Discworld and Member Articles
|
2001: A Board Odyssey - Chapter 4
|
|
|
Written by Buzzfloyd
Wednesday, 24 August 2005 |
Chapter 4
One second, dreaming about the girl with the blue eyes at Dragonmama’s lair, the next – awake. Where am I? Sleep-laden eyes and mind began to resolve the black confusion into a doorway, outlined by a gentle glow; a woollen blanket, scratching slightly against skin; a strong, acrid odour… Tempus remembered where he was. He groaned quietly.
He was about to turn over and go back to sleep when there came a shuffling noise from above him. He froze, and tried to extend the circle of his senses out into the night. The shuffling continued, and a pair of feet suddenly appeared on the top rung of the bunkbed ladder. Tempus watched as Rincewind descended to the floor, stepped cautiously out of the room and turned right to go down the corridor.
After a second’s puzzlement, Tempus realised that the Doorman had only gone to the bathroom. Rolling over, he closed his eyes again. A moment later, he jolted upright. Hang on! The bathroom's in the other direction! Quick as winking, Tempus was out of bed and had set off to follow Rincewind.
The temple was draughty, and Tempus shivered in the thin, cotton pyjamas that Mynona had found for him. His bare feet quickly went numb as he padded along the icy-cold stone floor. The corridor soon ended at an open door, which led onto a small landing. Here were stairs going both up and down. Tempus hesitated. Which way had Rincewind gone? A moment’s olfactory detective work told him that the Doorman had been heading upwards.
Cautiously, Tempus began to climb. There were lanterns set into niches in the curved wall at regular intervals, throwing shadows across the steeply spiralling steps. It felt like the staircase went on forever before it opened out again onto another landing. Tempus glanced at the steps that climbed higher still before stepping to a small wooden door that, with a small push, opened to reveal another corridor. This, he reasoned, must run directly over that which he had just walked along.
He went a little way before coming to a sharp bend in the passage. People could be heard talking nearby. Tempus wondered whether he should look around the corner. After a moment’s deliberation, he risked it. And there was Rincewind. The Doorman was bent over, peering through the keyhole of a small door. Intrigued, Tempus wondered whether he could get any nearer. Perhaps he would be able to hear the conversation being held in the room Rincewind was spying on.
Glancing around, he noticed a curtained off alcove just along the corridor towards the door. Since Rincewind had his back turned, it was easy to slip across and behind the curtain without being noticed. Once there, Tempus shifted so that he could see through the crack between curtain and wall. He bent his ear to what was being said.
“Saccharissa, I’m sorry that you are offended; but really, whether or not the Great God chooses to come to the door is his own concern. I’m sure Ba Witda can empathise. He is a somewhat reclusive god himself by nature.”
“Buzzfloyd, you know as well as I do that this isn’t just about the priesthood of Ba. People are starting to question. They cry out for answers from Garner. Sparks at night are all very well, but it’s hardly a bonfire, is it?”
“If the Great God does not answer, then so be it.”
“When was the last time he smote someone? Why have there been none of the usual calls for opals? Has Garner no appetite? Why doesn’t he answer the people’s call?”
“He doesn’t answer me either, Saccharissa!” For the first time, the High Priestess’s voice betrayed emotion. “I don’t know why he doesn’t. But I will not make answer for him. You know the gods are fickle, know it as well as I do. Be content with this. You must have faith.”
Hidden in his alcove, Tempus listened in surprise, verging on mild horror. What were the priestesses saying? It couldn’t be true about Garner. Oh, he’d heard rumours. If there were any gossip to be had about the gods, the people of Boardania would whisper it for weeks. But he hadn’t believed them, not really. Because Garner was the Great God… the Green-Eyed One… the citadel’s General Operating Deity… It couldn’t be true. Garner couldn’t be gone. Could he? Tempus strained his ears.
