Thud! - Terry Pratchett [140]
“I am the king, Vimes! You have no authority here! This is not your city! You stand here defying me with a handful of men and your wife and child not ten miles away—”
Rhys stopped, and the echoes bounced back from distant caves, tumbling over themselves and dying into a silence that rang like iron.
Out of the corner of his ear, Vimes heard Sally say: “Oops…”
Bashfullsson hurried forward and whispered something in the king’s ear. The king’s expression changed, as only a politician’s face can, into careful amity.
I’m not going to do a thing, Vimes told himself. I’m just going to stand here.
“I do look forward to seeing Lady Sibyl again,” said Rhys. “And your son, of course…”
“Good. They’re staying in a house not ten miles away,” said Vimes. “Sergeant Littlebottom?”
“Sir?” said Cheery.
“Please take Lance Constable von Humpeding with you and go down to the town, will you? Tell Lady Sybil I’m fine,” Vimes added, not taking his eyes off the king. “Off you go, right now.”
As they hurried away, the king smiled, and looked around the cavern. Then he sighed.
“Well, I cannot afford a row with Ankh-Morpork, not at the moment. Very well, Commander. Do you know how to make it speak?”
“No. Don’t you?” This is a game, right? Vimes thought. A king wouldn’t take this kind of gobbyness from anyone, especially when you outnumber them ten to one. A row? You’d just have to say we got caught in a storm in Koom Valley, which is such a treacherous place, as everyone agrees. He will be greatly missed and we will certainly hand over his body if it ever turns up…But you’re not going to try that, are you, because you need me. You know something about this cavern, yes? And whatever’s going to happen, you want good ol’ not-sharp-but-by-gods-he’s-straight Sam Vimes to tell the world…
“No two cubes are alike,” said Rhys. “It is usually a word, but sometimes a breath, a sound, a temperature, a point in the world, the smell of rain. Anything. I understand that there are many cubes that have never spoken.”
“Really?” said Vimes. “But this thing damn well gabbled. And whoever sent it out of the valley wanted it to be heard, so I doubt it only starts talking when a virgin’s tear falls on it on a warm Tuesday in February. And this one started chatting very smartly to a man who didn’t know a word of Dwarfish, too.”
“But the speaker would want dwarfs to hear it, surely!” the king protested.
“It’s a two-thousand-year-old legend! Who knows who wanted what?” said Vimes. “What do you want?”
This was to Nobby, who had appeared beside him, looking with interest at the cube.
“How did tha—he get past my guards?” said the king.
“The Nobbs sidle,” said Vimes, and, as a couple of embarrassed guards dropped heavy hands on Nobby’s frail shoulders, he added: “No. Leave him. Come on, Nobby, you say something to make this thing start speaking.”
“Er…‘say something or it’ll be the worse for you’?” Nobby suggested.
“Not a bad try,” Vimes conceded. “A hundred years ago, sire, I doubt if anyone in Ankh-Morpork knew many words of Dwarf or Troll. Perhaps the message was intended for humans? There must have been a settlement down on the plain, with all those birds and fish to eat.”
“Perhaps some more human words, then, er, Nobby?” said the king.
“Okay. Open, speak, say something, talk, spill the beans, play—”
“No, no, Mister Vimes, he’s doing it wrong!” Fred Colon shouted. “It was in the olden days, right? So it’d be old words, like…er…openeth!”
Vimes laughed as a thought struck. I wonder, he thought. It could be. This is not really about words, it’s about sounds. Noises…
Bashfullsson was watching the attempt with a puzzled expression.
“What is the dwarf word for ‘open,’ Mr. Bashfullsson?” said Vimes.
“In the sense of ‘open a book?’ That would be dhwe, Commander.”
“Hmm. That won’t do. How about…‘say’?”
“Why, that would be aargk, or, in the preemptive form, aork!, Commander. You know, I don’t think—”
“Excuse me!” said Vimes loudly. The babble of voices stopped. He moved the cube close to his mouth.
“Awk!” he said.
The blue and green lights ceased their