interest”
“But... why?”
“Cos we've seen a lot of old friends die,” said Caleb.
“That's right,” said Boy Willie. “And we never saw no big wim-min on
flying horses come and take 'em to the Halls of Heroes.”
“When Old Vincent died, him being one of us.” said Boy Willie. “where was
the Bridge of Frost to take him to the Feast of the Gods, eh? No, they
got him, they let him get soft with comfy beds and someone to chew his
food for him. They nearly got us all.”
“Hah! Milky drinks!” spat Truckle.
“Whut?” said Hamish, waking up.
“HE ASKED WHY WE WANT TO RETURN FIRE TO THE GODS, HAMISH!”
“Eh? Someone's got to do it!” cackled Hamish.
“Because it's a big world and we ain't seen it all,” said Boy Willie.
“Because the buggers are immortal.” said Caleb.
“Because of the way my back aches on chilly nights.” said Truckle.
The minstrel looked at Cohen, who was staring at the ground.
“Because ...” said Cohen, “because ... they've let us grow old.”
At which point, the ambush was sprung. Snowdrifts erupted. Huge figures
raced towards the Horde. Swords were in skinny, spotted hands with the
speed born of experience. Clubs were swung-
“Hold everything!” shouted Cohen. It was a voice of command.
The fighters froze. Blades trembled an inch away from throat and torso.
Cohen looked up into the cracked and craggy features of an enormous
troll, its club raised to smash him.
“Don't I know you?” he said.
The wizards were working in relays. Ahead of the fleet, an area of sea
was mill-pond calm. From behind, came a steady, unwavering breeze. The
wizards were good at wind, weather being a matter not offeree but of
lepidoptery. As Archchancellor Ridcully said, you just had to know where
the damn butterflies were.
And therefore some million-to-one chance must have sent the sodden log
under the barge. The shock was slight, but Ponder Stibbons, who had been
carefully rolling the omniscope across the deck, ended up on his back
surrounded by twinkling shards.
Archchancellor Ridcully hurried across the deck, his voice full of
concern.
“Is it badly damaged? That cost a hundred thousand dollars, Mr. Stibbons!
Oh, look at it! A dozen pieces!”
“I'm not badly hurt. Archchancellor-”
“Hundreds of hours of time wasted! And now we won't be able to watch the
progress of the flight. Are you listening. Mr. Stibbons?”
Ponder wasn't. He was holding two of the shards and staring at them.
“I think I may have stumbled, haha, on an amazing piece of serendipity,
Archchancellor.”
“What say?”
“Has anyone ever broken an omniscope before, sir?”
“No, young man. And that is because other people are careful with
expensive equipment!”
“Er ... would you care to look in this piece, sir?” said Ponder urgently.
“I think it's very important you look at this piece, sir.”
Up on the lower slopes of Con Celesti, it was time tor old times.
Ambushers and ambushees had lit a fire.
“So how come you left the Evil Dark Lord business, Harry?” said Cohen.
“Well, you know how it is these days.” said Evil Harry Dread. The Horde
nodded. They knew how it was these days.
“People these days, when they're attacking your Dark Evil Tower, the
first thing they do is block up your escape tunnel,” said Evil Harry.
“Bastards!” said Cohen. “You've got to let the Dark Lord escape. Everyone
knows that.”
“That's right,”“ said Caleb. ”Got to leave yourself some work for
tomorrow.“
”And it wasn't as if I didn't play fair.“ said Evil Harry. ”I mean, I
always left a secret back entrance to my Mountain of Dread, I employed
really stupid people as cell guards-“
”Dat's me,“ said the enormous troll proudly.
”-that was you, right, and I always made sure all my henchmen had the
kind of helmets that covered the whole face, so an enterprising hero
could disguise himself in one, and those come damn expensive, let