Eric

Page 17

“We cant stay here for ever,” said Rincewind. “We need to do things. Like eat.”
“That's one of the tremendous advantages of being a damned soul,” said Ponce da Quirm. “All the old bodily cares fade away. Of course, you get a completely new set of cares, but I have always found it advisable to look for the silver lining.”
“Wossname!” said the parrot, who was sitting on his shoulder.
“Fancy that,” said Rincewind. “I never knew animals could go to Hell. Although I can quite see why they made an exception in this case.”
“Up yours wizard!”
“Why don't they look for us here, that's what I don't understand?” said Eric.
“Shut up and keep walking,” said Rincewind. “They're stupid, that's why. They can't imagine that we would be doing something like this.”
“Yes, they're right there. I can't imagine that we are doing something like this, either,” said Eric.
Rincewind treadled for a bit, watching a crowd of frantically searching demons hurry past.
“So you didn't find the Fountain of Youth, then,” he said, feeling that he should make some conversation.
“Oh, but I did,” said da Quirm earnestly. “A clear spring, deep in the jungle. It was very impressive. I had a good long drink, too. Or draught, which I think is the more appropriate word.”
“And - ?” said Rincewind.
“It definitely worked. Yes. For a while there I could definitely feel myself younger.”
“But -” Rincewind waved a vague hand to take in da Quirm, the treadmill, the towering circles of the Pit.
“Ah,” said the old man. “Of course, that's the really annoying bit. I'd read so much about the fountain, and you'd have thought someone in all those books would have mentioned the really vital thing about the water, wouldn't you?”
“Which was - ?”
“Boil it first. Says it all doesn't it? Terrible shame, really.”
The Luggage trotted down the great spiral road that linked the circles of the Pit. Even if conditions had been normal it probably would not have attracted much attention. If anything, it was rather less astonishing than most of the denizens
“This is really boring,” said Eric.
“That's the point,” said Rincewind.
“We shouldn't be lurking here, we should be trying to find a way out!” “Well, yes, but there isn't one.” “There is, in fact,” said a voice behind Rincewind. It was the voice of someone who had seen it all and hadn't liked any of it very much. “Lavaeolus?” said Rincewind. His ancestor was right behind them. “`You'll get home all right,`” said Lavaeolus bitterly. "Your very words. Huh. Ten years of one damn thing after another. You might have told a chap.“ ”Er,“ said Eric. ”We didn't want to upset the course of history.“ ”You didn't want to upset the course of history," said Lavaeolus slowly. He stared down at the woodwork of the treadmill. “Oh. Good. That makes it all right. I feel a lot better for knowing that. Speaking as the course of history, I'd like to say thank you very much.” “Excuse me,” said Rincewind. “Yes?” “You said there's another way out?” “Oh, yes. A back way.” “Where is it?” Lavaeolus stopped treadling for a moment and pointed across the misty hollow. “See that arch over there?” Rincewind peered into the distance. “Just about,” he said. “Is that it?”
“Yes. A long steep climb. Don't know where it comes out, though.”
“How did you find out about it?”
Lavaeolus shrugged. “I asked a demon,” he said. “There's always an easier way of doing everything, you know.” “It'd take forever to get there,” said Eric. “It's right on the other side, we'd never make it.” Rincewind nodded, and glumly continued the endless walk. After a few minutes he said:
“Has it struck you we seem to be going faster?” Eric turned around. The Luggage had stepped aboard and was trying to catch up with them.
Astfgl stood in front of his mirror. “Show me what they can see,” he commanded. Yes, master. Astfgl inspected the whirring image for a moment. “Tell me what this means,” he said. I'm just a mirror, master. What do I know? Astfgl growled. “And I'm Lord of Hades,” he said, gesturing with his trident. "And I'm prepared to risk another seven years' bad luck.“ The mirror considered the available options. I might be able to hear some creaking, lord, it ventured. ”And?" I smell smoke.
"No smoke. I specifically banned all open fires. A very old-fashioned concept. It gave
the place a bad name."
Nevertheless, master.
“Show me... Hades.”
The mirror gave of its best. The King was just in time to see the treadwheel, its bearings glowing red hot, crash down from its mountings and roll, as deceptively slowly as an avalanche, across the country of the damned.
Rincewind hung from the pushbar, watching the rungs whirr past at a speed that would have burned the soles off his sandals if he'd been foolish enough to let his feet down. The dead, however, were taking it all with the cheerful aplomb of those who know that the worst has already happened to them. Cries of “Pass the candyfloss,” drifted down. He heard Lavaeolus commending the wheel's splendid traction and explaining to da Quirm how, if you had a vehicle which put down its road in front of it, just like the Luggage was in fact doing, and then you covered it with armour, then wars would be less bloody, over in half the time and everyone could spend even longer going home.
The Luggage made no comment at all. It could see its master hanging a few feet away, and just kept going. It may have occurred to it that the journey was taking some time, but that was Time's problem. And so, flinging out the occasional screaming soul, bumping and gyrating and crushing the occasional luckless demon, the wheel bowled on.
