tp.lightfantastic-第5章

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　which　by　rights　ought　to　be　replaced　by　some　sort　of　easily　understood　numerical　system；　but　this　seemed　exactly　what　he　was　looking　for。　There　were　whole　pages　covered　with　meaningful　hieroglyphs。
　'Is　this　the　only　book　you've　got　about　the　pyramid　of　Tsort？'　he　said　slowly。
　'Oook。'
　'You're　quite　sure？'
　'Oook。'
　Trymon　listened。　He　could　hear；　a　long　way　off；　the　sound　of　approaching　feet　and　arguing　voices。　But　he　had　been　prepared　for　that；　too。
　He　reached　into　a　pocket。
　'Would　you　like　another　banana？'　he　said。
　

　The　forest　of　Skund　was　indeed　enchanted；　which　was　nothing　unusual　on　the　Disc；　and　was　also　the　only　forest　in　the　whole　universe　to　be　called　…　in　the　local　language　…　Your　Finger　You　Fool；　which　was　the　literal　meaning　of　the　word　Skund。
　The　reason　for　this　is　regrettably　all　too　mon。　When　the　first　explorers　from　the　warm　lands　around　the　Circle　Sea　travelled　into　the　chilly　hinterland　they　filled　in　the　blank　spaces　on　their　maps　by　grabbing　the　nearest　native；　pointing　at　some　distant　landmark；　speaking　very　clearly　n　a　loud　voice；　and　writing　down　whatever　the　bemused　man　told　them。　Thus　were　immortalised　in　generations　of　atlases　such　geographical　oddities　as　Just　A　Mountain；　I　Don't　Know；　What？　and；　of　course；　Your　Finger　You　Fool。
　Rainclouds　clustered　around　the　bald　heights　of　Mt。　Oolskunrahod　（'Who　is　this　Fool　who　does　Not　Know　what　a　Mountain　Is'）　and　the　Luggage　settled　itself　more　fortably　under　a　dripping　tree；　which　tried　unsuccessfully　to　strike　up　a　conversation。
　Twoflower　and　Rincewind　were　arguing。　The　person　they　were　arguing　about　sat　on　his　mushroom　and　watched　them　with　interest。　He　looked　like　someone　who　smelled　like　someone　who　lived　in　a　mushroom；　and　that　bothered　Twoflower。
　'Well；　why　hasn't　he　got　a　red　hat？'
　Rincewind　hesitated；　desperately　trying　to　imagine　what　Twoflower　was　getting　at。
　'What？'　he　said；　giving　in。
　'He　should　have　a　red　hat；'　said　Twoflower。　'And　he　certainly　ought　to　be　cleaner　and　more；　more　sort　of　jolly。　He　doesn't　look　like　any　sort　of　gnome　to　me。'
　'What　are　you　going　on　about？'
　'Look　at　that　beard；'　said　Twoflower　sternly。　'I've　seen　better　beards　on　a　piece　of　cheese。'
　'Look；　he's　six　inches　high　and　lives　in　a　mushroom；'　snarled　Rincewind。　'Of　course　he's　a　bloody　gnome。'
　'We've　only　got　his　word　for　it。'
　Rincewind　looked　down　at　the　gnome。
　'Excuse　me；'　he　said。　He　took　Twoflower　to　the　other　side　of　the　clearing。
　'Listen；'　he　said　between　his　teeth。　'If　he　was　fifteen　feet　tall　and　said　he　was　a　giant　we'd　only　have　his　word　for　that　too；　wouldn't　we？'
　'He　could　be　a　goblin；'　said　Twoflower　defiantly。
　Rincewind　looked　back　at　the　tiny　figure；　which　was　industriously　picking　its　nose。
　'Well？'　he　said。　'So　what？　Gnome；　goblin；　pixie　…　so　what？'
　'Not　a　pixie；'　said　Twoflower　firmly。　'Pixies；　they　wear　these　sort　of　green　binations　and　they　have　pointy　caps　and　little　knobbly　antenna　thingies　sticking　out　of　their　heads。　I've　seen　pictures。'
　'Where？'
　Twoflower　hesitated；　and　looked　at　his　feet。　'I　think　it　was　called　the　〃mutter；　mutter；　mutter。〃　'
　'The　what？　Called　the　what？'
　The　little　man　took　a　sudden　interest　in　the　backs　of　his　hands。
　'The　Little　Folks'　Book　of　Flower　Fairies；'　he　muttered。
　Rincewind　looked　blank。
　'It's　a　book　on　how　to　avoid　them？'　he　said。
　'Oh　no；'　said　Twoflower　hurriedly。　It　tells　you　where　to　look　for　them。　I　can　remember　the　pictures　now。'　A　dreamy　look　came　over　his　face；　and　Rincewind　groaned　inwardly。　There　was　even　a　special　fairy　that　came　and　took　your　teeth　away。'
　'What；　came　and　pulled　out　your　actual　teeth　…　？'