***
Timatus stood in an alley that ran along one wall of the temple, peering into the grey gloom of the late night. A gentle glow emanated from the stained glass windows above him, casting patches of foggy-edged colour onto the ground by his feet. There were always lights on in the temple, whatever the hour. The perpetual lanterns burnt with the eternal flame of the Holy Tripod; the pie oven smouldered away somewhere in the Secret Quarters; lights flickered in the spires aloft, where the priesthood dwelt, deep in communion with their gods.
The watchman gazed up at the temple tower. The Great God was in darkness tonight, although last night the sky around the citadel had been lit by the sparks and flashes to which the people were fast becoming accustomed. Timatus shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His upbringing had been as devout as most, but the things he had been hearing - and not hearing - made him uneasy.
Up until last night, his mind had always rested peacefully in the knowledge that Garner was watching him. Wherever he went, whatever happened to him, so long as he remained true to the teachings of the Tripod, the eye of Garner saw him, and the hand of Garner reached out to smite his enemies. But, standing beside the temple for hours on end, watching its doors, its walls, its many windows, he was gaining the distinct impression that the temple tower was empty. The windows of the turret were dark, the eye of Garner blind to the iniquities of his people.
What was going on inside the temple? Was the priesthood keeping secrets from the people of the citadel? Why did the gods make no missives to the Watch concerning the one who had sought sanctuary in their temple? Why was the voice of Garner quiet? These and other questions burned in Timatus' mind.
"Pssst. Timatus?"
The watchman turned. “Who goes there?”
“It’s only me, Pineapple.” A figure stepped into the light filtering from Timatus’ lantern.
“Oh, hello, Chunky.” The two officers relaxed slightly in each other’s company, a little focus of familiarity and friendship, encircled by the cold night. “Any news from the others?”
“Not yet. Things are looking good though, apparently. Commander Vimes thinks they’ll make a big catch tonight.”
“She normally lets the games pass.”
“Yeah, but this is a big one, Carrot said. The guy who took sanctuary in the Temple today, he was supposed to have stolen something from Dragonmama.”
“Uh huh.”
“But when she was questioned about it, she said it was a false alarm. So, Commander Vimes did some snooping, and she reckons they’re playing for a big haul. There’s a lot of out-of-towners in, and a bit of a crowd at the Welcome Stranger.”
Timatus sighed. “I’d have liked to been in on the action,” he remarked. “If it weren’t for this stupid leg.” He glared at the limb, to which he had sustained an injury during a rather lively tussle with an atomic badger. The bite marks had faded to purple scars now, but the divine radiation still gave him trouble.
Chunky shivered. “I wouldn’t. It’s nice and quiet here, and that’s just how I like it,” she answered. Instinctively, both of them glanced up at the tower.
“Mind you, sometimes things can be too quiet,” Timatus observed, a frown crossing his face.
“Yeah,” Chunky replied, unhappily. “I know what you mean.”
“Still…” Timatus shouldered his baton. “The Great God is watching us.”
“Yeah… Yeah, I’m sure he is.”
***
Jinxted’s fingers clenched the middle of one of the painted sticks. Gently, he steadied his grasp. The tension in the room was almost palpable as the entire tavern full of people collectively held their breath. Suddenly, he hefted the rod up and away from the pile, prompting a gasp from some.
“One to Jinxted,” announced Dragonmama.
Gradually, the reigning champion teased one stick after another away from the pile, until he had a total of five to his name. As he began to lift the sixth, someone gently cleared their throat. Some small muscle twitched, Jinxted’s hand shook – and the stack shifted. Amid muttering and a few quiet calls of “Distraction!” from spectators, Jinxted stood back. He wiped his forehead against his sleeve.
Kid Sybil consulted a sheet of paper. “I call upon Il Gobb,” she declared. The room quietened again as the gentleman stepped forward. He crouched before the stack, an expression of intense concentration on his face, before reaching forward with a murmur of, “Jack straws.”
***
“Easy, men.”
A body shifted in the dark. “Much longer, sir?”
“Soon, Carrot. When I give the word.”
“Sir. Nice of them to leave the lights on, eh, sir?”
