The Light Fantastic (8 page)

“Hey, that’s my Luggage!” said Twoflower. “Why’s he attacking my Luggage?”

“I think I know,” said Bethan quietly. “I think it’s because he’s scared of it.”

Twoflower turned to Rincewind, openmouthed. Rincewind shrugged.

“Search me,” he said. “I run away from things I’m scared of, myself.”

With a snap of its lid the Luggage jerked into the air and came down running, catching Cohen a crack on the shins with one of its brass corners. As it wheeled around he got a grip on it just long enough to send it galloping full tilt into a rock.

“Not bad,” said Rincewind, admiringly.

The Luggage staggered back, paused for a moment, then came at Cohen waving its lid menacingly. He jumped and landed on it, with both his hands and feet caught in the gap between the box and the lid.

This severely puzzled the Luggage. It was even more astonished when Cohen took a deep breath and heaved, muscles standing out on his skinny arms like a sock full of coconuts.

They stood locked there for some time, tendon versus hinge. Occasionally one or other would creak.

Bethan elbowed Twoflower in the ribs.

“Do something,” she said.

“Um,” said Twoflower. “Yes. That’s about enough, I think. Put him down, please.”

The Luggage gave a creak of betrayal at the sound of its master’s voice. Its lid flew up with such force that Cohen tumbled backward, but he scrambled to his feet and flung himself toward the box.

Its contents lay open to the skies.

Cohen reached inside.

The Luggage creaked a bit, but had obviously weighed up the chances of being sent to the top of that Great Wardrobe in the Sky. When Rincewind dared to peek through his fingers Cohen was peering into the Luggage and cursing under his breath.

“Laundry?” he shouted. “Is that it? Just laundry?” He was shaking with rage.

“I think there’s some biscuits too,” said Twoflower in a small voice.

“But there wash gold! And I shaw it eat shomebody!” Cohen looked imploringly at Rincewind.

The wizard sighed. “Don’t ask me,” he said. “I don’t own the bloody thing.”

“I bought it in a shop,” said Twoflower defensively. “I said I wanted a traveling trunk.”

“That’s what you got, all right,” said Rincewind.

“It’s very loyal,” said Twoflower.

“Oh yes,” agreed Rincewind. “If loyalty is what you look for in a suitcase.”

“Hold on,” said Cohen, who had sagged onto a rock. “Wash it one of thoshe shopsh—I mean, I bet you hadn’t noticed it before and when you went back again it washn’t there?”

Twoflower brightened. “That’s right!”

“Shopkeeper a little wizened old guy? Shop full of strange shtuff?”

“Exactly! Never could find it again, I thought I must have got the wrong street, nothing but a brick wall where I thought it was, I remember thinking at the time it was rather—”

Cohen shrugged. “One of
those
shops,
*
he said. “That explainsh it, then.” He felt his back, and grimaced. “Bloody horshe ran off with my liniment!”

Rincewind remembered something, and fumbled in the depths of his torn and now very grubby robe. He held up a green bottle.

“That’sh the shtuff!” said Cohen. “You’re a marvel.” He looked sideways at Twoflower.

“I would have beaten it,” he said quietly, “even if you hadn’t called it off, I would have beaten it in the end.”

“That’s right,” said Bethan.

“You two can make yourshelf usheful,” he added. “That Luggage broke through a troll tooth to get ush out. That wash diamond. Shee if you can find the bitsh. I’ve had an idea about them.”

As Bethan rolled up her sleeves and uncorked the bottle Rincewind took Twoflower to one side. When they were safely hidden behind a shrub he said, “He’s gone barmy.”

“That’s Cohen the Barbarian you’re talking about!” said Twoflower, genuinely shocked. “He is the greatest warrior that—”

“Was,” said Rincewind urgently. “All that stuff with the warrior priests and man-eating zombies was years ago. All he’s got now is memories and so many scars you could play noughts-and-crosses on him.”

“He is rather more elderly than I imagined, yes,” said Twoflower. He picked up a fragment of diamond.

“So we ought to leave them and find our horses and move on,” said Rincewind.

“That’s a bit of a mean trick, isn’t it?”

