Thief of Time - Terry Pratchett [120]
“Excuse me?” he said. “Could I have your attention, please?”
“What is he doing?” said Susan, crouching behind the cart.
They’re all going toward him, said Lobsang. Some of them have got weapons.
“They’ll be the ones giving the orders,” said Susan.
Are you sure?
“Yes. They’ve learned from humans. Auditors aren’t used to taking orders. They need persuading.”
He’s telling them about Rule One, and that means he’s got a plan…I think it’s working…yes!
“What’s he done? What’s he done?”
Come on! He’ll be fine!
Susan leaped up. “Good!”
Yes, they’ve cut his head off…
Fear, anger, envy…emotions bring you to life, which is a brief period just before you die. The gray shapes fled in front of the swords.
But there were billions of them. And they had their own ways of fighting…passive, subtle ways.
“This is stupid!” Pestilence shouted. “They can’t even catch a common cold!”
“No soul to damn, no arse to kick!” said War, hacking at gray shreds that rolled away from his blade.
“They have a kind of hunger,” said Famine. “I just can’t find a way to get at it!”
The horses were reined in. The wall of grayness hovered in the distance and began to close in again.
THEY ARE FIGHTING BACK, said Death. CAN YOU NOT FEEL IT?
“I just feel we’re too damn stupid,” said War.
AND WHERE DOES THAT FEELING COME FROM?
“Are you saying they’re affecting our minds?” said Pestilence. “We’re Horsemen! How can they do that to us?”
WE HAVE BECOME TOO HUMAN.
“Us? Human? Don’t make me lau—”
LOOK AT THE SWORD IN YOUR HAND, said Death. DON’T YOU NOTICE ANYTHING?
“It’s a sword. Sword-shaped. Well?”
LOOK AT THE HAND. FOUR FINGERS AND A THUMB. A HUMAN HAND. HUMANS GAVE YOU THAT SHAPE. AND THAT IS THE WAY IN. LISTEN! DO YOU NOT FEEL SMALL IN A BIG UNIVERSE? THAT IS WHAT THEY ARE SINGING. IT IS BIG, AND YOU ARE SMALL, AND AROUND YOU THERE IS NOTHING BUT THE COLD OF SPACE, AND YOU ARE SO VERY ALONE.
The other three horsemen looked unsettled, nervous.
“That’s coming from them?” said War.
YES. IT IS THE FEAR AND HATRED THAT MATTER HAS FOR LIFE AND THEY ARE THE BEARERS OF THAT HATRED.
“Then what can we do?” said Pestilence. “There’s too many of them!”
DID YOU THINK THAT THOUGHT, OR DID THEY? Death snapped.
“They’re coming closer again,” said War.
THEN WE WILL DO WHAT WE CAN.
“Four swords against an army? That’ll never work!”
YOU THOUGHT IT MIGHT A FEW MOMENTS AGO. WHO IS TALKING FOR YOU NOW? HUMANS HAVE ALWAYS FACED US AND THEY HAVE NOT SURRENDERED.
“Well, yes,” said Pestilence. “But with us they could always hope for a remission.”
“Or a sudden truce,” said War.
“Or—” Famine began, and hesitated, and said finally: “A shower of fish?” He looked at their expressions. “That actually happened once,” he added defiantly.
IN ORDER TO HAVE A CHANGE OF FORTUNE AT THE LAST MINUTE YOU HAVE TO TAKE YOUR FORTUNE TO THE LAST MINUTE, said Death. WE MUST DO WHAT WE CAN.
“And if that doesn’t work?” said Pestilence.
Death gathered up Binky’s reins. The Auditors were much closer now. He could make out their individual, identical shapes. Remove one, and there were always a dozen more.
THEN WE DID WHAT WE COULD, he said, UNTIL WE COULD NOT.
On his cloud, the angel clothéd all in white wrestled with the Iron Book.
“What are they talking about?” said Mrs. War.
“I don’t know, I can’t hear! And these two pages are stuck together!” said the angel. It scrabbled ineffectively at them for a moment.
“This is all because he wouldn’t wear his vest,” said Mrs. War firmly. “It’s just the sort of thing I—”
She had to stop because the angel had wrenched the halo from its head and was dragging it down the fused edge of the pages, with sparks and a sound like a cat slipping down a blackboard.
The pages clanged apart.
“Right, let’s see…” It scanned the newly revealed text. “Done that…done that…oh…” It stopped and turned a pale face to Mrs. War.
“Oh boy,” it said, “we’re in trouble now…”
A comet sprang up from the world below, growing visibly larger as the angel spoke. It flamed across the sky,