“Right, Corporal. Now listen, if things get nasty, never mind Jinxted, or any of the local boys. I want you on the seadog, whoever he is. I’ll take Il Gobb. Mike, if Dragonmama tries to run, take her down. Got that?”
“Sir.”
“Sir.”
“Not much longer now. Pass the word down the line. We’ve got them like hornets in jam.”
“Sir?”
“They won’t leave that amount of loot easy, Corporal. With surprise working for us, we may be able to catch them all.”
***
Tempus continued to listen hard, although the priestesses were speaking in raised voices now; it took no effort to hear what they were saying.
“I have faith in Ba, Buzzfloyd,” Saccharissa was saying. “I only hope you have faith in Garner. I think you’re going to need it.”
“My faith is strong enough, Sister,” snapped Buzzfloyd. “The Great God brooks no questions.”
“But his priestess may have to learn,” replied Saccharissa.
Tempus heard the door swing open.
“What the- Rincewind, what are you doing? Hey, come back!” There was a girlish shriek, which Tempus identified as the Doorman’s, and the sound of two pairs of footsteps running along the corridor and down the stairs.
“Mynona?” Buzzfloyd could be heard again, more clearly now. Evidently the door was still open.
“Yes, your grace.”
“Come with me. We need to talk.”
“Yes, your grace.” The door closed, muffling out any further sounds.
Drawing a breath, Tempus straightened up behind the curtain that shielded his little alcove. What in Garner’s name was going on? He’d been hearing rumours for weeks now, people saying that the Great God had left them, or that he had lost his power, or was sleeping – or worse, dead. And Saccharissa seemed to be verifying the stories.
But if the Great God really was missing… Well, it just didn’t bear thinking about. Tempus rubbed his hand against his forehead.
At that moment, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He froze. In a moment of crystalline certainty, he realised that buildings rarely contain curtained-off alcoves in handy places for the sole use of passing spies.
“Er… hello?” he whispered.
“Hello,” replied a voice from behind. There was something in the tone that made Tempus shiver. Slowly, he turned around, until he found himself face to face with a shadowy figure whose countenance was obscured by a large pair of square, red sunglasses.
“Er…” Tempus repeated. The figure appeared to wait. “Er… I… er…”
The stranger spoke. “This repartee is so snappy it virtually gives Ba whiplash. Desist. Where is pie?”
“Gnk!” Tempus whispered. The blood drained from his face as he realised that, for the second time that night, he was sharing air with a god incarnate. “P-pie?” he repeated.
“Yes. Ba demands pie.”
“Right, ok. Look, I don’t actually have any pie on me right now, but if you’ll just let me go get some, I-“
“This supplicant enters the presence of the Ba without bringing pie?! Infidel.”
“I was just going to get some!” Tempus said in desperation.
“The infidel lies!” exclaimed Ba. Tempus tried to meld into the curtain. “This pleases Ba. And now he must fetch pie, for the Ba hungers.”
“Sure!” exclaimed Tempus in relief. “I’ll go and get some right away! Will you still be here when I get back?”
“The Ba will be at the apposite spot,” the god declared.
“Um… ok,” Tempus replied. “I’ll go right now then.”
“Indeed.”
Ba remained unmoving as Tempus pulled back the curtain, allowing light to fall across the two of them. The deity apparently chose to manifest wearing a somewhat distressed-looking lab coat, in addition to the curious sunglasses. He bore, in one hand, a heavy skillet, which Tempus realised with a jolt was the Frying Pan of Doom. In the other hand was a piece of twisted metal that could only be the Holy Spork. Although Tempus had been brought up to be as religious as any other Boardanian, it had never really occurred to him that Ba Witda actually carried a frying pan and spork.
With a quick bow, Tempus backed out of the alcove and hurried away towards the stairs. He vaguely wondered if his hair would be white by the morning.
A voice followed him down the corridor, calling, “The Ba will be checking for bitemarks.”
 |
|
|
Subscribe to this comment's feed