the　eighth　rank　were　half　a　dozen　eventh　rank　wizards　trying　to　bump　him　off；　and　senior　wizards　had　to　develop　an　inquiring　attitude　to；　for　example；　scorpions　in　their　bed。　An　ancient　proverb　summed　it　up：　when　a　wizard　is　tired　of　looking　for　broken　glass　in　his　dinner；　it　ran；　he　is　tired　of　life。
　The　oldest　wizard；　Greyhald　Spold　of　the　Ancient　and　Truly　Original　Sages　of　the　Unbroken　Circle；　leaned　heavily　on　his　carven　staff　and　spake　thusly：
　'Get　on　with　it；　Weatherwax；　my　feet　are　giving　me　gyp。'
　Galder；　who　had　merely　paused　for　effect；　glared　at　him。
　'Very　well；　then；　I　will　be　brief　…'
　'Jolly　good。'
　We　all　sought　guidance　as　to　the　events　of　this　morning。　Can　anyone　among　us　say　he　received　it？'
　The　wizards　looked　sidelong　at　one　another。　Nowhere　outside　a　trades　union　conference　fraternal　benefit　night　can　so　much　mutual　distrust　and　suspicion　be　found　as　among　a　gathering　of　senior　enchanters。　But　the　plain　fact　was　that　the　day　had　gone　very　badly。　Normally　informative　demons；　summoned　abruptly　from　the　Dungeon　Dimensions；　had　looked　sheepish　and　sidled　away　when　questioned。　Magic　mirrors　had　cracked。　Tarot　cards　had　mysteriously　bee　blank。　Crystal　balls　had　gone　all　cloudy。　Even　tealeaves；　normally　scorned　by　wizards　as　frivolous　and　unworthy　of　contemplation；　had　clustered　together　at　the　bottom　of　cups　and　refused　to　move。
　In　short；　the　assembled　wizards　were　at　a　loss。　There　was　a　general　murmur　of　agreement。
　'And　therefore　I　propose　that　we　perform　the　Rite　of　AshkEnte；'　said　Galder　dramatically。
　He　had　to　admit　that　he　had　hoped　for　a　better　response；　something　on　the　lines　of；　well；　'No；　not　the　Rite　of　AshkEnte！　Man　was　not　meant　to　meddle　with　such　things！'
　In　fact　there　was　a　general　mutter　of　approval。
　'Good　idea。'
　'Seems　reasonable。'
　'Get　on　with　it；　then。'
　Slightly　put　out；　he　summoned　a　procession　of　lesser　wizards　who　carried　various　magical　implements　into　the　hall。
　It　has　already　been　hinted　that　around　this　time　there　was　some　disagreement　among　the　fraternity　of　wizards　about　how　to　practise　magic。
　Younger　wizards　in　particular　went　about　saying　that　it　was　time　that　magic　started　to　update　its　image　and　that　they　should　all　stop　mucking　about　with　bits　of　wax　and　bone　and　put　the　whole　thing　on　a　properly…organised　basis；　with　research　programmes　and　three…day　conventions　in　good　hotels　where　they　could　read　papers　with　titles　like　'Whither　Geomancy？'　and　The　role　of　Seven…League　Boots　in　a　caring　society。'
　Trymon；　for　example；　hardly　ever　did　any　magic　these　days　but　ran　the　Order　with　hourglass　efficiency　and　wrote　lots　of　memos　and　had　a　big　chart　on　his　office　wall；　covered　with　coloured　blobs　and　flags　and　lines　that　no…one　else　really　understood　but　which　looked　very　impressive。
　The　other　type　of　wizard　thought　all　this　was　so　much　marsh　gas　and　wouldn't　have　anything　to　do　with　an　image　unless　it　was　made　of　wax　and　had　pins　stuck　in　it。
　The　heads　of　the　eight　orders　were　all　of　this　persuasion；　traditionalists　to　a　mage；　and　the　utensils　that　were　heaped　around　the　octogram　had　a　definite；　no…nonsense　occult　look　about　them。　Rams　horns；　skulls；　baroque　metalwork　and　heavy　candles　were　much　in　evidence；　despite　the　discovery　by　younger　wizards　that　the　Rite　of　AshkEnte　could　perfectly　well　be　performed　with　three　small　bits　of　wood　and　4　cc　of　mouse　blood。
　The　preparations　normally　took　several　hours；　but　the　bined　powers　of　the　senior　wizards　shortened　it　considerably　and；　after　a　mere　forty　minutes；　Galder　chanted　the　final　words　of　the　spell。　They　hung　in　front　of　him　for　a　moment　before　dissolving。
