Discworld and Member Articles
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2001: A Board Odyssey - Chapter 6
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Written by Buzzfloyd
Friday, 26 August 2005 |
Chapter 6
Tempus stood in his alcove, looking thoughtful. He couldn’t risk trying anything now, not with the two priestesses right there. His best bet was to make sure his route to the treasury was safe and secure and to come back later on. So he slipped quietly back through the broken door, and made his way along the dark passage, until he reached the narrow corridor that led towards the stairs. Closing the old door behind him, he began to sneak towards the stairs, with the intention of returning to the Doormen’s quarters, where he could get back into bed and go to sleep.
He had just reached the foot of the staircase when he realised the flaw in his plan: there was a certain lack of pie. Cursing under his breath, Tempus turned and set off in the opposite direction from the way he had just been.
After taking a couple of random turns and wandering aimlessly for a while, he was beginning to admit to himself that he might be lost again. Then, his eye was caught by a strange, flickering red glow at the end of the corridor he had just turned onto. Cautiously, Tempus walked further. Soon, his face felt a little warm; in fact, the closer he got to the end of the passage, the hotter the air around him became. Finally he reached the end of the passageway, and turned the corner, curious as to the source of the light and heat, but feeling a certain amount of trepidation.
He found himself at the edge of a room, looking into the mouth of a huge, cast-iron furnace. Within the furnace blazed a fire like none Tempus had ever felt. The heat was intense, and the flames cast a flickering red light across everything. “Holy mother of Garner,” Tempus muttered, wiping the sudden build-up of sweat from his forehead, “it’s like Ba’s kitchen in here!” Even as he uttered the words, realisation dawned on the fugitive. He was standing at the edge of a nightmare.
Here was the Great Spit on which Ba roasted infants and infidels. Here was the Garlic Press with which he crushed smiling idiots. Here was the Spice Rack of Confession; the Eternal Whisk; the Toasting Fork of the Damned. Here was Ba’s Kitchen.
Tempus gulped and wiped his forehead again. Taking a deep breath, he stepped over the threshold.
***
Carrot’s every breath clouded his face in mist, and his feet were numb. Some of the younger lads were struggling to stay alert. Mike quietly cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
The young corporal glanced at Commander Vimes, her face expressionless as rock, strange shadows cast across it by the patchy illumination from Dragonmama’s windows. As he watched her, she stiffened slightly. Carrot tensed, any physical discomfort suddenly forgotten. Seconds ticked by. Then –
“NOW! Go, go, go!”
The door slammed against the rock wall, bouncing back against the young watchman who forced his way through it. Truncheons crashed through glass, followed by watchmen bursting into the room, swarming through the crowd.
People screamed and scrambled for the exits, overturning drinks, chairs and tables in their fear and haste. Jinxted whipped a knife out of his belt, but the officers’ eyes were not on him. Instead, they focused on Captain Eu, Il Gobb and Dragonmama, who had all turned as one and jumped for the box containing the key.
Commander Vimes leapt for Il Gobb, knocking him against the wall with a bone-jarring thud. The swarthy gentleman snarled, trying to push Vimes away. Mike tripped over a chairleg, but seized Dragonmama around the waist as he went down, bringing her with him. She screamed as she fell, her full skirts ripping noisily. Carrot struggled through the panicking crowd towards the mysterious sea-captain, when a sudden blow to the chest slowed him. Glancing round, he beheld a mad-eyed Jinxted, knife-arm moving fast towards him. Carrot parried the blow, forcing Jinxted’s arm away, at the same time bringing his truncheon up against the champion’s shoulder. He couldn’t afford to be wasting time like this!
“Get him! GET HIM!”
A glance to the left showed him Captain Eu, box in hand, pushing his way through the mob, sword out and ready, trampling over broken furniture and dropped bags and coats.
Swearing, Carrot turned away from Jinxted and jumped towards the Captain. Something smacked into the side of his head, and he let loose a curse of pure Witdan fire before he hit the floor, where he remained, unmoving.
Eu leapt nimbly through the broken window into the darkness outside.
“GET HIM!” Vimes roared again, as watchmen poured across the room after the sea-captain, and charged into the night. A solid punch connected with her abdomen, and she staggered, gasping.
Il Gobb pushed her away and ran towards the shaped cave mouth. Vimes staggered after him, swearing.
“Follow them, you sons of Danskin,” she cursed as she reached the door. “Don’t let them get away!”
Dragonmama spat blood onto the rushes that covered the stone floor. “Bastards,” she hissed. “You traitorous bastards!”
***
The leaf mulch underfoot was squashy and cool, and there was a breeze up here that brought up the hairs on his arms. He kept climbing, pushing his way through ferns and vines, until he reached the rocky outcropping at the peak of the hill. Here, he stopped at last, catching his breath and mopping his forehead. From this point, he could see across almost the whole island, and out to sea.
The first rays of light were etching their way across the waters, and the seabirds were crying and wheeling through the sky. It promised to be another fine day.
“Nice,” he said, and nodded to himself.
In the undergrowth, the watchers remained hidden, their beady eyes focused on the stranger. They kept silence, and at no point did he turn and meet their gaze.
***
GARNER IS DEAD!
Athar had given a lot of thought to the phrasing. He, Maljonic and the others had argued about it at some length. In the end, SW Reader, the Chief Librarian, had won them all over.
