Thud! - A Novel Of Discworld Part 38

"Why? What makes you think that?" said Vimes, wiping his brow.

"Because I think you may be sitting on the painting, sir. It's very dirty, but that looks like rolled-up canvas to me."

Vimes stood up quickly, and inspected the log. One corner of what he'd taken to be yellow-gray bark peeled back to reveal paint on the other side.

"And those timbers over there-" Cheery began but stopped, because Vimes had raised a finger to his lips.

There were, indeed, some long, thin pine saplings lying nearby, stripped of all branches. They would have gone unnoticed if it wasn't for the presence of the rolled-up painting.

They did just what we did, Vimes thought. It was probably easier, if they had enough dwarfs to hold up the painting; the mountains would be properly colored, not just pencil lines, and it would be more accurate on the bigger canvas. They could take their time, too. They thought they were well ahead of me. All they were worried about was some b.l.o.o.d.y mystic symbol.

He drew his sword and beckoned Cheery to follow him.

There's not just dark dwarfs here, then, he thought, creeping around the nearby rocks. They wouldn't have stood out here in daylight. So let's see how many stayed on guard...

None, as it turned out. It was something of an anticlimax. Beyond the rocks was the spot that X X would have marked, if there had been an would have marked, if there had been an X X.

They must have been really confident, Vimes realized. By the look if it, they'd moved tons of rock and stricken timber, and there were the crowbars to prove it.

Right now would be a really good time for Angua and the others to catch us up, he decided.

In front of them was a hole about six feet wide. A steel bar had been laid across it, bedded into two freshly chiseled grooves, and from the bar a stout rope disappeared into the depths. From far below came the thunder of dark waters.

"Mr. Rascal must've been a brave man to stand here," said Vimes.

"I expect it was a plugged hole a hundred years ago," said Cheery.

"I'll tell you what," said Vimes, kicking a pebble into the dark. "Pretend I'm a city man who doesn't know a b.l.o.o.d.y thing about caves, why don't you?"

"It's what you get when a hole gets blocked, sir," said Cheery patiently. "Mr. Rascal probably just had to climb down onto a plug of debis."

This is the place.

So...this is where he found the talking cube, Vimes thought. Ignoring Cheery's protests, because he was the commander around here, he swung down onto the rope and lowered himself a few feet.

There, tucked under the lip of the hole, a stubby piece of iron was rusted into the rock. A few links of equally rusted chain hung from it.

It sang in its chains...

"There was a note about the thing being in chains," he said. "Well, there's some chain here, and what could be the stub of a knife!"

"Dwarf steel, sir!" said Cheery reproachfully. "It does last."

"It could last all that time?"

"Oh yes. I expect the sink became a fountain for a while since Rascal's day, and forced the blockage out. That sort of thing happens all the time in Koom Va-er, what are you doing, sir?"

Vimes was staring down into the darkness. Below, unseen, dark waters churned. So...the messenger climbed up this hole, he thought. Where to hide the cube safely?

There could be trolls up above. But a fighting dwarf would have a dagger, certainly, and they love chains. Yes...here would be a good place. And he'd be back soon, anyway...

"Old men climbed down this?" he said, staring down the rope into the dark.

"Old dwarfs, sir. Yes. We're strong for our size. You're not going down, are you, sir?"

There's a side tunnel down there...

"There must be a side tunnel down there," said Vimes. Thunder rumbled, far up in the mountains.

"But the others will be here soon, sir! Aren't you rus.h.i.+ng things?"

Don't wait for them...

"No. Tell them to follow me. Look, we've lost time. I can't hang around all day."

Cheery hesitated, and then pulled something out of a pouch on her belt.

"Then at least take these, sir," she said. He grabbed the little package as it fell. It was surprisingly heavy.

"Waxed matches, sir, they don't get wet. And the wrapping will burn like a torch for at least four minutes. There's a small loaf of dwarf bread, too."

"Well...thank you," said Vimes to the worried round shadow against the yellow sky. "Look, I'll see if there's any light down there, and if there isn't, I'll come straight back. I'm not that that daft." daft."

He let himself slide on down the rope. There was a knot every couple of feet. The air was winter-cold after the heat of the valley. Fine spray came up from below.

