The Last Hero (the discworld series)

by Terry Pratchett

  ‘Oh, yes. We need to go down, as quickly as we can. No time to waste.’

  ‘Down? This is not the time to talk about down! You kept on talking about around. Around is fine! Not down!’

  ‘Ah, but you see, in order to go around we need to go down. Fast.’ Leonard looked reproachful. ‘I did put it in my notes—’

  ‘Down is not a direction with which I am happy!’

  ‘Hello? Hello?’ came a voice, out of the air.

  ‘Captain Carrot,’ said Leonard, as Rincewind sulked in his seat, ‘oblige me by opening the cabinet there, will you?’

  This revealed a fragment of smashed omniscope and the face of Ponder Stibbons.

  ‘It works!’ His shout sounded muffled and somehow small, like the squeaking of an ant. ‘You're alive?’

  ‘We have separated the first dragons and everything is going well, sir,’ said Carrot.

  ‘No, it's not!’ Rincewind shouted. ‘They want to go dow—!’

  Without turning his head, Carrot reached around behind Leonard and pulled Rincewind's hat down over his face.

  ‘The second-stage dragons will be about ready to burn now,’ said Leonard. ‘We had better get on, Mr Stibbons.’

  ‘Please take careful observations of all—’ Ponder began, but Leonard had politely closed the case.

  ‘Now then,’ he said, ‘if you gentlemen will undo the clips beside you and turn the large red handles you should be able to start the process of folding the wings back in. I believe that as we increase speed the impellers will make the process easier.’ He looked at Rincewind's blank face as the angry wizard freed himself from his hat. ‘We will use the rushing air as we fall to help us reduce the size of the wings, which we will not require for a while.’

  ‘I understand that,’ said Rincewind distantly. ‘I just hate it.’

  ‘The only way home is down, Rincewind,’ said Carrot, adjusting his seat belt. ‘And put your helmet on!’

  ‘So if everyone would once again hold tight?’ said Leonard, and pushed gently on a lever. ‘Don't look so worried, Rincewind. Think of it as a sort of… well, a magic carpet ride…’

  The Kite shuddered.

  And dived…

  And suddenly the Rimfall was under them, stretching to an infinite misty horizon, its rocky outcrops now islands in a white wall.

  The ship shook again, and the handle Rincewind had been leaning on started to move under its own power.

  There was no solid surface any more. Every piece of the ship was vibrating.

  He stared out of the porthole next to him. The wings, the precious wings, the things that kept you up, were folding gracefully in on themselves…

  ‘Rrincewwind,’ said Leonard, a blur in his seat, ‘pplease ppull the bblack lleverr!’

  The wizard did so, on the basis that it couldn't make things worse.

  But it did. He heard a series of thumps behind him. Five score of dragons, having recently digested a hydrocarbon-rich meal, saw their own reflections in front of them as a rack of mirrors was, for a moment, lowered in front of their cages.

  They flared.

  Something crashed and smashed, back in the fuselage. A giant foot pressed the crew back into their seats. The Rimfall blurred. Through red-rimmed eyes they stared at the speeding white sea and the distant stars and even Carrot joined in the hymn of terror, which goes:

  ‘Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhggggggg…’

  Leonard was trying to shout something. With terrible effort Rincewind turned his huge and heavy head and just made out the groan: ‘Ttthe wwwhite lllever!’

  It took him years to reach it. For some reason his arms had been made out of lead. Bloodless fingers with muscles weak as string managed to get a grip and tow the lever back.

  Another foreboding thump rattled the ship. The pressure ceased. Three heads thumped forward.

  And then there was silence. And lightness. And peace.

  Dreamily, Rincewind pulled down the periscope and saw the huge fish section curving gently away from them. It came apart as it flew, and more dragons spread their wings and whirled away behind the Kite. Magnificent. A device for seeing behind you without slowing down? Just the thing no coward should be without.

  ‘I've got to get one of these,’ he murmured.

  ‘That seemed to go quite well, I thought,’ said Leonard. ‘I'm sure the little creatures will get back, too. Flitting from rock to rock… yes, I'm sure they will…’

  ‘Er… there's a strong draught by my seat—’ Carrot began.

