Sourcery - Terry Pratchett [57]
Nijel looked away.
“Urgh,” he said.
A few curved swords dropped onto the cobbles.
“I think we should very quietly go away,” said Rincewind.
“But didn’t you see what they just turned them into?”
“Dead people,” said Rincewind. “I know. I don’t want to think about it.”
Nijel thought he’d never stop thinking about it, especially around 3 a.m. on windy nights. The point about being killed by magic was that it was much more inventive than, say, steel; there were all sorts of interesting new ways to die, and he couldn’t put out of his mind the shapes he’d seen, just for an instant, before the wash of octarine fire had mercifully engulfed them.
“I didn’t think wizards were like that,” he said, as they hurried down a passageway. “I thought they were more, well, more silly than sinister. Sort of figures of fun.”
“Laugh that one off, then,” muttered Rincewind.
“But they just killed them, without even—”
“I wish you wouldn’t go on about it. I saw it as well.”
Nijel drew back. His eyes narrowed.
“You’re a wizard, too,” he said accusingly.
“Not that kind I’m not,” said Rincewind shortly.
“What kind are you, then?”
“The non-killing kind.”
“It was the way they looked at them as if it just didn’t matter—” said Nijel, shaking his head. “That was the worst bit.”
“Yes.”
Rincewind dropped the single syllable heavily in front of Nijel’s train of thought, like a tree trunk. The boy shuddered, but at least he shut up. Rincewind actually began to feel sorry for him, which was very unusual—he normally felt he needed all his pity for himself.
“Is that the first time you’ve seen someone killed?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Exactly how long have you been a barbarian hero?”
“Er. What year is this?”
Rincewind peered around a corner, but such people as were around and vertical were far too busy panicking to bother about them.
“Out on the road, then?” he said quietly. “Lost track of time? I know how it is. This is the Year of the Hyena.”
“Oh. In that case, about—” Nijel’s lips moved soundlessly—“about three days. Look,” he added quickly, “how can people kill like that? Without even thinking about it?”
“I don’t know,” said Rincewind, in a tone of voice that suggested he was thinking about it.
“I mean, even when the vizier had me thrown in the snake pit, at least he seemed to be taking an interest.”
“That’s good. Everyone should have an interest.”
“I mean, he even laughed!”
“Ah. A sense of humor, too.”
Rincewind felt that he could see his future with the same crystal clarity that a man falling off a cliff sees the ground, and for much the same reason. So when Nijel said: “They just pointed their fingers without so much as—,” Rincewind snapped: “Just shut up, will you? How do you think I feel about it? I’m a wizard, too!”
“Yes, well, you’ll be all right then,” muttered Nijel.
It wasn’t a heavy blow, because even in a rage Rincewind still had muscles like tapioca, but it caught the side of Nijel’s head and knocked him down more by the weight of surprise than its intrinsic energy.
“Yes, I’m a wizard all right,” Rincewind hissed. “A wizard who isn’t much good at magic! I’ve managed to survive up till now by not being important enough to die! And when all wizards are hated and feared, exactly how long do you think I’ll last?”
“That’s ridiculous!”
Rincewind couldn’t have been more taken aback if Nijel had struck him.
“What?”
“Idiot! All you have to do is stop wearing that silly robe and get rid of that daft had and no one will even know you’re a wizard!”
Rincewind’s mouth opened and shut a few times as he gave a very lifelike impression of a goldfish trying to grasp the concept of tap-dancing.
“Stop wearing the robe?” he said.
“Sure. All those tatty sequins and things, it’s a total giveaway,” said Nijel, struggling to his feet.
“Get rid of