There was was a tunnel, well above the cauldron. He could make himself believe there was light in the distance, too. Well, he wasn't stupid. He needed to- a tunnel, well above the cauldron. He could make himself believe there was light in the distance, too. Well, he wasn't stupid. He needed to- Let go...

His hands loosened their grip. He didn't even have time to swear before the water closed over him.

Vimes opened his eyes. After a while, moving his arm After a while, moving his arm slowly, because of the pain, he found his face and checked that his eyelids were, indeed, open. slowly, because of the pain, he found his face and checked that his eyelids were, indeed, open.

What bits of his body weren't aching? He checked. No, there seemed to be none. His ribs were carrying the melody of pain, but knees, elbows, and head were all adding trills and arpeggios. Every time he s.h.i.+fted to ease the agony, it moved somewhere else. His head ached as if someone was hammering on his eyeb.a.l.l.s.

He groaned, and coughed up water.

Gritty sand was under him. He could hear the rush of water somewhere nearby, but the sand under him was merely damp. And that didn't seem right.

He risked turning over, a process that extracted a considerable amount of groan.

He could remember the icy water. There had been no question of swimming. All he'd been able to do was roll himself into a ball as the water threw and sc.r.a.ped and banged him through the bagatelle board of Koom Valley. He'd gone over an underground waterfall once, he was sure, and had managed to suck in a breath before being whisked onward. And then there was depth, and pressure, and his life started to unroll before his eyes, and his last thought had been please, please, can we skip the bit with Mavis Trouncer...

And now he was here on an invisible beach, totally out of the water? But this place surely didn't have tides!

So someone was somewhere in the blackness, watching him. That was it. They'd pulled him out and now they were watching him...

He opened his eyes again. Some of the pain was gone, leaving stiffness as payment. He had a feeling that time had pa.s.sed. The darkness pressed in on all sides, thick as velvet.

He rolled back with more groans, and this time managed to push himself onto his hands and knees.

"Who's there?" he mumbled, and, very carefully, got to his feet.

Being upright seemed to shake his brain into gear again.

"Anyone there?" The darkness swallowed the sound. Anyway, what would he have done if something had said "Yes!"

He drew his sword and held it out in front of him as he shuffled forward. After a dozen steps, it clinked against rock.

"Matches," he mumbled. "Got matches!"

He found the wax bundle and, working his clammy fingers slowly, drew out one match. Sc.r.a.ping the wax off the head with his thumb, he struck it against the stone.

The glare hurt his eyes. Look, quick! Flowing water, smooth sand, hand-and footprints coming out of the water, one set only? Yes. Walls looked dry, small cave, darkness over there, way out...

Vimes limped toward the oval entrance as quick as he could while the match spat and fizzed in his hand.

There was a bigger cave here, so big that the blackness in it seemed to suck all the light from the match, which scorched his fingers and died.

The heavy darkness closed in again, like curtains, and now he knew what the dwarfs meant. This wasn't the darkness of a hood, or a cellar, or even of their shallow little mine. He was a long way below the ground here, and the weight of all that darkness bore down on him.

Now and again, a drop of water went plink plink into some unseen pool. into some unseen pool.

Vimes staggered onwards. He knew he was bleeding. He didn't didn't know why he was walking, but he did know that he had to. know why he was walking, but he did know that he had to.

Maybe he'd find daylight. Maybe he'd find a log that had been washed in here, and float his way out. He wasn't going to die, not down here in the dark, a long way from home.

A lot of water was dripping in this cavern. A lot of it was going down his neck right now, but there were plinks plinks on every side. Hah, water trickling down your neck and odd noises in the shadows...well, that's when we find out if we've got a real copper, right? But there were no shadows here. It wasn't light enough. on every side. Hah, water trickling down your neck and odd noises in the shadows...well, that's when we find out if we've got a real copper, right? But there were no shadows here. It wasn't light enough.