　The　air　in　the　centre　of　the　octogram　shimmered　and　thickened；　and　suddenly　contained　a　tall；　dark　figure。
　Most　of　it　was　hidden　by　a　black　robe　and　hood　and　this　was　probably　just　as　well。　It　held　a　long　scythe　in　one　hand　and　one　couldn't　help　noticing　that　what　should　have　been　fingers　were　simply　white　bone。
　The　other　skeletal　hand　held　small　cubes　of　cheese　and　pineapple　on　a　stick。
　WELL？　said　Death；　in　a　voice　with　all　the　warmth　and　colour　of　an　iceberg。　He　caught　the　wizards'　gaze；　and　glanced　down　at　the　stick。
　I　WAS　AT　A　PARTY；　he　added；　a　shade　reproachfully。
　'O　Creature　of　Earth　and　Darkness；　we　do　charge　thee　to　abjure　from…'　began　Galder　in　a　firm；　manding　voice。　Death　nodded。
　YES；　YES；　I　KNOW　ALL　THAT；　he　said。　WHY　HAVE　YOU　SUMMONED　ME？
　'It　is　said　that　you　can　see　both　the　past　and　future；'　said　Galder　a　little　sulkily；　because　the　big　speech　of　binding　and　conjuration　was　one　he　rather　liked　and　people　had　said　he　was　very　good　at　it。
　THAT　IS　ABSOLUTELY　CORRECT。
　Then　perhaps　you　can　tell　us　what　exactly　it　was　that　happened　this　morning？'　said　Galder。　He　pulled　himself　together；　and　added　loudly；　'I　mand　this　by　Azimrothe；　by　T'chikel；　by…'
　ALL　RIGHT；　YOU'VE　MADE　YOUR　POINT；　said　Death。　WHAT　PRECISELY　WAS　IT　YOU　WISHED　TO　KNOW？　QUITE　A　LOT　OF　THINGS　HAPPENED　THIS　MORNING；　PEOPLE　WERE　BORN；　PEOPLE　DIED；　ALL　THE　TREES　GREW　A　BIT　TALLER；　RIPPLES　MADE　INTERESTING　PATTERNS　ON　THE　SEA…
　'I　mean　about　the　Octavo；'　said　Galder　coldly。
　THAT？　OH；　THAT　WAS　JUST　A　READJUSTMENT　OF　REALITY。　I　UNDERSTAND　THE　OCTAVO　WAS　ANXIOUS　NOT　TO　LOSE　THE　EIGHTH　SPELL。　IT　WAS　DROPPING　OFF　THE　DISC；　APPARENTLY。
　'Hold　on；　hold　on；'　said　Galder。　He　scratched　his　chin。　'Are　we　talking　about　the　one　inside　the　head　of　Rincewind？　Tall　thin　man；　bit　scraggy？　The　one…'
　…THAT　HE　HAS　BEEN　CARRYING　AROUND　ALL　THESE　YEARS；　YES。
　Galder　frowned。　It　seemed　a　lot　of　trouble　to　go　to。　Everyone　knew　that　when　a　wizard　died　all　the　spells　in　h：s　head　would　go　free；　so　why　bother　to　save　Rincewind？　The　spell　would　just　float　back　eventually。
　Any　idea　why？'　he　said　without　thinking　and　then；　remembering　himself　in　time；　added　hastily；　'By　Yrriph　and　Kcharla　I　do　abjure　thee　and…'
　I　WISH　YOU　WOULDN'T　KEEP　DOING　THAT；　said　Death；　ALL　THAT　I　KNOW　IS　THAT　ALL　THE　SPELLS　HAVE　TO　BE　SAID　TOGETHER　NEXT　HOGS…WATCHNIGHT　OR　THE　DISC　WILL　BE　DESTROYED。
　'Speak　up　there！'　demanded　Greyhald　Spold。
　'Shut　up！'　said　Galder。
　ME？
　'No；　him。　Daft　old…'
　'I　heard　that！'　snapped　Spold；　'You　young　people…'　He　stopped。　Death　was　looking　at　him　thoughtfully；　as　if　he　was　trying　to　remember　his　face。
　'Look；'　said　Galder；　'just　repeat　that　bit　again；　will　you？　The　Disc　will　be　what？'
　DESTROYED；　said　Death。　CAN　I　GO　NOW？　I　LEFT　MY　DRINK。
　'Hang　on；'　said　Galder　hurriedly。　'By　Cheliliki　and　Orizone　and　so　forth；　what　do　you　mean；　destroyed？'
　IT'S　AN　ANCIENT　PROPHECY　WRITTEN　ON　THE　INNER　WALLS　OF　THE　GREAT　PYRAMID　OF　TSORT。　THE　WORD　DESTROYED　SEEMS　QUITE　SELF…EXPLANATORY　TO　ME。
　'That's　all　you　can　tell　us？'
　YES。
　'But　Hogswatchnight　is　only　two　months　away！'
　YES。
　'At　least　you　can　tell　us　where　Rincewind　is　now！'　Death　shrugged。　It　was　a　gesture　he　was　particularly　well　built　for。
　THE　FOREST　OF　SKUND；　RIMWARDS　OF　THE　RAMTOP　MOUNTAINS。
　What　is　he　doing　there？'
　FEELING　VERY　SORRY　FOR　HIMSELF。
　'Oh。'
　NOW　MAY　I　GO？
　Galder　nodded　distractedly。　He　had　been　thinking　wistfully　of　the　banishment　ritual；　which　started　'Begone；　foul　shade'　and　had　some　rather　impressive　passages　which　he　had　been　practising；　but　somehow　he　couldn't　work　up　any　enthusiasm。
