Wintersmith - Terry Pratchett [109]
“Technic’ly, aye,” said Rob Anybody reluctantly. “But mebbe also more deid.”
“Besides, I have a Plan,” said Roland.
“Ye have a Plan?” said Rob.
“Yes. I mean aye.”
“Writted doon?”
“I’ve only just thought of—” Roland stopped. The ever-shifting shadows had parted, and a big cave lay ahead.
In the center of it, surrounding what looked like a rock slab, was a dim yellow glow. There was a small figure lying on the slab.
“Here we are,” said Rob Anybody. “That wasna so bad, aye?”
Roland blinked. Hundreds of bogles were clustered around the slab, but at a distance, as if they were not keen on going any closer.
“I can see…someone lying down,” he said.
“That’s Summer herself,” said Rob. “We have tae be canny aboot this.”
“Canny?”
“Like…careful,” said Rob helpfully. “Goddesses can be a wee bit tricky. Verra image conscious.”
“Don’t we just…you know, grab her and run?” said Roland.
“Oh, aye, we’ll end up doin’ somethin’ like that,” said Rob. “But you, mister, will have tae be the one tae kiss her first. You okay wi’ that?”
Roland looked a bit strained, but he said: “Yes…er, fine.”
“The ladies expect it, ye ken,” Rob went on.
“And then we run for it?” said Roland hopefully.
“Aye, ’cuz probably that’s when the bogles will try an’ stop us gettin’ awa.’ It’s people leavin’ that they don’t like. Off ye go, laddie.”
I’ve got a Plan, thought Roland, walking toward the slab. And I’ll concentrate on it so that I don’t think about the fact that I’m walking through a crowd of scribbly monsters that are only there if I blink and my eyes are watering. What’s in my head is real to them, right?
I’m going to blink, I’m going to blink, I’m going to…
…blink. It was over in a moment, but the shudder went on for a lot longer. They had been everywhere, and every toothy mouth was looking at him. It should not be possible to look with teeth.
He ran forward, eyes streaming with the effort of not closing, and looked down at the figure lying in the yellow glow. It was female, it was breathing, it was asleep, and it looked like Tiffany Aching.
From the top of the ice palace Tiffany could see for miles, and they were miles of snow. Only on the Chalk was there any sign of green. It was an island.
“You see how I learn?” said the Wintersmith. “The Chalk is yours. So there summer will come, and you will be happy. And you will be my bride and I will be happy. And everything will be happy. Happiness is when things are correct. Now I am human, I understand these things.”
Don’t scream, don’t shout, said her Third Thoughts. Don’t freeze up, either.
“Oh…I see,” she said. “And the rest of the world will stay in winter?”
“No, there are some latitudes that never feel my frost,” said the Wintersmith. “But the mountains, the plains as far as the circle sea…oh, yes.”
“Millions of people will die!”
“But only once, you see. That is what makes it wonderful. And after that, no more death!”
And Tiffany saw it, like a Hogswatch card: birds frozen to their twigs, horses and cows standing still in the fields, frozen grass like daggers, no smoke from any chimney; a world without death because there was nothing left to die, and everything glittering like tinsel.
She nodded carefully. “Very…sensible,” she said. “But it would be a shame if nothing moved at all.”
“That would be easy. Snow people,” said the Wintersmith. “I can make them human!”
“Iron enough to make a nail?” said Tiffany.
“Yes! It is easy. I have eaten sausage! And I can think! I never thought before. I was a part. Now I am apart. Only when you are apart do you know who you are.”
“You made me roses of ice,” said Tiffany.
“Yes! Already I was becoming!”
But the roses melted at dawn, Tiffany added to herself, and glanced at the pale-yellow sun. It had just enough strength to make the Wintersmith sparkle. He does think like a human, she thought, looking into the odd smile. He thinks like a human who’s never met another human. He’s cackling. He’s so mad, he will never understand how mad he is.
He just doesn’t have a clue what “human” means, he doesn’t know what horrors he’s planning, he just