Small Gods - Terry Pratchett [114]
Simony’s mouth opened and shut soundlessly as he sought for words. Finally, he found some from the dawn of his education.
“I was told it was the finest thing to die for a god,” he mumbled.
“Vorbis said that. And he was…stupid. You can die for your country or your people or your family, but for a god you should live fully and busily, every day of a long life.”
“And how long is that going to be?”
“We shall see.”
Brutha looked up at Om.
“You will not show yourself like this again?”
Chap. III v.I. No. Once Is Enough.
“Remember the desert.”
II. I Will Remember.
“Walk with me.”
Brutha went over to the body of Vorbis and picked it up.
“I think,” he said, “that they will land on the beach on the Ephebian side of the forts. They won’t use the rock shore and they can’t use the cliffs. I’ll meet them there.” He glanced down at Vorbis. “Someone should.”
“You can’t mean you want to go by yourself?”
“Ten thousand won’t be sufficient. One might be enough.”
He walked down the steps.
Urn and Simony watched him go.
“He’s going to die,” said Simony. “He won’t even be a patch of grease on the sand.” He turned to Om. “Can you stop him?”
III. It May Be That I Cannot.
Brutha was already halfway across the Place.
“Well, we’re not deserting him,” said Simony.
IV. Good.
Om watched them go, too. And then he was alone, except for the thousands watching him, crammed around the edges of the great square. He wished he knew what to say to them. That’s why he needed people like Brutha. That’s why all gods needed people like Brutha.
“Excuse me?”
The god looked down. V. Yes?
“Um. I can’t sell you anything, can I?”
VI. What Is Your Name?
“Dhblah, god.”
VII. Ah, Yes. And What Is It You Wish?
The merchant hopped anxiously from one foot to the other.
“You couldn’t manage just a small commandment? Something about eating yogurt on Wednesdays, say? It’s always very difficult to shift, midweek.”
VIII. You Stand Before Your God And Look For Business Opportunities?
“We-ell,” said Dhblah, “we could come to an arrangement. Strike while the iron is hot, as the inquisitors say. Haha. Twenty percent? How about it? After expenses, of course—”
The Great God Om smiled. IX. I Think You Will Make A Little Prophet, Dhblah, he said.
“Right. Right. That’s all I’m looking for. Just trying to make both ends hummus.”
X. Tortoises Are To Be Left Alone.
Dhblah put his head on one side.
“Doesn’t sing, does it?” he said. “But…tortoise necklaces…hmm…brooches, of course. Tortoise-shel—”
XI. NO!
“Sorry, sorry. See what you mean. All right. Tortoise statues. Ye-ess. I thought about them. Nice shape. Incidentally, you couldn’t make a statue wobble every now and again, could you? Very good for business, wobbling statues. The statue of Ossory wobbles every Fast of Ossory, reg’lar. By means of a small piston device operated in the basement, it is said. But very good for the prophets, all the same.”
XII. You Make me Laugh, Little Prophet. Sell Your Tortoises, By All Means.
“Tell you the truth,” said Dhblah, “I’ve already drawn a few designs just now…”
Om vanished. There was a brief thunderclap. Dhblah looked reflectively at his sketches.
“…but I suppose I’ll have to take the little figure off them,” he said, more or less to himself.
The shade of Vorbis looked around.
“Ah. The desert,” he said. The black sand was absolutely still under the starlit sky. It looked cold.
He hadn’t planned on dying yet. In fact…he couldn’t quite remember how he’d died…
“The desert,” he repeated, and this time there was a hint of uncertainty. He’d never been uncertain about anything in his…life. The feeling was unfamiliar and terrifying. Did ordinary people feel like this?
He got a grip on himself.
Death was impressed. Very few people managed this, managed to hold on to the shape of their old thinking after death.
Death took no pleasure in his job. It was an emotion he found hard to grasp. But there was such a thing as satisfaction.
“So,” said Vorbis. “The desert. And at the end of the desert—?”
JUDGMENT.
“Yes, yes, of course.”
Vorbis tried to concentrate.