Wintersmith - Terry Pratchett [110]
Rob Anybody banged on Roland’s helmet.
“Get on wi’ it, laddie,” he demanded.
Roland stared at the glowing figure. “This can’t be Tiffany!”
“Ach, she’s a goddess, she can look like anythin’,” said Rob Anybody. “Just a wee peck on the cheek, okay? Dinna get enthusiastic, we havena got all day. A wee peck an’ we’re offski.”
Something butted Roland on the ankle. It was a blue cheese.
“Dinna fash yerself aboot Horace—he just wants ye tae do the right thing,” said the mad Feegle whom Roland had come to know as Daft Wullie.
He went closer, with the glow crackling around him, because no man wants to be a coward in front of a cheese.
“This is kind of…embarrassing,” he said.
“Crivens, get on wi’ it, will ye?”
Roland leaned forward and pecked the sleeping cheek.
The sleeper opened her eyes, and he took a step back very quickly.
“That’s not Tiffany Aching!” he said, and blinked. Bogles were as thick around him as grass stems.
“Now take her by the hand an’ run,” said Rob Anybody. “The bogles will turn nasty when they see we’re leavin’.” He banged cheerfully on the side of the helmet and added: “But that’s okay, right? ’Cuz ye have a Plan!”
“I hope I’ve got it right, though,” said Roland. “My aunts say I’m too clever by half.”
“Glad tae hear it,” said Rob Anybody, “’cuz that’s much better than bein’ too stupid by three quarters! Now grab the lady an’ run!”
Roland tried to avoid the stare of the girl as he took her hand and pulled her gently off the slab. She said something in a language he couldn’t understand, except that it sounded as though there were a question mark on the end of it.
“I’m here to rescue you,” he said. She looked at him with the golden eyes of a snake.
“The sheep girl is in trouble,” she said, in a voice full of unpleasant echoes and hisses. “So sad, so sad.”
“Well, er, we’d better run,” he managed, “whoever you are….”
The not-Tiffany gave him a smile. It was an uncomfortable one, with a bit of a smirk in it. They ran.
“How do you fight the bogles?” he panted when the Feegle army jogged through the caves.
“Ach, they dinna like the taste o’ us overmuch,” said Rob Anybody as the shadows parted. “It may be ’cuz we think aboot the drinkin’ a lot—it makes ’em squiffy. Keep movin’!”
And it was at this point that the bogles struck, although that was hardly the right word. It was more like running into a wall of whispers. Nothing grabbed; there were no claws. If thousands of tiny weak things like shrimps or flies were trying to stop someone, this would be how it felt.
But the ferryman was waiting. He raised a hand as Roland staggered toward the boat.
THAT WILL BE SIX PENNIES, he said.
“Six?” said Roland.
“Ah, we wasna doon here more’n two hour, an’ bang went sixpence!” said Daft Wullie.
ONE ONE-DAY ROUND TRIP, ONE ONE-WAY, said the ferryman.
“I don’t have that much!” Roland shouted. He was beginning to feel little tugs in his head now. Thoughts had to push hard to get as far as his mouth.
“Leave this tae me,” said Rob Anybody. He turned to look down on his fellow Feegles and banged on Roland’s helmet for silence.
“Okay, lads,” he announced. “We’re no’ leavin’!”
WHAT? said the ferryman. OH NO, YOU LEAVE! I’M NOT HAVING YOU DOWN HERE AGAIN! WE’RE STILL FINDING THE BOTTLES FROM LAST TIME! COME ON, GET ON THE BOAT THIS MINUTE!
“Crivens, we canna do that, pal,” said Rob Anybody. “We’re under a geas to help this lad, ye ken. Where he disna go, we dinna go!”
PEOPLE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO WANT TO STAY HERE! snapped the ferryman.
“Ach, we’ll soon ha’ the old place jumpin’ again,” said Rob Anybody, grinning.
The ferryman drummed his fingers on the pole. They made a clicking sound, like dice.
OH, ALL RIGHT THEN. BUT—AND I WANT TO BE CLEAR ON THIS—THERE IS TO BE NO SINGING!
Roland dragged the girl onto the boat. The bogles kept clear of that, at least, but as the ferryman pushed away from the shore, Big Yan kicked Roland on the boot and pointed upward. Scribbles of orange light, hundreds of them, were moving across the roof of the cavern. There