　'No；　no；　you're　wrong；　I　mean　after　they'd　fallen　out；　what　you　did　was；　you　put　the　tooth　under　your　pillow　and　the　fairy　came　and　took　it　away　and　left　a　rhinu　piece。'
　'Why？'
　'Why　what？'
　'Why　did　it　collect　teeth？'
　'It　just　did。'
　Rincewind　formed　a　mental　picture　of　some　strange　entity　living　in　a　castle　made　of　teeth。　It　was　the　kind　of　mental　picture　you　tried　to　forget。　Unsuccessfully。
　'Urgh；'　he　said。
　Red　hats！　He　wondered　whether　to　enlighten　the　tourist　about　what　life　was　really　like　when　a　frog　was　a　good　meal；　a　rabbit　hole　a　useful　place　to　shelter　out　of　the　rain；　and　an　owl　a　drifting；　silent　terror　in　the　night。　Moleskin　trousers　sounded　quaint　unless　you　personally　had　to　remove　them　from　their　original　owner　when　the　vicious　little　sod　was　cornered　in　his　burrow。　As　for　red　hats；　anyone　who　went　around　a　forest　looking　bright　nd　conspicuous　would　only　do　so　very；　very　briefly。
　He　wanted　to　say：　look；　the　life　of　gnomes　and　goblins　is　nasty；　brutish　and　short。　So　are　they。
　He　wanted　to　say　all　this；　and　couldn't。　For　a　man　with　an　itch　to　see　the　whole　of　infinity；　Twoflower　never　actually　moved　outside　his　own　head。　Telling　him　the　truth　would　be　like　kicking　a　spaniel。
　'Swee　whee　weedle　wheet；'　said　a　voice　by　his　foot。　He　looked　down。　The　gnome；　who　had　introduced　himself　as　Swires；　looked　up。　Rincewind　had　a　very　good　ear　for　languages。　The　gnome　had　just　said；　'I've　got　some　newt　sorbet　left　over　from　yesterday。'
　'Sounds　wonderful；'　said　Rincewind。
　Swires　gave　him　another　prod　in　the　ankle。
　'The　other　bigger；　is　he　all　right？'　he　said　solicitously。
　'He's　just　suffering　from　reality　shock；'　said　Rincewind。　You　haven't　got　a　red　hat；　by　any　chance？'
　'Wheet？'
　'Just　a　thought。'
　'I　know　where　there's　some　food　for　biggers；'　said　the　gnome；　'and　shelter；　too。　It's　not　far。'
　Rincewind　looked　at　the　lowering　sky。　The　daylight　was　draining　out　of　the　landscape　and　the　clouds　looked　as　if　they　had　heard　about　snow　and　were　considering　the　idea。　Of　course；　people　who　lived　in　mushrooms　couldn't　necessarily　be　trusted；　but　right　now　a　trap　baited　with　a　hot　meal　and　clean　sheets　would　have　had　the　wizard　hammering　to　get　in。
　They　set　off。　After　a　few　seconds　the　Luggage　got　carefully　to　its　feet　and　started　to　follow。
　'Psst！'
　It　turned　carefully；　little　legs　moving　in　a　plicated　pattern；　and　appeared　to　look　up。
　'Is　it　good；　being　joinery？'　said　the　tree；　anxiously。　'Did　it　hurt？'
　The　Luggage　seemed　to　think　about　this。　Every　brass　handle；　every　knothole；　radiated　extreme　concentration。
　Then　it　shrugged　its　lid　and　waddled　away。
　The　tree　sighed；　and　shook　a　few　dead　leaves　out　of　its　twigs。
　

　The　cottage　was　small；　tumbledown　and　as　ornate　as　a　doily。　Some　mad　whittler　had　got　to　work　on　it；　Rincewind　decided；　and　had　created　terrible　havoc　before　he　could　be　dragged　away。　Every　door；　every　shutter　had　its　clusters　of　wooden　grapes　and　half…moon　cutouts；　and　there　were　massed　outbreaks　of　fretwork　pinecones　all　over　the　walls。　He　half　expected　a　giant　cuckoo　to　e　hurtling　out　of　an　upper　window。
　What　he　also　noticed　was　the　characteristic　greasy　feel　in　the　air。　Tiny　green　and　purple　sparks　flashed　from　his　fingernails。
　'Strong　magical　field；'　he　muttered。　'A　hundred　milli…thaums＇2＇　at　least。'
　'There's　magic　all　over　the　place；'　said　Swires。　'An　old　witch　used　to　live　around　here。　She　went　a　long　time　ago　but　the　magic　still　keeps　the　house　going。'
　'Here；　there's　something　odd　about　that　door；'　said　Twoflower。
　Why　should　a　house　need　magic　to　keep　it　going？'　said　Rincewind。　Twoflower　touched　a　wall　gingerly。
　'It's　all　sticky！'
　'Nougat；'　said　Swires。
　'Good　grief！　A　real　gingerbread　cottage！　Rincewind；　a　real…'
　Rincewind　nodded　glumly。　Yeah；　the　Confectionary　School　of　Architecture；'　he　said。　'It　never　caught　on。'
