Going Postal - Terry Pratchett [76]
“It’s not compulsory, you know, but when we go outside, the public expects beards,” said Pelc. “It’s like having stars on your robes. Besides, they’re far too hot in the summer. Where was I? Gevaisas. Yes. All words have some power. We feel it instinctively. Some, like magical spells and the true names of the gods, have a great deal. They must be treated with respect. In Klatch, there is a mountain with many caves, and in those caves are entombed more than a hundred thousand old books, mostly religious, each one in a white linen shroud. That is perhaps an extreme approach, but intelligent people have always known that some words at least should be disposed of with care and respect.”
“Not just shoved in sacks in the attic,” said Moist. “Hold on…a golem called the Post Office ‘a tomb of unheard words.’”
“I’m not at all surprised,” said Professor Pelc calmly. “The old gevaisas and libraries used to employ golems, because the only words that have the power to influence them are the ones in their heads. Words are important. And when there is a critical mass of them, they change the nature of the universe. Did you have what seemed to be hallucinations?”
“Yes! I was back in time! But also in the present!”
“Ah, yes. That’s quite common,” said the wizard. “Enough words crammed together can affect time and space.”
“And they spoke to me!”
“I told the Watch the letters wanted to be delivered,” said Professor Pelc. “Until a letter is read, it’s not complete. They will try anything to be delivered. But they don’t think, as you understand it, and they’re not clever. They just reach out into any available mind. I see you’ve already been turned into an avatar.”
“I can’t fly!”
“Avatar: the living likeness of a god,” said the professor patiently. “The hat with wings. The golden suit.”
“No, they happened by accident—”
“Are you sure?”
The room went quiet.
“Um…I was until right now,” said Moist.
“They’re not trying to hurt anyone, Mr. Lipwig,” said Pelc. “They just want deliverance.”
“We’ll never be able to deliver them all,” said Moist. “That’d take years.”
“The mere fact you’re delivering any will help, I’m sure,” said Professor Pelc, smiling like a doctor telling a man not to worry, the disease is only fatal in eighty-seven percent of cases. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
He stood up, to indicate that a wizard’s time is valuable.
“Well, I’d quite like to know where the chandeliers went,” said Moist. “It’ll be nice to get them back. Symbolic, you could say.”
“I can’t help you, but I’m sure Professor Goitre can. He’s the Posthumous Professor of Morbid Bibliomancy. We could drop in and see him on the way out, if you like. He’s in the Wizards’ Pantry.”
“Why’s he ‘posthumous’?” Moist asked, as they stepped out into the corridor.
“He’s dead,” said Pelc.
“Ah…I was kind of hoping that it was going to be a little more metaphorical than that,” said Moist.
“Don’t worry, he decided to take Early Death. It was a very good package.”
“Oh,” said Moist. The important thing at a time like this was to spot the right moment to run, but they’d got here through a maze of dark passages and this was not a place you’d want to get lost in. Something might find you.
They stopped outside a door, through which came the muffled sound of voices and the occasional clink of glassware. This stopped as soon as the professor pushed open a door and it was hard to see where it could have come from. This was, indeed, a pantry, quite empty of people, its walls lined with shelves, the shelves filled with little jars. There was a wizard in each one.
Now would be the right time to run, Moist’s hindbrain thought, as Pelc reached for a jar, unscrewed the lid, and rummaged around in it for the tiny wizard.
“Oh, this isn’t him,” said the professor cheerfully, seeing Moist’s expression. “The housekeeper puts these little knitted wizard dolls in just to remind the kitchen staff that the jars shouldn’t be used for anything else. There was an incident with some peanut butter, I believe. I just have to take it out so that he doesn’t sound muffled.”