It smashed against the opposite cliff.
Lord Vassenego smiled.
“Now,” he said, “it is time.”
The other senior demons looked a bit shifty. They were, of course, steeped in evil, and Astfgl was definitely Not One Of Us and the most revolting little oik ever to oil his way into the post...
But... well, this... perhaps there were some things that were too...
“`Learn from the ways of humans`,” mimicked Vassenego. “He bade me learn from humans. Me! The impudence! The arrogance! But I watched, oh, yes. I learned. I planned.”
The look on his face was unspeakable. Even the lords of the nethermost circles, who gloried in villainy, had to turn their heads.
Duke Drazometh the Putrid raised a hesitant talon.
“But if he even suspects,” he said, “I mean, he has a foul temper on him. Those memos -” He shuddered.
“But what are we doing?” Vassenego spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Where is the harm in it? Brothers, I ask you: where is the harm?”
His fingers curled. The knuckles shone white under the thin, blue-veined skin as he surveyed the doubting faces.
“Or would you rather receive another statement of policy?” he said.
Expressions twitched as the lords made up their minds like a row of dominoes falling over. There were some things on which even they were united. No more policy statements, no more consultative documents, no more morale-boosting messages to all staff. This was Hell, but you had to draw the line somewhere.
Earl Beezlemoth rubbed one of his three noses. “And humans somewhere thought this up all by themselves?” he said. “We didn't give them any you know, hints?”
Vassenego shook his head.
“All their own work,” he said proudly, like a fond schoolmaster who has just seen a star pupil graduate summa cum laude.
The earl stared into infinity. “I thought we were supposed to be the ghastly ones,” he said, his voice filled with awe.
The old lord nodded. He'd waited a long time for this. While others had talked of red-hot revolution he'd just stared out into the world of men, and watched, and marveled.
This Rincewind character had been extremely useful. He'd managed to keep the King totally occupied. He'd been worth all the effort. The damn-fool human still thought it was his fingers doing the business! Three wishes, indeed!
And thus it was, when Rincewind pulled himself free of the wreckage of the wheel, he found Astfgl, King of Demons, Lord of Hell, Master of the Pit, standing over him.
Astfgl had passed through the earlier stage of fury and was now in that calm lagoon of rage where the voice is steady, the manner is measured and polite, and only a faint trace of spittle at the corner of the mouth betrays the inner inferno.
Eric crawled out from under a broken spar and looked up.
“Oh dear,” he said.
The Demon King twirled the trident. Suddenly, it didn't look comical any more. It looked like a heavy metal stick with three horrible spikes on the end.
Astfgl smiled, and looked around. “No,” he said, apparently to himself. “Not here. It is not public enough. Come!”
A hand grasped each of them by the shoulder. They could no more resist it than a couple of non-identical snowflakes could resist a flame-thrower. There was a moment's disorientation, and Rincewind found himself in the largest room in the universe.
It was the great hall. You could have built moon rockets in it. The kings of Hell might have heard of words like “subtlety” and “discretion”, but they had also heard that if you had it you should flaunt it and reasoned that, if you didn't have it, you should flaunt it even more, and what they didn't have was good taste. Astfgl had done what he could but even he had been unable to add much to the basic bad design, the clashing colours, and the terrible wallpaper. He'd put in a few coffee tables and a bullfight poster, but they were more or less lost in the overall chaos, and the new antimacassar on the back of the Throne of Dread only served to highlight some of its more annoying bas-reliefs.
The two humans sprawled on the floor.
“And now - ” said Astfgl.
But his voice was lost in a sudden cheering.
He looked up.
Demons of every size and shape filled almost all the hall, piling up the walls and even hanging from the ceiling. A demonic band struck up a choice of chords on a variety of instruments. A banner, slung from one side of the hall to the other, read: Hale To Ther Cheve.
Astfgl's brow knitted in instant paranoia as Vassenego, trailed by the other lords, bore down on him. The old demon's face was split in a totally guileless grin, and the King nearly panicked and hit it with the trident before Vassenego reached out and slapped him on the back.
“Well done!” he cried. “What?” “Oh, very well done!” Astfgl looked down at Rincewind. “Oh,” he said. “Yes. Well.” He coughed. “It was nothing,” he said, straightening up, "I knew you people weren't getting anywhere so I just -"
“Not these,” sneered Vassenego. “Such trivial things. No, sire. I was referring to your elevation.” “Elevation?” said Astfgl. “Your promotion, sire!” A great cheer went up from the younger demons, who would cheer anything. “Promotion? But, but I am the King -” Astfgl protested weakly. He could feel his grasp on events beginning to slip. “Pfooie!” said Vassenego expansively. “Pfooie?” "Indeed, sire. King? King? Sire, I speak for us all when I say that is no title for a demon such as you, sire, a demon whose grasp of organisational matters and priorities, whose insight into the proper functions of our being, whose - if I may say so - sheer intellectual capabilities have taken us to new and greater depths, sire!"