Discworld and Member Articles
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2001: A Board Odyssey - Chapter 1
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Written by Buzzfloyd
Monday, 22 August 2005 |
Chapter 1
“He’s gone, hasn’t he?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He’s gone. Him. I know you’ve been trying to cover it up. Talking to yourself in the Secret Quarters. Hiding the offerings. Setting off fireworks in the tower. I may be pretty new to all this, but I’m not stupid. He’s gone.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Where is he?”
“That’s enough questions. Just count the gold, and we’ll talk later.”
***
Light crept under the night’s clouds and over the horizon, reaching out a lazy hand to touch the roofs, towers and steeples of the citadel. Somewhere, a cockerel crowed a welcome to the sun. The streets began to stir with the morning sounds of doors and shutters being opened, coal being shovelled, milk bottles clanking together. The first curling wisps of smoke rose from chimneys here and there as the hands of the giant temple clock moved their way into a straight line, pointing both up and down at once. The bells began to ring.
It was a new day in Boardania.
***
“Fresh fish! Freeeeeeeeeesh fish! Haddocks, hakes and halibuts! Getchore luverly fresh fish here!”
Down on the docks, the catch had come in, and the fishwives were already doing business. Those in the know made sure to come down to the net huts first thing in the morning, in order to get the best buys.
“Good morning, Madam Water. Do you have any plaice in today?”
“Good day there, Mr Black! I certainly do, and some very nice ones. Take your pick of the finest Boardania Bay has to offer.”
As Tony Black and Madam Water haggled over prices, a rather odd looking pair could be seen moving towards them along the Strand.
“This is all your fault. If it hadn’t been for that stupid creature getting into the baptism well, none of this would have happened.” The speaker was a skinny young man, dressed in an old, exceedingly battered porkpie hat, an ankle length trench coat and a pair of ancient, laceless Doc Marten boots. Whether he wore anything under the coat was not evident, but the people of Boardania lived in hope. He carried on his shoulder a small, unhappy-looking monkey, to which he bore a more than passing resemblance.
The person to whom his comments were addressed was another young man, slightly taller and less stringy, wearing an orange mohair suit, and clutching something furry protectively to his chest. “Kate is not a stupid creature. She’s highly intelligent. More intelligent than you, anyway.”
“I don’t care how bloody intelligent she is, Colonesque, having her piss in the font was a really dumb idea.”
“Yeah, well, you thought it was funny at the time. And just be glad His Doorship didn’t see your monkey in the organ loft.”
“Huh.”
The pair continued on gloomily until they reached Madam Water’s fish stall.
“Hello, Doormen.” Tony greeted them. “You’re both looking a bit down in the mouth.”
“Yeah well,” sighed Rincewind. “His Doorship is rationing our piss jokes.” Tony sucked inward sharply, and Madam Water shook her head in dismay. “We’re not too happy about it.”
“In fact,” Colonesque added, “you could say we’re kind of pissed off.” There was a tinkling sound, and a bead of glass dropped from out of nowhere onto the pavement, where it shattered.
“Colonesque! You blundering nitwit!” Rincewind yelled, turning red with fury. “That’s one piss joke wasted!”
“Sorry, sorry!” Colonesque exclaimed, backing away. His badger growled, displaying a startling array of luminous yellow teeth.
“I thought it was quite good, actually.” Tony remarked, as Madam Water turned to her next customer.
***
In the market square, further towards the city centre, a dark-haired woman wearing a pinstripe suit and crisp white shirt stood at her newsstand, chatting with a customer of her own.
“I hear there’s been lots of sparks coming from the Great God at nights, up in the tower there.”
“So they say, Hermes, so they say. Myself, I seen nothing.”
“How about Ba Witda? Any of his prophets come forth lately? Any pies?” The young man in the artist’s beret looked hopeful.
“No, none that I tasted. But if you like to read about the Ba, Mr Hermes, why not try the Boardania Times? They’re running the sequel to Small Gods Chronicles in their fiction pages right now.”
“Yeah? Is that good?”
“I read it, and you know I don’t read much if I can help it.”
“And you on a newsstand and all. OK, Marcia, I’ll buy it. How much?”
“That’ll be five pence, Hermes, very much obliged. Take care of yourself now!”
Tucking his paper under his arm, Hermes strolled off into the crowd. Marcia turned and gazed up at the temple tower, looming above them like an ever-vigilant sentinel.
Sparks, huh? Ain’t seen sparks from the Garner in years. What’s going on up there? She stared for a moment longer, before shrugging and turning back to her stall.
