The Last Continent - Terry Pratchett [49]
More recollections flickered across the smoky darkness of Rincewind’s brain. “That’s right, there were animals drinking in there!”
“Yes and no,” said the kangaroo. “I tried to explain…”
“I’m all ears,” said Rincewind. His eyes glazed for a moment. “No, I’m not, I’m all bladder. Back in a minute.”
The buzz of flies and a sort of universal smell drew Rincewind into a nearby hut. Some people would have liked to think of it as “the bathroom,” although not after going inside.
He came out again, hopping up and down urgently. “Er…there’s a great big spider on the toilet seat…”
“What’re you gonna do, wait till it’s finished? Fan it with yer hat!”
It was odd, Rincewind thought as he shooed the spider out, that a human being would, er, use the bathroom behind a bush in the middle of a thousand miles of howling wilderness but would fight for a dunny if there was one available.
“And stay out,” he muttered, when he was confident the spider was out of earshot.
But the human brain often feels incapable of concentrating on the job in hand, and Rincewind found his gaze wandering. And here, as in private places everywhere, men had found the urge to draw on the walls.
Perhaps it was the way the light hit the ancient woodwork, but under the usual minutiae from people who needed people, and drawings done from overheated hope rather than memory, was a deeply scored drawing of men in pointy hats.
He sidled out thoughtfully and edged away through the bushes.
“No worries,” said the kangaroo, so close to his ear that Rincewind was quite pleased that he’d already relieved himself.
“I don’t believe it!”
“You’ll see them everywhere. They’re built in. They find their way into people’s thoughts. You can’t outrun your destiny, mate.”
Rincewind didn’t even bother to argue.
“You’re going to have to sort this out,” said Scrappy. “You’re the cause.”
“I’m not! Things happen to me, not the other way around!”
“I could disembowel you with a kick, you know. Would you like to see?”
“Er…no.”
“Haven’t you noticed that by running away you end up in more trouble?”
“Yes, but, you see, you can run away from that, too,” said Rincewind. “That’s the beauty of the system. Dead is only for once, but running away is for ever.”
“Ah, but it is said that a coward dies a thousand deaths, while a hero dies only one.”
“Yes, but it’s the important one.”
“Aren’t you ashamed?”
“No. I’m going home. I’m going to find this city called Bugarup, find a boat, and go home.”
“Bugarup?”
“Don’t tell me the place doesn’t exist.”
“Oh, no. It’s a big place. And that’s where you’re going?”
“And don’t try to stop me!”
“I can see you’ve made up your mind,” said Scrappy.
“Read my lips!”
“Your moustache is in the way.”
“Read my beard, then!”
The kangaroo shrugged. “In that case, I’ve got no choice but to carry on helping you, I suppose.”
Rincewind drew himself up. “I’ll find my own way,” he said.
“You don’t know the way.”
“I’ll ask someone!”
“What about food? You’ll starve.”
“Ahah, that’s where you’re wrong!” Rincewind snapped. “I’ve got this amazing power. Watch!”
He lifted up a nearby stone, extracted what was underneath, and flourished it.
“See? Impressed, eh?”
“Very.”
“Ahah!”
Scrappy nodded. “I’ve never seen anyone do that with a scorpion before.”
The god was sitting high up in a tree working on a particularly promising beetle when the Bursar ambled past far below.
Well, at last. One of them had found it!
The god had spent some time watching the wizards’ attempts at boat-building, although he had been unable to fathom out what it was they were trying to do. As far as he could tell, they were showing some interest in the fact that wood floated. Well, it did float, didn’t it?
He threw the beetle into the air. It hummed into life at the top of the arc and flew away, a smear of iridescence among the tree-tops.
The god drifted out of his tree and followed the Bursar.
The god hadn’t made up his mind about these creatures yet, but the island was, unfortunately