“Most people are busy,” she said. “You have to catch their eye, hit them straight away with your message; they won’t bother to stop and read through a load of waffle to find out what you have to say. Just give them the simple truth, plain facts.” So that was the plan.
GARNER IS DEAD!
Every time he stuck another poster into place, Athar was surprised by the little thrill of fear that ran through him. He was simply proclaiming the truth; there was no need to fear reprisal from Garner, when Garner Was Gone. Nevertheless, he felt it.
GARNER IS DEAD!
The scattering of people in the Om Kranti All Night Eatery looked up in surprise as someone slapped a large piece of paper against the window before fleeing into the night.
“HELLO! WHAT’S GOING ON?” Om Kranti asked, stepping around the counter.
“Someone’s stuck a poster on your window, Om,” replied Marcia. She sat at the edge of the café, stirring her coffee.
“WHAT? SPEAK UP!” Om, wiping her hands on her apron, walked to the door and went outside to view the offending article. Several of her customers followed, and gathered in front of the window.
“Garner is dead?!” exclaimed Hermes, who was still holding a fork in one hand.
“FOR GARNER’S SAKE!” Om ripped furiously at the poster. She was a temple-going Garnerite and a member of the choir. The glue was fresh enough that she was able to pull the poster off quite easily, before screwing it up and tossing it into the nearest bin. She stomped back into the café, muttering about blasphemous heathens. The others followed her, whispering excitedly about what the poster meant and whether the rumours were true.
Only one stayed outside, a young woman with dark hair, who was dressed in a stylish two-piece suit and high-heeled patent leather shoes. She fished the poster out of the bin, straightened it as best she could before hurrying away down the street.
Inside the All Night Eatery, Marcia watched the door, while sipping her coffee. A certain Miss C Nipp, a journalist for the Moderator had been one of those who had gone out with Om, and was the only one who had not come back indoors. Marcia felt it was a fair bet what the headline on tomorrow’s Moderator would be.
GARNER IS DEAD!
People were shouting out in the street now. Om stood wiping down the counter with a damp rag, deaf to the noise. Literally. But, Marcia thought, even people like Om would have to wake up soon and pay attention to what was going on in Boardania. Things were coming to a head, and soon the truth would have to come out.
GARNER IS DEAD!
Marcia drank the bitter coffee, and wondered.
***
The whole world was like unto heat and flame, roaring, consuming, blistering, devouring all. Then Tempus turned away from the oven and turned to the next page in the Most Holy Cookbook of Ba Witda.
“Right,” he murmured to himself. “That’s the oven set to the correct temperature…” Tempus was a bit concerned about it; he wasn’t quite sure how many degrees ‘Astral Nucleus’ was, but that’s the temperature it said in the book.
It hadn’t taken him long after entering the kitchen to find the things he needed to bake a pie. After all, that’s what the place was exclusively designed for. He had the ingredients and equipment spread out on the long wooden table that dominated the room, and was following the recipe on the page the book had been left open at – Humble Pie, to be filled with a mixture of the day’s offerings. A margin note appeared to say that His Divinity, Ba Witda, liked this pie best served ‘with fish & fingers’. Tempus assumed the ‘&’ was a mistake.
Picking up the brass basin from the heavy set of old-fashioned scales that stood in the middle of the table, he walked over to the sack of flour at the edge of the room. He scooped out a good heap of flour and carried it carefully back to the scales to weigh. I really hope this doesn’t take too long, he thought uneasily. It wasn’t so much that he was out of bed at a late hour, but more that it was starting to feel like a very long time since he had promised to make Ba his pie. He hoped the god was not feeling impatient tonight.
***
It’s amazing how fast you can run when you’re terrified. Captain Eu skidded around another corner in the dark and kept running. In one hand he held the box containing – he hoped – the key, and in the other he still held his sword. They slowed him down a little, but he couldn’t afford to stop and stow them away. Behind him were Il Gobb, and any other gangsters that had escaped, and all Commander Vimes’ watchmen.
He had just enough of a head start that he might lose them. On the other hand, Il Gobb knew exactly where he was going. Eu ran till the blood pounded so loudly in his ears that all other sound was lost.
***
Il Gobb ran too, losing his hat in the slipstream, feeling the tinny-tasting blood run down his throat, ignoring the occasional stab of pain that shot across his chest and shoulder.
Money is money; sometimes you win and sometimes you lose: but there are times when you can’t afford to quit. As far as Il Gobb was concerned, Garner could keep every opal and krugerand in his treasury, but the ring – his father’s ring – the family heirloom that had been stolen; So smite me Garner if I do not recover that ring after getting so close.
The Captain was heading for the temple, and Il Gobb would not lose him, he would not lose the key and he would not lose his chance.
***
When there are men twice your size hauling each other across the floor and up the walls, you’d be a fool to stick around. Certainly, no one would pay attention if you ran away.
But if you run after the other men, the kind who pay men twice your size to haul each other across the floor, what kind of fool are you then?
Plaid ran as fast as her legs would take her, staggering slightly, falling more than once. She might find her own way to the temple in the dark, but if she wanted to get in and find Tempus, she had to follow the Captain and Il Gobb.
With the air ripping through her lungs, Plaid stumbled on. She would find him. She would have her answers.
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