Thud! - Terry Pratchett [107]
One candlestick rolled on to the floor and went out. Vimes grabbed for the other as it reached the edge of the table, but it spun away from his fingers and landed wick-first on the flagstones.
Darkness fell like an axe.
Helmclever groaned. It was a heartfelt, soul-creaking groan, like a death rattle from a living mouth.
“Nobby!” screamed Vimes. “Light a godsdamn match right now and that’s a godsdamn order!”
There was a frantic scrabbling in the dark, and then a match-head was a sudden supernova.
“Well, bring it here, man!” he shouted to Nobby. “Get those candles lit!”
Helmclever was still staring at the table, where the ill-tempered thump had scattered the remains of the game.
Vimes glanced down at the game board as the candle flames grew.
If you were the kind to see things, you’d say that the trolls and dwarfs had fallen in a rough circle around the central rock, while a few more dwarfs had rolled away in a line. You’d say, in fact, that from above, they formed the shape of a round eye. With a tail.
Helmclever gave a little sigh and slipped sideways onto the floor.
Vimes stood up to help him, and then remembered just in time about politics. He forced himself to back away, hands in the air.
“Mr. Bashfullsson?” he said. “I can’t touch him. Please?”
The grag nodded, and knelt down by the dwarf.
“No pulse, no heartbeat,” he announced after a few seconds. “I’m sorry, Commander.”
“Then it looks as though I’m now in your hands,” said Vimes.
“Indeed. In the hands of a dwarf,” said the grag, standing up. “Commander Vimes, I will swear that Helmclever was treated with nothing but concern and courtesy while I was here. And perhaps with more kindness from you than a dwarf might have a right to expect. His death is not on your hands. The Summoning Dark called him. Dwarfs will understand.”
“Well, I don’t! Why’d it kill him? What did the poor bugger do?”
“I think it’s more true to say that the fear of the Summoning Dark killed him,” said the grag. “He left a miner trapped, heard his cries in the dark, and did nothing. To all dwarfs, that is a terrible crime.”
“As bad as wiping away a word?” said Vimes sourly. He felt more shaken up than he’d care to admit. He shouldn’t have slapped the table like that, but he’d been so angry. Now his hand hurt more than ever.
“Some would say it is far worse. His own guilt and fear killed Helmclever. It’s as if he had his own Summoning Dark in his head,” said Bashfullsson. “In a way, perhaps, we all have, Commander. Or something similar.”
“You know, your religion really messes people up,” said Vimes.
“Not in comparison to what they do to one another,” said Bashfullsson, calmly folding the dead dwarf’s hands across his chest. “And it is not a religion, Commander. Tak wrote the World and the Laws, and then He left us. He does not require that we think of Him, only that we think.”
He stood up. “I shall explain the situation to my fellows, Commander. Incidentally, I would ask you to take me with you to Koom Valley.”
“Did I say I was going to Koom Valley?” said Vimes.
“All right,” said the grag calmly. “Let’s say, then, that should the mood take you to go to Koom Valley, you will take me? I know the place, I know the history, I even know quite a lot about mine sign, especially the Major Darknesses. I may be useful.”
“You demand all that just for telling the truth?” said Vimes.
“As a matter of fact, no. J’ds hasfak ’ds’: ‘I bargain with no axe in my hand.’ I will tell the truth whatever you decide,” said Bashfullsson. “However, since you are not going to Koom Valley, Commander, I will not press you. It was only an idle thought.”
Fun. What is it good for?
It’s not pleasure, joy, delight, enjoyment, or glee. It’s a hollow, cruel, vicious little bastard, a word for something sought with a hilarious couple of wobbly antennae on your head and the words I WANT IT! on your shirt, and it tends to leave you waking up with your face stuck to