  ‘Ah, yes… it would be a good idea to keep the helmets handy,’ Leonard said. ‘I've done my best, varnishing and laminating and so forth… but the Kite is not, alas, completely airtight. Well, here we are, well on our way,’ he added brightly. ‘Breakfast, anyone?’

  ‘My stomach feels very—’ Rincewind began, but stopped.

  A spoon drifted past, tumbling gently.

  ‘What has switched off the down-ness?’ he demanded.

  Leonard opened his mouth to say: No, this was expected, because everything is falling at the same speed, but he didn't, because he could see this was not a happy thing to say.

  ‘It's the sort of thing that happens,’ he said. ‘It's… er… magic.’

  ‘Oh. Really? Oh.’

  A cup bumped gently off Carrot's ear. He batted it away and it disappeared somewhere aft.

  ‘What kind of magic?’ he said.

  The wizards were clustered around the piece of omniscope, while Ponder struggled to adjust it.

  A picture exploded into view. It was horrible.

  ‘Hello? Hello? This is Ankh-Morpork calling!’

  The gibbering face was pushed aside and Leonard's dome rose slowly into view.

  ‘Ah, yes. Good morning,’ he said. ‘We are having a few… teething troubles.’

  From somewhere offscreen came the sound of someone being sick.

  ‘Whatisgoingon?’ bellowed Ridcully.

  ‘Well, you see, it's rather amusing… I had this idea of putting food in tubes, you see, so that it could be squeezed out and eaten neatly in weightless conditions and, er, because we didn't tie everything down, er, I'm afraid my box of paints came open and the tubes got, er, confused, so what Mr Rincewind thought was broccoli and ham turned out to be Forest Green… er.’

  ‘Let me speak to Captain Carrot, will you?’

  ‘I'm afraid that is not entirely convenient at the moment,’ said Leonard, his face clouded with concern.

  ‘Why? Did he have the broccoli and ham too?’

  ‘No, he had the Cadmium Yellow.’ There was a yelp and a series of clangs somewhere behind Leonard. ‘On the brighter side, however, I can report that the Mk II privy appears to function perfectly.’

  The Kite, in its headlong plunge, curved back towards the Rimfall. Now the water was a great tumbling cloud of mist.

  Captain Carrot hovered in front of a window, taking pictures with the iconograph.

  ‘This is amazing,’ he said. ‘I'm sure we'll find the answers to some questions that have puzzled mankind for millennia.’

  ‘Good. Can you get this frying pan off my back?’ said Rincewind.

  ‘Um,’ said Leonard.

  It was a sufficiently troubling syllable for the others to look at him.

  ‘We seem to be, er, losing air rather faster than I thought,’ said the genius. ‘But I'm sure the hull isn't any leakier than I allowed for. And we seem to be falling faster, according to Mr Stibbons. Uh… it's a little difficult to piece it all together, of course, because of the uncertain effects of the Disc's magical field. Um… we should be all right if we wear our helmets all the time…’

  ‘There's plenty of air nearer to the world, isn't there?’ said Rincewind. ‘Can't we just fly into it and open a window?’

  Leonard stared mournfully into the mists that filled half of their view.

  ‘We are, er, moving very fast,’ he said, slowly. ‘And air at this speed… air is… the thing about air… tell me, what do you understand by th
e words “shooting star”?’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Rincewind demanded.

  ‘Um… that we die an immensely horrible death.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Rincewind.

  Leonard tapped a dial on one of the tanks of air. ‘I really don't think my calculations were that wro—’

  Light exploded into the cabin.

  The Kite rose through tendrils of mist.

  The crew stared.

  ‘No one will ever believe us,’ said Carrot, eventually. He raised his iconograph towards the view and even the imp inside, which belonged to a species that was seldom impressed with anything, said ‘Gosh!’ in a tiny voice as it painted furiously.

  ‘I don't believe this,’ said Rincewind, ‘and I'm seeing it.’

  A tower, an immensity of rock, rose from the mist. And looming over the mist, huge as worlds, the backs of four elephants. It was like flying through a cathedral, thousands of miles high.

  ‘It sounds like a joke,’ Rincewind babbled, ‘elephants holding up the world, hahaha… and then you see it…’

  ‘My paints, where are my paints…?’ mumbled Leonard.

  ‘Well, some of them are in the privy,’ said Rincewind.

