Discworld and Member Articles
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2001: A Board Odyssey - Chapter 7
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Written by Buzzfloyd
Friday, 23 September 2005 |
Chapter 7 - NEW!
In the Temple, Buzzfloyd and Mynona walked along the corridors in silence. Tomorrow was a festival day, and they were up late, checking that everything was adequately prepared. They had reached the Newbie Chapel, where Buzzfloyd stopped suddenly, causing Mynona to bump into her. “Who’s that?” the High Priestess asked softly. The acolyte peered into the gathering gloom, lit only by flickering candles dotted around the great expanse of the nave.
As usual, there were a handful of people in the pews, even late at night, offering the quietly desperate prayers that are born out of the small hours. Mynona squinted at those nearest to her, but could see nothing unusual about any of them. “Who do you mean?” she asked.
Buzzfloyd raised a hand, indicating a hulking figure squashed into the end of one of the old oak stalls. “Him,” she muttered.
Mynona scrutinised the man. He was gazing at the triptych behind the altar, which showed each of the three gods in their most popular portrayals.
He did not appear to be praying. He looked very relaxed, as though he were a man used to sitting still for long periods of time, content simply to watch whatever was going on around him. Buzzfloyd narrowed her eyes.
“What about him?” Mynona asked, puzzled. She tried to see if he was wearing or carrying anything unusual, but he didn’t appear to be.
“He sits too still,” Buzzfloyd replied. “If it was due to his innate spirituality, the result of years of meditation and contemplation, we’d know who he was. But I don’t remember ever seeing him before. So that means he must be some other kind of person who’s good at staying still for a long time.”
“A street artist?” Mynona suggested. The High Priestess rolled her eyes.
“What would a street artist be doing in the Temple at this hour? No, my bet is he’s one of Vimes’s men. He’s a Watchman, Mynona. Here because of Tempus, no doubt – as though we couldn’t be trusted to uphold the law!”
Mynona suspected that Buzzfloyd was only interested in upholding the law when it suited her to do so, but she kept the thought to herself.
At that moment, the man looked round and met Buzzfloyd’s eye. The High Priestess squared her shoulders and began to walk towards him. Mynona followed. As they reached the pew, Mynona glanced up toward the triptych – and had to stop herself from doing a double take. The portrait of Ba Witda on the left hand panel appeared to be scratching its nose with the thunderspork. In fact, the whole panel seemed to have developed a rather three-dimensional quality. Mynona refrained from rolling her eyes. So Ba was at large in the Temple tonight. That was always worth knowing; if you stayed alert, it might grant you at least a few seconds head start.
“Good evening, High Priestess.” The suspected watchman rose awkwardly from his cramped seat and nodded his head to both women.
“Good evening, officer. What is your rank?”
“Officer? I’m a street artist, your grace.”
Mynona smirked. Buzzfloyd ignored her. “And I’m the Great God Garner,” the High Priestess replied, sarcastically.
There was a long moment, in which Mynona knew some kind of battle of wills was going on. She looked from Buzzfloyd to the stranger expectantly.
“In a sense, you almost are the Great God,” the man said at last. Mynona relaxed; he had lost.
“I suppose, in a sense, you almost are a street artist,” Buzzfloyd said with a sardonic little smile.
The man snorted. “There’s no art to being a sergeant,” he replied. “The name’s Napp, Sergeant Napp.” He extended a hand, which Buzzfloyd shook.
“You must be the one they call ‘Sleepy’,” she said, brightly.
The sergeant raised an eyebrow. “Quite possibly, your grace. But mostly, they just call me Sarge.”
“I see. Well, Sarge, I imagine you have been detailed to watch for the refugee we are sheltering.” The watchman nodded. “It’s most kind of Commander Vimes to think of us, but I can assure you of two things. Firstly, the House of the Tripod needs no help in such matters; secondly, you may be certain that we uphold the law, since we are, after all, the lawmakers. Given that this is the case, I think you will agree that there is no need for you to be here.” She smiled.
Sarge smiled too, but there was nothing compromising in the expression. “I’m sorry, your grace, but I can’t abandon my post.”
“I am not making a request, sergeant.”
“Are you ordering me to step down my watch?” Sarge asked, stony-faced. Boardania was a theocracy, and the clergy held authority over the Watch, whose official function was to enforce the rule of the gods.
“I am.” Buzzfloyd glared. Mynona watched her, wondering what was going on in the madwoman’s head.
The watchman bowed his head. “I see.” He sat down in the pew again.
Buzzfloyd frowned. “What are you doing? Are you disobeying my order?”
Sarge looked up and met her eye. “Certainly not, your grace. I’m now off duty. But I don’t spend enough time in the Temple these days. I feel the need for prayer.” He turned back to the altar.
So he won after all! Mynona thought.
