The Last Hero - Terry Pratchett [43]
"But do us a favour and see the bard gets back all right, though, will you?" said Cohen.
"Sure," said Evil Harry.
"Um... I'm not going back," said the minstrel.
This surprised everyone. It certain surprised him. But life had suddenly opened two roads in front of him. One of them led back to a life singing songs about love and flowers. The other could lead anywhere. There was something about these old men that made the first choice completely impossible. He couldn't explain it. That was just how it was.
"You've got to go back —" said Cohen.
"No, I've got to see how it ends," said the minstrel. "I must be mad, but that's what I want to do."
"You can make that bit up," said Vena.
"No, ma'am," said the minstrel. "I don't think I can. I don't think this is going to end in any way that I could make up. Not when I look at Mr Cohen there in his fish hat and Mr Willie as the God of Being Sick Again. No, I want to come along. Mr Dread can wait for me here. And I'll be perfectly safe, sir. No matter what. Because I'm absolutely certain that when the gods find they're under attack by a man with a tomato on his head and another one disguised as the Muse of Swearing they're really, really going to want the whole world to know what happened next."
Leonard was still out cold. Rincewind tried mopping his brow with a wet sponge.
"Of course I watched him," said Carrot, glancing back at the gently moving levers. "But he built it, so it was easy for him. Um... I shouldn't touch that, sir..."
The Librarian had swung himself into the driver's seat and was sniffing the levers. Somewhere underneath them, the automatic tiller clicked and purred.
"We're going to have to come up with some ideas soon," Rincewind said. "It won't fly itself for ever."
"Perhaps if we gently... I shouldn't do that, sir —"
The Librarian gave the pedals a cursory glance. Then he pushed Carrot away with one hand while the other unhooked Leonard's flying goggles from their hook. His feet curled around the pedals. He pushed the handle that operated Prince Haran's Tiller and, far under his feet, something went thud.
Then, as the ship shook, he cracked his knuckles, reached out, waggled his fingers for a moment, and grabbed the steering column.
Carrot and Rincewind dived for their seats.
The gates of Dunmanifestin swung open, apparently by themselves. The Silver Horde walked inside, keeping together, peering around suspiciously.
"You better mark our cards for us, lad," whispered Cohen, looking around the busy streets. "I wasn't expecting this."
"Sir?" said the minstrel.
"We expected a lot of carousing in a big 'all," said Boy Willie. "Not... shops. And everyone's different sizes!"
"Gods can be any size, I reckon," said Cohen, as gods hurried towards them.
"Maybe we could... come back another time?" said Caleb.
The doors slammed behind them.
"No," said Cohen.
And suddenly there was a crowd around them.
"You must be the new gods," said a voice from the sky. "Welcome to Dunmanifestin! You'd better come along with us!"
"Ah, the God of Fish," said a god to Cohen, falling in beside him. "And how are the fish, your mightiness?"
"Er... what?" said Cohen. "Oh... er... wet. Still very wet. Very wet things."
"And things?" a goddess asked Hamish. "How are things?"
"Still lyin' aroond!"
"And are you omnipotent?"
"Aye, lass, but there's pills I'm takin' f'r it!"
"And you're the Muse of Swearing?" said a god to Truckle.
"Bloody right!" said Truckle desperately.
Cohen looked up and saw Offler the Crocodile God. He wasn't a god who was hard to recognise, but in any case Cohen had seen him many times before. His statue in temples throughout the world was a pretty good likeness, and now was the time for a man to reflect on the fact that so many of those temples had been left a good deal poorer as a result of Cohen's activities. He didn't, however, because it was not the kind of thing he ever did. But it did seem to him that the Horde was being hustled along.