　'Oh；　yes；'　he　said。　Thank　you；　yes。'　And　then；　because　it's　as　well　not　to　make　enemies　even　among　the　creatures　of　night；　he　added　politely；　'I　hope　it　is　a　good　party。'
　Death　didn't　answer。　He　was　looking　at　Spold　in　the　same　way　that　a　dog　looks　at　a　bone；　only　in　this　case　things　were　more　or　less　the　other　way　around。
　'I　said　I　hope　it　is　a　good　party；'　said　Galder；　loudly。
　AT　THE　MOMENT　IT　IS；　said　Death　levelly。　I　THINK　IT　MIGHT　GO　DOWNHILL　VERY　QUICKLY　AT　MIDNIGHT。
　'Why？'
　THAT'S　WHEN　THEY　THINK　I'LL　BE　TAKING　MY　MASK　OFF。
　He　vanished；　leaving　only　a　cocktail　stick　and　a　short　paper　streamer　behind。
　

　There　had　been　an　unseen　observer　of　all　this。　It　was　of　course　entirely　against　the　rules；　but　Trymon　knew　all　about　rules　and　had　always　considered　they　were　for　making；　not　obeying。
　Long　before　the　eight　mages　had　got　down　to　some　serious　arguing　about　what　the　apparition　had　meant　he　was　down　in　the　main　levels　of　the　University　library。
　It　was　an　awe…inspiring　place。　Many　of　the　books　were　magical；　and　the　important　thing　to　remember　about　grimoires　is　that　they　are　deadly　in　the　hands　of　any　ibrarian　who　cares　about　order；　because　he's　bound　to　stick　them　all　on　the　same　shelf。　This　is　not　a　good　idea　with　books　that　tend　to　leak　magic；　because　more　than　one　or　two　of　them　together　form　a　critical　Black　Mass。　On　top　of　that；　many　of　the　lesser　spells　are　quite　particular　about　the　pany　they　keep；　and　tend　to　express　any　objections　by　hurling　their　books　viciously　across　the　room。　And；　of　course；　there　is　always　the　half…felt　presence　of　the　Things　from　the　Dungeon　Dimensions；　clustering　around　the　magical　leakage　and　constantly　probing　the　walls　of　reality。
　The　job　of　magical　librarian；　who　has　to　spend　his　working　days　in　this　sort　of　highly　charged　atmosphere；　is　a　high…risk　occupation。
　The　Head　Librarian　was　sitting　on　top　of　his　desk；　quietly　peeling　a　orange；　and　was　well　aware　of　that。
　He　glanced　up　when　Trymon　entered。
　'I'm　looking　for　anything　we've　got　on　the　Pyramid　of　Tshut；'　said　Trymon。　He　had　e　prepared：　he　took　a　banana　out　of　his　pocket。
　The　librarian　looked　at　it　mournfully；　and　then　flopped　down　heavily　on　the　floor。　Trymon　found　a　soft　hand　poked　gently　into　his　and　the　librarian　led　the　way；　waddling　sadly　between　the　bookshelves。　It　was　like　holding　a　little　leather　glove。
　Around　them　the　books　sizzled　and　sparked；　with　the　occasional　discharge　of　undirected　magic　flashing　over　to　the　carefully…placed　earthing　rods　nailed　to　the　shelves。　There　was　a　tinny；　blue　smell　and；　just　at　the　very　limit　of　hearing；　the　horrible　chittering　of　the　dungeon　creatures。
　Like　many　other　parts　of　Unseen　University　the　library　occupied　rather　more　space　than　its　outside　dimensions　would　suggest；　because　magic　distorts　space　in　strange　ways；　and　it　was　probably　the　only　library　in　the　universe　with　Mobius　shelves。　But　the　librarian's　mental　catalogue　was　ticking　over　perfectly。　He　stopped　by　a　soaring　stack　of　musty　books　and　swung　himself　up　into　the　darkness。　There　was　the　sound　of　rustling　paper；　and　a　cloud　of　dust　oated　down　to　Trymon。　Then　the　librarian　was　back；　a　slim　volume　in　his　hands。
　'Oook；'　he　said。
　Trymon　took　it　gingerly。
　The　cover　was　scratched　and　very　dog…eared；　the　gold　of　its　lettering　had　long　ago　curled　off；　but　he　could　just　make　out；　in　the　old　magic　tongue　of　the　Tsort　Valley；　the　words：　Iyt　Gryet　Teymple　hyte　Tsort；　Y　Hiystory　Myistical。
　'Oook？'　said　the　librarian；　anxiously。
　Trymon　turned　the　pages　cautiously。　He　wasn't　very　good　at　languages；　he'd　always　found　them　highly　inefficient　things　which　by　righ