  Carrot turned, and looked puzzled. The iconograph floated away, trailing small curses.

  ‘And where's my apple?’ he said.

  ‘What?’ said Rincewind, perplexed at the sudden subject of fruit.

  ‘I'd just started eating an apple, and I just rested it in the air… and it's gone.’

  The ship creaked in the glaring sunlight.

  And an apple core came tumbling gently through the air.

  ‘I suppose there are just the three of us aboard?’ said Rincewind innocently.

  ‘Don't be silly,’ said Carrot. ‘We're sealed in!’

  ‘So… your apple ate itself?’

  They looked at the jumble of bundles held in the webbing behind them.

  ‘I mean, call me Mr Suspicious,’ said Rincewind, ‘but if the ship is heavier than Leonard thought, and we're using up more air, and food is vanishing—’

  ‘You're not suggesting that there's some kind of monster floating around below the Rim that can bore into wooden hulls, are you?’ said Carrot, drawing his sword.

  ‘Ah, I hadn't thought of that one,’ said Rincewind. ‘Well done.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Leonard. ‘It would be, perhaps, a cross between a bird and a bivalve. Somewhat squid-like, possibly, using jets of—’

  ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you, yes!’

  Carrot pulled out a roll of blankets and tried to look back along the cabin.

  ‘I think I saw something move,’ he said. ‘Just behind the air reservoirs…’

  He ducked under a bundle of skis and disappeared into the shadows.

  They heard him groan.

  ‘Oh, no…’

  ‘What? What?’ said Rincewind. Carrot's voice was muffled.

  ‘I've found a… it looks like a… skin…’

  ‘Ah, fascinating,’ said Leonard, sketching on his notepad. ‘Possibly, once aboard a hospitable vessel, such a creature would metamorphose into—’

  Carrot emerged, a banana skin kebabed on the end of his sword.

  Rincewind rolled his eyes. ‘I have a very definite feeling about this,’ he said.

  ‘So have I,’ said Carrot.

  It took them some time, but finally they pushed away a box of dishcloths and there were no more hiding places.

  A worried face looked out of the nest it had made.

  ‘Ook?’ it said.

  Leonard sighed, laid aside his pad and opened up the omniscope's box. He banged on it once or twice, and it flickered and showed the outline of a head.

  Leonard took a deep breath.

  ‘Ankh-Morpork, we have an orangutan…’

  Cohen sheathed his sword.

  ‘Wouldn't have expected much to be living up here,’ he said, surveying the carnage.

  ‘There's even less now,’ said Caleb.

  The latest fight had been over in the twinkling of an eye and the cleaving of a backbone. Any… creatures that ambushed the Horde did so at the end of their lives.

  ‘The raw magic here must be huge,’ said Boy Willie. ‘I suppose creatures like this get used to living off it. Sooner or later something will learn to live anywhere.’

  ‘It's certainly doing Mad Hamish good,’ said Cohen. ‘I'll swear he's not as deaf as he was.’

  ‘Whut?’

  ‘I SAID YOU'RE NOT AS DEAF AS YOU WERE, HAMISH!’

  ‘There's no need to shout, mon!’

  ‘Can we cook 'em, do you think?’ said Boy Willie.

  ‘They'll probably taste a bit like chicken,’ said Caleb. ‘Everything does, if you're hungry enough.’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ said Mrs McGarry. ‘You get a fire going, and I'll make this taste more like chicken than… chicken.’

  Cohen wandered off to where the minstrel was sitting by himself, working on the remains of his lute. The lad had brightened up considerably as the climb progressed, Cohen thought. He had completely stopped whimpering.

  Cohen sat down next to him.

  ‘What're you doing, lad?’ he said. ‘I see you found a skull.’

  ‘It's going to be the sound box,’ said the minstrel. He looked worried for a moment. ‘That is all right, isn't it?’

  ‘Sure. Good fate for a hero, having his bones made into a harp or something. It should sing out wonderful.’

  ‘This will be a kind of lyre,’ said the minstrel. ‘It's going to be a bit primitive, I'm afraid.’

  ‘Even better. Good for the old songs,’ said Cohen.

  ‘I have been thinking about the… the saga,’ the minstrel admitted.

  ‘Good lad, good lad. Plenty of spakes?’