Perhaps that poor sod of a dwarf had wandered through here. But he he found a way out. Maybe he knew the way, maybe he had a rope, maybe he was young and limber...and so he'd got out, dying on his feet, and tucked away the treasure, out of the way, and then went down the valley, walking through his grave. That's how it could take people. He remembered Mrs. Oldsburton, who went mad after her baby died, cleaning everything in the house, every cup, wall, ceiling, and spoon, not seeing anybody or hearing anything, just working all day and all night. Something in the head went click, and you found something to do, anything, to stop yourself thinking. found a way out. Maybe he knew the way, maybe he had a rope, maybe he was young and limber...and so he'd got out, dying on his feet, and tucked away the treasure, out of the way, and then went down the valley, walking through his grave. That's how it could take people. He remembered Mrs. Oldsburton, who went mad after her baby died, cleaning everything in the house, every cup, wall, ceiling, and spoon, not seeing anybody or hearing anything, just working all day and all night. Something in the head went click, and you found something to do, anything, to stop yourself thinking.

Best to stop thinking that the way out the dwarf had found had been the one Vimes had dropped in by, and he had no idea where that was now.

Maybe he could simply jump back in the water, knowing what he was doing this time, and maybe he'd make it all the way down to the river before the turbulent currents battered him to death. Maybe he- Why the h.e.l.l had he let go of that rope? It had been like that little voice that whispers "Jump" when you're at a cliff edge, or "Touch the fire." You didn't listen, of course. At least most people didn't, most of the time. Well, a voice had said "Let go," and he had...

He shuffled on, aching and bleeding, while the dark curled its tail around him.

"He'll be back soon, you know," said Sybil. "Even if it's you know," said Sybil. "Even if it's at the very last minute." at the very last minute."

Out in the hall, a big grandfather clock had just stopped chiming half past five.

"I'm sure he will," said Bunty. They were bathing Young Sam.

"He's never never late," Sybil went on. "He says if you're late for a good reason you'll be late for a bad one. And it's only half past five, anyway." late," Sybil went on. "He says if you're late for a good reason you'll be late for a bad one. And it's only half past five, anyway."

"Plenty of time," Bunty agreed.

"Fred and n.o.bby did take the horses up to the valley, didn't they?" said Sybil.

"Yes, Sybil. You watched them go," said Bunty. She looked over Sybil's head to the gaunt figure of her husband, who was standing in the hall doorway. He shrugged hopelessly.

"Only the other day, he was running up the stairs as the clocks were striking six," Sybil said, calmly soaping Young Sam with a sponge shaped like a teddy bear. "The very last second. You wait and see."

He wanted to sleep. He'd never felt this tired before. Vimes He'd never felt this tired before. Vimes slumped to his knees, and then fell sideways onto the sand. slumped to his knees, and then fell sideways onto the sand.

When he forced his eyes open, he saw pale stars above him, and had, once again, the sensation that there was someone else present.

He turned his head, wincing at the stab of pain, and saw a small but brightly lit folding chair on the sand. A robed figure was reclining in it, reading a book. A scythe was stuck in the sand beside it.

A white, skeletal hand turned a page.

"You'll be Death, then?" said Vimes, after a while.

AH, MISTER MISTER V VIMES, ASTUTE AS EVER ASTUTE AS EVER. GOT IT IN ONE, said Death, shutting the book on his finger to keep the place.

"I've seen you before."

I HAVE WALKED WITH YOU MANY TIMES HAVE WALKED WITH YOU MANY TIMES, MISTER V VIMES.

"And this is it it, is it?"

HAS IT NEVER STRUCK YOU THAT THE CONCEPT OF A WRIT-TEN NARRATIVE IS SOMEWHAT STRANGE? said Death.

Vimes could tell when people were trying to avoid something they really didn't want to say, and it was happening here.

"Is it?" he insisted. "Is this it? This time I die?"

COULD BE.

"Could be? What sort of answer is that?" said Vimes.

A VERY ACCURATE ONE VERY ACCURATE ONE. YOU SEE, YOU ARE HAVING A NEAR YOU ARE HAVING A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE, WHICH INESCAPABLY MEANS THAT WHICH INESCAPABLY MEANS THAT I I MUST UNDERGO A NEAR MUST UNDERGO A NEAR-VIMES EXPERIENCE EXPERIENCE. DON'T MINDME. CARRY ON WITH WHATEVER YOU WERE DOING. I HAVE A BOOK HAVE A BOOK.

Vimes rolled over onto his stomach, gritted his teeth, and pushed himself onto his hands and knees again. He managed a few yards before slumping back down.

He heard the sound of a chair being moved.

"Shouldn't you be somewhere else?" he said.