　He　looked　suspiciously　at　the　liquorice　doorknocker。
　'It　sort　of　regenerates；'　said　Swires。　'Marvellous；　really。　You　just　don't　get　this　sort　of　place　nowadays；　you　just　an't　get　the　gingerbread。'
　'Really？'　said　Rincewind；　gloomily。
　'e　on　in；'　said　the　gnome；　'but　mind　the　doormat。
　'Why？'
　'Candyfloss。'
　

　The　great　Disc　spun　slowly　under　its　toiling　sun；　and　daylight　pooled　in　hollows　and　finally　drained　away　as　night　fell。
　In　his　chilly　room　in　Unseen　University　Trymon　pored　over　the　book；　his　lips　moving　as　his　finger　traced　the　unfamiliar；　ancient　script。　He　read　that　the　Great　Pyramid　of　Tsort；　now　long　vanished；　was　made　of　one　million；　three　thousand　and　ten　limestone　blocks。　He　read　that　ten　thousand　slaves　had　been　worked　to　death　in　its　building。　He　learned　that　it　was　a　maze　of　secret　passages；　their　walls　reputedly　decorated　with　the　distilled　wisdom　of　ancient　Tsort。　He　read　that　its　height　plus　its　length　divided　by　half　its　width　equalled　exactly　1。67563；　or　precisely　1；237。98712567　times　the　difference　between　the　distance　to　the　sun　and　the　weight　of　a　small　orange。　He　learned　that　sixty　years　had　been　devoted　entirely　to　its　construction。
　It　all　seemed；　he　thought；　to　be　rather　a　lot　of　trouble　to　go　to　just　to　sharpen　a　razor　blade。
　And　in　the　Forest　of　Skund　Twoflower　and　Rincewind　settled　down　to　a　meal　of　gingerbread　mantlepiece　and　thought　longingly　of　pickled　onions。
　And　far　away；　but　set　as　it　were　on　a　collision　course；　the　greatest　hero　the　Disc　ever　produced　rolled　himself　a　cigarette；　entirely　unaware　of　the　role　that　lay　in　store　for　him。
　It　was　quite　an　interesting　tailormade　that　he　twirled　expertly　between　his　fingers　because；　like　many　of　the　wandering　wizards　from　whom　he　had　picked　up　the　art；　he　was　in　the　habit　of　saving　dogends　in　a　leather　bag　and　rolling　them　into　fresh　smokes。　The　implacable　law　of　verages　therefore　dictated　that　some　of　that　tobacco　had　been　smoked　almost　continuously　for　many　years　now。　The　thing　he　was　trying　unsuccessfully　to　light　was；　well；　you　could　have　coated　roads　with　it。
　So　great　was　the　reputation　of　this　person　that　a　group　of　nomadic　barbarian　horsemen　had　respectfully　invited　him　to　join　them　as　they　sat　around　a　horseturd　fire。　The　nomads　of　the　Hub　regions　usually　migrated　Rimwards　for　the　winter；　and　these　were　part　of　a　tribe　who　had　pitched　their　felt　tents　in　the　sweltering　heatwave　of　a　mere　…3　degrees　and　were　going　around　with　peeling　noses　and　plaining　about　heatstroke。
　The　barbarian　chieftain　said：　What　then　are　the　greatest　things　that　a　man　may　find　in　life？'　This　is　the　sort　of　thing　you're　supposed　to　say　to　maintain　steppe…cred　in　barbarian　circles。
　The　man　on　his　right　thoughtfully　drank　his　cocktail　of　mare's　milk　and　snowcat　blood；　and　spoke　thus：　The　crisp　horizon　of　the　steppe；　the　wind　in　your　hair；　a　fresh　horse　under　you。'
　The　man　on　his　left　said：　The　cry　of　the　white　eagle　in　the　heights；　the　fall　of　snow　in　the　forest；　a　true　arrow　in　your　bow。'
　The　chieftain　nodded；　and　said：　'Surely　it　is　the　sight　of　your　enemy　slain；　the　humiliation　of　his　tribe　and　the　lamentation　of　his　women。'
　There　was　a　general　murmur　of　whiskery　approval　at　this　outrageous　display。
　Then　the　chieftain　turned　respectfully　to　his　guest；　a　small　figure　carefully　warming　his　chilblains　by　the　fire；　and　said：　'But　our　guest；　whose　name　is　legend；　must　tell　us　truly：　what　is　it　that　a　man　may　call　the　greatest　things　in　life？'
　The　guest　paused　in　the　middle　of　another　unsuccessful　attempt　to　light　up。
　'What　shay？'　he　said；　toothlessly。
　'I　said：　what　is　it　that　a　man　may　call　the　greatest　things　in　life？'
　The　warriors　leaned　closer。　This　should　be　worth　hearin