  ‘Um, yes. But I thought I'd start off with the legend of how Mazda stole fire for mankind in the first place.’

  ‘Nice,’ said Cohen,

  ‘And then a few verses about what the gods did to him,’ the minstrel went on, tightening a string.

  ‘Did to him? Did to him?’ said Cohen. ‘They made him immortal!’

  ‘Er… yes. In a way, I suppose.’

  ‘What do you mean, “in a way”?’

  ‘It's classical mythology, Cohen,’ said the minstrel. ‘I thought everyone knew. He was chained to a rock for eternity and every day an eagle comes and pecks out his liver.’

  ‘Is that true?’

  ‘It's mentioned in many of the classic texts.’

  ‘I'm not much of a reader,’ said Cohen. ‘Chained to a rock? For a first offence? He's still there?’

  ‘Eternity isn't finished yet, Cohen.’

  ‘He must've had a big liver!’

  ‘It grows again every night, according to the legend,’ said the minstrel.

  ‘I wish my kidneys did,’ said Cohen. He stared at the distant clouds that hid the snowy top of the mountain. ‘He brought fire to everyone, and the gods did that to him, eh? Well… we'll have to see about that.’

  The omniscope showed a snowstorm.

  ‘Bad weather down there, then,’ said Ridcully.

  ‘No, it's thaumic interference,’ said Ponder. ‘They're passing under the elephants. We'll get a lot more of it, I'm afraid.’

  ‘Did they really say “Ankh-Morpork, we have an orangutan”?’ said the Dean.

  ‘The Librarian must have got on board somehow,’ said Ponder. ‘You know what he's like for finding odd corners to sleep in. And that, I'm afraid, explains about the weight and the air. Er… I have to tell you that I'm not sure that they have enough time or power to get back on to the Disc now.’

  ‘What do you mean, you're notsure?’ said Lord Vetinari.

  ‘Er… I mean I am sure but, er, no one likes bad news all at once, sir.’

  Lord Vetinari looked at the big spell that dominated the cabin. It floated in the air: the whole world, sketched in glowing lines and, dropping from one glittering edge, a small curving
line. As he watched it lengthened slightly.

  ‘They can't just turn around and come back?’ he said.

  ‘No, sir. It doesn't work like that.’

  ‘Can they throw the Librarian out?’

  The wizards looked shocked.

  ‘No, sir,’ said Ponder. ‘That would be murder, sir.’

  ‘Yes, but they may save the world. One ape dies, one world lives. You do not need to be a rocket wizard to work that out, surely?’

  ‘You can't ask them to make a decision like that, sir!’

  ‘Really? I make decisions like that every day,’ said Lord Vetinari. ‘Oh, very well. What are they short of?’

  ‘Air and dragon power, sir.’

  ‘If they chop up the orangutan and feed him to the dragons, won't that kill two birds with one stone?’

  The sudden iciness told Lord Vetinari that once again he hadn't taken his audience with him. He sighed.

  ‘They need dragon flame to…?’ he said.

  ‘To bring their ringpath over the Disc, sir. They have to fire the dragons at the right time.’

  Vetinari looked at the magical orrery again. ‘And now…?’

  ‘I'm not quite sure, sir. They may crash into the Disc, or they may shoot straight out into endless space.’

  ‘And they need air…’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Vetinari's arm moved through the outline of the world and a long forefinger pointed.

  ‘Is there any air here?’ he said.

  ‘That meal,’ said Cohen, ‘was heroic. No other word for it.’

  ‘That's right, Mrs McGarry,’ said Evil Harry. ‘Even rat doesn't taste this much like chicken.’

  ‘Yes, the tentacles hardly spoiled it at all!’ said Caleb enthusiastically.

  They sat and watched the view. What had once been the world below was now a world in front, rising like an endless wall.

  ‘What're they, right up there?’ said Cohen, pointing.

  ‘Thanks, friend,’ said Evil Harry, looking away. ‘I'd like the… chicken to stay down, if it's all the same to you.’

  ‘They're the Virgin Islands,’ said the minstrel. ‘So called because there's so many of them.’

  ‘Or maybe they're hard to find,’ said Truckle the Uncivil, burping. ‘Hur, hur, hur.’

  ‘Ye can see the stars from up here,’ said Mad Hamish, ‘e'en though 'tis day.’