Wintersmith, page 29
The boat bumped against the far bank, and the ferryman stepped ashore quickly.
Rob Anybody scrambled up Roland’s ragged chain-mail sleeve and whispered: “When I gi’e ye the word, run for it!”
“But I can pay the ferryman. I have the money,” said Roland, patting his pocket.
“You whut?” said the Feegle, as if this were some strange and dangerous idea.
“I have the money,” Roland repeated. “Two pennies is the rate to cross the River of the Dead. It’s an old tradition. Two pennies to put on the eyes of the dead, to pay the ferryman.”
“Whut a clever man ye are, to be sure,” said Rob as Roland dropped two copper coins into the ferryman’s bony hand. “An’ did ye no’ think tae bring four pennies?”
“The book just said the dead take two,” said Roland.
“Aye, mebbe they do,” Rob agreed, “but that’s ’cuz the deid dinna expect tae be comin’ back!”
Roland looked back across the dark river. Flashes of orange light were thick on the bank they’d left.
“Mr. Anybody, I was once a prisoner of the Queen of Fairyland.”
“Aye, I ken that.”
“It was for a year in this world, but it only seemed like a few days there…except that the weeks passed like centuries. It was so…dull, I could hardly remember anything after a while. Not my name, not the feel of sunshine, not the taste of real food.”
“Aye, we ken that—we helped tae rescue ye. Ye niver say thanks, but ye wuz oot o’ yer skull the whole time, so we didna take offense.”
“Then allow me to thank you now, Mr. Anybody.”
“Dinna mention it. Anytime. Happy tae oblige.”
“She had pets that fed you dreams until you died of hunger. I hate things that try to take away what you are. I want to kill those things, Mr. Anybody. I want to kill all of them. When you take away memories, you take away the person. Everything they are.”
“’Tis a fine ambition ye’ve got there,” said Rob. “But we ha’ got a wee job tae do, ye ken. Aw crivens, this is whut happens when things get sloppy an’ bogles take over.”
There was a big pile of bones on the path. They were certainly animal bones, and the rotting collars and lengths of rusted chain were another clue.
“Three big dogs?” said Roland.
“One verra big dog wi’ three heads,” said Rob Anybody. “Verra popular in underworlds, that breed. Can bite right through a man’s throat. Three times!” he added with relish. “But put three doggy biscuits in a row on the groond, an’ the puir wee thing sits there strainin’ an’ whinin’ all day. It’s a wee laff, I’m tellin’ ye!” He kicked at the bones. “Aye, time wuz when places like this had some pers’nality. Look, see what they’ve done here, too.”
Farther along the path was what was probably a demon. It had a horrible face, with so many fangs that some of them must have been just for show. There were wings, too, but they couldn’t possibly have lifted it. It had found a piece of mirror, and every few seconds it took a peep into it and shuddered.
“Mr. Anybody,” said Roland, “is there anything down here that this sword I’m carrying could kill?”
“Ah, no. No’ kill,” said Rob Anybody. “No’ bogles. No’ as such. It’s no’ a magic sword, see?”
“Then why am I dragging it along?”
“’Cuz ye are a Hero. Who ever heard o’a Hero wi’oot a sword?”
Roland tugged the sword out of its scabbard. It was heavy and not at all like the flying, darting silver thing that he’d imagined in front of the mirror. It was more like a metal club with an edge.
He gripped it in both hands and managed to hurl it out into the middle of the slow, dark river.
Just before it hit the water, a white arm rose and caught it. The hand waved the sword a couple of times and then disappeared with it under the water.
“Was that supposed to happen?” he asked.
“A man throwin’ his sword awa’?” yelled Rob. “No! Ye’re no’ supposed tae bung a guid sword intae the drinkie!”
“No, I mean the hand,” said Roland. “It just—”
“Ach, they turn up sometimes.” Rob Anybody waved a hand as if midstream underwater sword jugglers were an everyday occurrence. “But ye’ve got no weapon noo!”
“You said swords can’t hurt bogles!”
“Aye, but it’s the look o’ the thing, okay?” said Rob, hurrying on.
“But not having a sword should make me more heroic, right?” said Roland, as the rest of the Feegles trotted after them.
“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 doesn’t…understand. And he’s so happy he’s almost sweet….
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 were more of them on the opposite shore.
“How’s the Plan goin’, Mister Hero?” asked Rob Anybody quietly as he climbed down from the boy’s helmet.
“I’m waiting for the opportune moment,” said Roland haughtily. He turned to look at the not-Tiffany. “I’m here to get you out,” he said, trying not to look directly at her eyes.
“You?” said the not-Tiffany, as if the idea were amusing.
“Well, us,” Roland corrected himself. “Everything is—”
There was a bump as the boat grounded on the farther shore, where the bogles were as thick as standing corn.
“Off ye go, then,” said Big Yan.
Roland pulled the not-Tiffany along the path for a few steps, and stopped. When he blinked, the path ahead was a writhing orange mass. He could feel the little pulls on him, no stronger than a breeze. But they were in his brain, too. Cold, and nibbling. This was stupid. It couldn’t work. He wouldn’t be able to do it. He wasn’t any good at this sort of thing. He was wayward and inconsiderate and disobedient, just like his…aunts…said.
Behind him, Daft Wullie shouted, in his cheerful way, “Make yer aunties proud of ye!”
Roland half turned, suddenly angry. “My aunts? Let me tell you about my aunts—”
“No time, laddie!” shouted Rob Anybody. “Get on wi’ it!”
Roland looked around, his mind on fire.
Our memories are real, he thought. And I will not stand for this!
He turned to the not-Tiffany and said: “Don’t be afraid.” Then he held out his left hand and whispered, under his breath: “I remember…a sword….”
When he shut his eyes, there it was—so light he could barely feel it, so thin he could hardly see it, a line in the air that was made up mostly of sharpness. He’d killed a thousand enemies with it, in the mirror. It was never too heavy, it moved like part of him, and here it was. A weapon that chopped away everything that clung and lied and stole.
“Mebbe ye can make a Hero all in one go,” said Rob Anybody thoughtfully, as bogles scribbled themselves into existence and died. He turned to Daft Wullie. “Daft Wullie?” he said. “Can ye bring to mind when it was I told ye that sometimes ye say exactly the right thing?”
Daft Wullie looked baffled. “Noo that ye mention it, Rob, I dinna recall ye ever sayin’ that, ever.”
“Aye?” said Rob. “Weel, if I had done, just now would ha’ been one o’ those times.”
Daft Wullie looked worried. “That’s all right though, aye? I said somethin’ right?”
“Aye. Ye did, Daft Wullie. A First. I’m proud o’ ye,” said Rob.
Daft Wullie’s face split in an enormous grin. “Crivens! Hey, lads, I said—”
“But dinna get carried awa’,” Rob added.
As Roland swung the airy blade, the bogles parted like spiderwebs. There were more, always more, but the silver line always found them, cutting him free. They backed away, tried new shapes, recoiled from the heat of the anger in his head. The sword hummed. Bogles curled around the blade and squealed, and sizzled into nothingness on the floor—