***
Meanwhile, up at the temple, Buzzfloyd, High Priestess of Garner, and Mynona, her immediate subordinate, were counting out offerings of krugerands and opals, ready to be taken down into the vaults. These subterranean halls, carved out of the very rock on which the citadel of Boardania stood, were said to be older even than the temple itself. And, although gifts to the Great God Garner were many, the vaults never seemed to become full.
Or at least, not until now.
“What does he normally do with them, Priestess? Does he eat them? My grandmother always told me that the Great God eats the opals, and melts down the gold for drinking from.”
“In time, Acolyte, these mysteries will be revealed to you. But for now, all that is asked of you is to simply trust and obey.”
“But Priestess – your grace – he doesn’t normally just leave them to stack up like this, does he? I went down there the other day, and I could hardly open the door, there were so many krugerands-“
“That’s enough! We have a job to do, Mynona, and the people do not look to us for questions, but answers.”
But he’s gone. Mynona continued counting gold in silence, but she knew that something wasn’t right. The High Priestess’s hands shook slightly as she stacked the coins one on top of the other. He’s gone, and you know it.
***
The sun rose in the sky as the day wore on. Marcia’s newsstand did good business, as ever. This was, in part, because people came to her for more news than they could read in the papers; so the Times, the Garnian and the Moderator all changed hands while snatches of information were received in hurried whispers, and nervous eyes kept a furtive lookout. Service with a smile was worth enough to keep Marcia out of a life of poverty, but service with a secret or two was enough to make her quite comfortable indeed.
As the bells started to ring twelve noon, a man in a black suit, black fedora and dark glasses approached the newsstand. Marcia straightened up as she saw him, tucking her thumbs into her belt loops, and rocking back on her heels. Some types are easy to recognise, especially if they will insist on wearing The Hat as well as The Shades. He glanced to either side before leaning in and speaking in a hoarse whisper.
“You must be Marcia, am I right?”
“That’s what my mother called me, mister.”
“I am Il Gobb.”
Marcia went slightly pale, but retained her proud stance. “And what kinda news you looking for, Mr Gobb?”
The man lowered his sunglasses with his left hand and peered over them at the brunette. “I’m looking for news of a game, Marcia. I had a communication from a certain Kid Sybil. There is a game tonight, and I want in.”
Marcia nodded slowly. “In that case, Mr Gobb, I am happy to oblige. I can give you exactly the information you will need.”
The dark man’s teeth flashed white in a quick grin. “That’s just what I hoped you’d say. What, then, is your price?”
“Two doormen, five priestesses. No bartering.”
Il Gobb nodded and produced a handful of coins from some recess of his suit jacket. He dropped two of the small gold discs, and five of the large silvers on to the newspapers laid across the stall.
“Go tonight to Dragonmama’s house on the Crescent of Fools. She will direct you.” As she spoke, Marcia pushed a copy of the Moderator into the man’s hands. “Be there by midnight, or be too late.”
Raising his hat, Il Gobb nodded and walked away.
***
“Stop him!”
The words had barely been spoken before Samantha Vimes had taken off. People in the citadel rarely ran anywhere unless they were trying to keep fit. And the unkempt, ragged-looking man who was tearing his way down the street now did not look like someone who needed to work off the effects of a sedentary lifestyle.
The chase was on. The running man had the edge, but Samantha was fast. People scattered to either side, first at the sight of a speeding desperado, then at the sight of an officer of the Law in grim pursuit.
There he goes, down Daifawr Alley. Obviously doesn’t know the city, he’s heading straight for Sctoland Yard! Move it, idiot!
Samantha barrelled past an expensively-dressed woman and down the alleyway, nearly tripping over a busker’s guitar case.
“Sorry, Officer!”
Pepster. Bet he hasn’t renewed his licence. Look out for him later.
And out the other end, between the walls of the Library and the Observatory.
Where is he? Where?! He can’t have got away! She paused, heart thumping, blood pounding in her ears, gazing wildly around Tripod Square, looking almost as terrifying as the one she was tracking.
There he is! On the steps of the temple. Samantha bolted across the Square and up the steps, two at a time, inwardly cursing her lungs for their inability to take in more air, and her knees for the small bursts of agony they were emitting.
“You’re under arrest!” she yelled at the man, who was now hammering at the temple door. “By Garner, Ba and Orrdos, so smite thee! You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say- DON’T OPEN THE DOOR!”
It was too late. Just as Samantha reached the top step, the door swung open, and a surprised-looking Acolyte jumped back from the dishevelled figure that toppled in.
“Sanctuary!” the man wheezed. “I claim sanctuary!”
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