Moving Pictures - Terry Pratchett [130]
“Cheer up,” she said. “Tomorrow is another day.”
Click…
Sergeant Colon, Ankh-Morpork city watch, was awakened from his peaceful doze in the guardhouse over the main gate by a distant rumbling.
A cloud of dust stretched from horizon to horizon. He watched it thoughtfully for some time. It grew bigger and, eventually, disgorged a dark-skinned young man riding an elephant.
It trotted up the road to the gates and lumbered to a halt at the city wall. The dust cloud, Colon couldn’t help noticing, was still on the horizon and still getting bigger.
The boy cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted: “Can you tell me the way to Holy Wood?”
“There ain’t no Holy Wood anymore, from what I hear,” said Colon.
The boy appeared to consider this. He looked down at a piece of paper in his hand. Then he said: “Do you know where I can find Mr. C.M.O.T. Dibbler?”
Sgt. Colon repeated the initials under his breath.
“You mean Throat?” he said. “Cut-me-own-Throat Dibbler?”
“Is he in?”
Sgt. Colon glanced at the city behind him. “I’ll just go and see,” he said. “Who shall I say wants him?”
“We’ve got a delivery for him. COD.”
“Cod?” hazarded Colon, glancing at the lowering cloud.
“You’re herding fish?”
“Not fish.”
Huge gray foreheads were becoming visible in the dust. There was also the very distinctive smell you get when a thousand elephants have been foraging for days in cabbage fields.
“Just hang on,” he said. “I’ll go and fetch him.”
Colon pulled his head back into the guardroom and nudged the sleeping form of Corporal Nobbs, currently the other half of the keen-eyed fighting force that was ceaselessly guarding the city.
“Wassat?”
“You seen ole Throat this morning, Nobby?”
“Yeah, he was in Easy Street. Bought a Jumbo Sausage Surprise off him.”
“He’s back selling sausages?”
“Got to. Lost all his money. What’s up?”
“Just take a look outside, will you?” said Colon, in a level voice.
Nobby took a look.
“Looks like—would you say it was a thousand elephants, Sarge?”
“Yeah. About a thousand, I’d say.”
“Thought it looked about a thousand.”
“Man down there says Throat ordered ’em,” said Sergeant Colon.
“Get away? He’s going into this Jumbo Sausage thing in a big way, then?”
Their eyes met. Nobby’s grin was evil.
“Oh, go on,” he said. “Let me go and tell him. Please?”
Click…
Thomas Silverfish, alchemist and failed click producer, stirred the contents of a crucible and sighed wistfully.
A lot of gold had been left behind in Holy Wood, for anyone who had the nerve to go and dig for it. For those who hadn’t, and Silverfish wouldn’t hesitate to put himself first among that number, there were the old tried-and-tested or, to put it another way, tried-and-repeatedly-failed methods of wealth production. So now he was back home, picking up where he had left off.
“Any good?” said Peavie, who had dropped in to commiserate.
“Well, it’s silvery,” said Silverfish doubtfully. “And it’s sort of metallic. And it’s heavier than lead. You have to cook up a ton of ore, too. Funny thing is, I thought I was onto something this time. I really thought that this time we were on the way to a new, clear future…”
“What are you going to call it?” said Peavie.
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s probably not worth naming,” said Silverfish.
“Ankhmorporkery? Silverfishium? Notleadium?” said Peavie.
“Uselessium, more like,” said Silverfish. “I’m giving up on it and going back to something more sensible.”
Peavie peered into the furnace.
“It doesn’t go boom, does it?” he said.
Silverfish gave him a withering look.
“This stuff?” he said. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
Click…
It was pitch dark under the rubble.
It had been pitch dark for a long time.
Gaspode could feel the tons of stone above this little space. You didn’t need any special doggy senses for that.
He dragged himself over to where a pillar had smashed down into the cellar.
Laddie raised his head with difficulty, licked Gaspode’s face, and managed the faintest of barks.
“Good boy Laddie…Good boy Gaspode…”
“Good boy Laddie,” Gaspode whispered.