Buzzfloyd stood very still for a moment, before walking away very fast, robes rustling as she went. Mynona had to hurry to catch her up. They went up the chancel steps and through the quire into the vestry. Buzzfloyd paused to kick off her sandals, and Mynona hastily did likewise. If they were going barefoot, that must mean that Buzzfloyd intended to go up the ancient staircase into the Dome. Mynona had only been up there once, and had longed to go again ever since. Feeling excited, she ducked through the tiny doorway after the High Priestess, closing the old wooden door behind her.
The stairs were steep, narrow and winding, and scrambling up them in the dark was a test for anyone’s nerves. Eventually, they reached the top and came out into an equally narrow corridor, the gallery above the quire. Buzzfloyd did not drop her pace, and Mynona hastened along behind her. Small arched openings on their right provided an intermittent view onto the chancel, until they came to some more stairs. These went straight up without spiralling, but were still extremely steep. Mynona wondered how high they were.
Her question was answered as they came out through a door onto another gallery, or sort of balcony, that ran around the base of the dome. Mynona held the railing tightly as she peered over and down to the transept below. Dots of light were visible, moving around, as people carried candles from one part of the Temple to the other. They were all so far away! A figure in purple, strolling towards the Elephant Chapel, looked like the Grand Spatula of Ba, but it was hard to tell in the gloom.
Mynona reeled slightly as she looked back up, readjusting to her position. Buzzfloyd had been walking around the balcony and was now on the other side of the Dome, opening a door that must lead to the bell tower. Mynona started to run round towards her, but quickly slowed to a walk, as she realised that a three-foot high railing was all that stood between her and a 175-foot drop.
She reached the doorway and realised she had been wrong; it led to yet another stairway. This one curved up and over the Dome itself. Mynona had never been up this far before. She started to climb, flinching as a bat detached itself from the ceiling and fluttered past her. Even though she had been living in the Temple for two years now, she still wasn’t used to the bats. She could hear Buzzfloyd ahead of her, and hurried to catch up.
The steps started off deep and narrow, but became increasingly shallow and broad until they levelled out at the top of the Dome. Mynona arrived at a small tower room, where Buzzfloyd stood waiting. There were windows on each side of the little room and, again, a gap in the centre of the floor, surrounded by a railing. Mynona edged towards it and peered down. After a moment, she was able to pick out movement. “Holy bunnies!” she exclaimed. “We must be nearly 300 feet above the floor!”
Buzzfloyd raised a finger to her lips. She reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a small tube and a box that rattled. Mynona suppressed a sigh. More fireworks. This was getting ridiculous. “Have we come all the way up here to set off a firework?” she hissed. Buzzfloyd ignored her.
Mynona shook her head in silent frustration. She understood now. Buzzfloyd was unnerved by the police presence in and around the Temple. Anyone who spent any length of time in the Temple these days would be watching like a hawk for telltale signs of Garner’s presence; everyone knew about the rumours, even Buzzfloyd, if only she would acknowledge them. In normal times, signs of Garner’s presence were everywhere. The smouldering footprints across the Sanctuary; the noise and the bright lights from the Secret Quarters; the laughter in the narthex; the crunching sounds around the Temple at night, after the day’s offerings had been taken down to the treasury. But for two months now, there had been none of these things. For too long, nothing but fireworks in the darkness and Buzzfloyd’s lonely voice shrouded by uneasy silence.
Mynona knew it. Buzzfloyd knew it. Anyone who knew anything knew it. And a watchman, a man whose job was to see both what was happening and what was not happening, would certainly know it, given the chance to observe. Buzzfloyd was adamant that the Great God had not gone, and she would do anything to stop the rumours spreading. So here they were, setting off fireworks again. As if that was going to convince anyone. In Mynona’s opinion, the woman was going insane.
The acolyte realised that Buzzfloyd was kneeling to pray. Hastily, she followed suit. After a moment, the High Priestess raised her head again. “I have a feeling, Mynona,” she whispered. “We’re here to do his will! His countenance is upon us!”
Yep, Mynona thought. She’s cracked.
***
Tempus removed the oven-gloves and gingerly felt his face to see if his eyebrows were still there. Apparently not. He glanced at Ba’s oven, reminded of an old story from the scriptures about Colonesque, Nester and Rincewind in the fiery furnace, which had been so hot that the attendants were killed throwing the Doormen in. No doubt Ba had had this idea in mind when designing his oven. Still, the pie looked delicious. Clearly, the writers of the cookery book had spent some time perfecting their recipes to keep Ba Witda happy.
Feeling pleased with himself, Tempus went to the sink to wash his hands. He squinted at the window, trying to see out into the night; but all was dark. Suddenly, the darkness shifted. Tempus recoiled as the glistening, inky blackness resolved itself into the giant pupil of the largest eye he had ever seen. It blinked.
Tempus screamed.
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