The Light Fantastic - Terry Pratchett [29]
“Shall we talk about something else?”
“Yeah, well, discussing how to get these ropes off would be favorite,” said Rincewind. He wrenched at the bonds around his wrists.
“I can’t imagine why you’re so important,” said Herrena. She sat on a rock opposite them, sword across her knees. Most of the gang laying among the rocks high above, watching the road. Rincewind and Twoflower had been a pathetically easy ambush.
“Weems told me what your box did to Gancia,” she added. “I can’t say that’s a great loss, but I hope it understands that if it comes within a mile of us I will personally cut both your throats, yes?”
Rincewind nodded violently.
“Good,” said Herrena. “You’re wanted dead or alive, I’m not really bothered which, but some of the lads might want to have a little discussion with you about those trolls. If the sun hadn’t come up when it did—”
She left the words hanging, and walked away.
“Well, here’s another fine mess,” said Rincewind. He had another pull at the ropes that bound him. There was a rock behind him, and if he could bring his wrists up—yes, as he thought, it lacerated him while at the same time being too blunt to have any effect on the rope.
“But why us?” said Twoflower. “It’s to do with that star, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know anything about the star,” said Rincewind. “I never even attended astrology lessons at the University!”
“I expect everything will turn out all right in the end,” said Twoflower.
Rincewind looked at him. Remarks like that always threw him.
“Do you really believe that?” he said. “I mean, really?”
“Well, things generally do work out satisfactorily, when you come to think about it.”
“If you think the total disruption of my life for the last year is satisfactory then you might be right. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve nearly been killed—”
“Twenty-seven,” said Twoflower.
“What?”
“Twenty-seven times,” said Twoflower helpfully. “I worked it out. But you never actually have.”
“What? Worked it out?” said Rincewind, who was beginning to have the familiar feeling that the conversation had been mugged.
“No. Been killed. Doesn’t that seem a bit suspicious?”
“I’ve never objected to it, if that’s what you mean,” said Rincewind. He glared at his feet. Twoflower was right, of course. The Spell was keeping him alive, it was obvious. No doubt if he jumped over a cliff a passing cloud would cushion his fall.
The trouble with that theory, he decided, was that it only worked if he didn’t believe it was true. The moment he thought he was invulnerable he’d be dead.
So, on the whole it was wisest not to think about it at all.
Anyway, he might be wrong.
The only thing he could be certain of was that he was getting a headache. He hoped that the Spell was somewhere in the area of the headache and really suffering.
When they rode out of the hollow both Rincewind and Twoflower were sharing a horse with one of their captors. Rincewind perched uncomfortably in front of Weems, who had sprained an ankle and was not in a good mood. Twoflower sat in front of Herrena which, since he was fairly short, meant that at least he kept his ears warm. She rode with a drawn knife and a sharp eye out for any walking boxes; Herrena hadn’t quite worked out what the Luggage was, but she was bright enough to know that it wouldn’t let Twoflower be killed.
After about ten minutes they saw it in the middle of the road. Its lid lay open invitingly. It was full of gold.
“Go around it,” said Herrena.
“But—”
“It’s a trap.”
“That’s right,” said Weems, white-faced. “You take it from me.”
Reluctantly they reined their horses around the glittering temptation and trotted on along the track. Weems glanced back fearfully, dreading to see the chest coming after him.
What he saw was almost worse. It had gone.
Far off to one side of the path the long grass moved mysteriously and was still.
Rincewind wasn’t much of a wizard and even less of a fighter, but he was an expert at cowardice and he knew fear when he smelled it. He said, quietly, “It’ll follow you, you know.”
“What?”