“They’ll be all right,” said Rincewind heartily. “The point is, would you feel happy in the company of someone who would attack the Luggage with his bare hands?”

“That is a point,” said Twoflower.

“They’ll probably be better off without us anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” said Rincewind.

They found the horses wandering aimlessly in the scrub, breakfasted on badly dried horse jerky, and set off in what Rincewind believed was the right direction. A few minutes later the Luggage emerged from the bushes and followed them.

The sun rose higher in the sky, but still failed to blot out the light of the star.

“It’s got bigger overnight,” said Twoflower. “Why isn’t anybody doing something?”

“Such as what?”

Twoflower thought. “Couldn’t somebody tell Great A’Tuin to avoid it?” he said. “Sort of go around it?”

“That sort of thing has been tried before,” said Rincewind. “Wizards tried to tune in to Great A’Tuin’s mind.”

“It didn’t work?”

“Oh, it worked all right,” said Rincewind. “Only…”

Only there had been certain unforeseen risks in reading a mind as great as the World Turtle’s, he explained. The wizards had trained up on tortoises and giant sea turtles first, to get the hang of the chelonian frame of mind, but although they knew that Great A’Tuin’s mind would be big they hadn’t realized that it would be
slow
.

“There’s a bunch of wizards that have been reading it in shifts for thirty years,” said Rincewind. “All they’ve found out is that Great A’Tuin is looking forward to something.”

“What?”

“Who knows?”

They rode in silence for a while through a rough country where huge limestone blocks lined the track. Eventually Twoflower said, “We ought to go back, you know.”

“Look, we’ll reach the Smarl tomorrow,” said Rincewind. “Nothing will happen to them out here, I don’t see why—”

He was talking to himself. Twoflower had wheeled his horse and was trotting back, demonstrating all the horsemanship of a sack of potatoes.

Rincewind looked down. The Luggage regarded him owlishly.

“What are you looking at?” said the wizard. “He can go back if he wants, why should I bother?”

The Luggage said nothing.

“Look, he’s not my responsibility,” said Rincewind. “Let’s be absolutely clear about that.”

The Luggage said nothing, but louder this time.

“Go on—follow him. You’re nothing to do with me.”

The Luggage retracted its little legs and settled down on the track.

“Well, I’m going,” said Rincewind. “I mean it,” he added.

He turned the horse’s head back toward the new horizon, and glanced down. The Luggage sat there.

“It’s no good trying to appeal to my better nature. You can stay there all day for all I care. I’m just going to ride off, okay?”

He glared at the Luggage. The Luggage looked back.

“I thought you’d come back,” said Twoflower.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Rincewind.

“Shall we talk about something else?”

“Yeah, well, discussing how to get these ropes off would be favorite,” said Rincewind. He wrenched at the bonds around his wrists.

“I can’t imagine why you’re so important,” said Herrena. She sat on a rock opposite them, sword across her knees. Most of the gang laying among the rocks high above, watching the road. Rincewind and Twoflower had been a pathetically easy ambush.

“Weems told me what your box did to Gancia,” she added. “I can’t say that’s a great loss, but I hope it understands that if it comes within a mile of us I will personally cut both your throats, yes?”

Rincewind nodded violently.

“Good,” said Herrena. “You’re wanted dead or alive, I’m not really bothered which, but some of the lads might want to have a little discussion with you about those trolls. If the sun hadn’t come up when it did—”

She left the words hanging, and walked away.

“Well, here’s another fine mess,” said Rincewind. He had another pull at the ropes that bound him. There was a rock behind him, and if he could bring his wrists up—yes, as he thought, it lacerated him while at the same time being too blunt to have any effect on the rope.

“But why us?” said Twoflower. “It’s to do with that star, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know anything about the star,” said Rincewind. “I never even attended astrology lessons at the University!”

“I expect everything will turn out all right in the end,” said Twoflower.

Rincewind looked at him. Remarks like that always threw him.

“Do you really believe that?” he said. “I mean, really?”

“Well, things generally do work out satisfactorily, when you come to think about it.”

“If you think the total disruption of my life for the last year is satisfactory then you might be right. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve nearly been killed—”

“Twenty-seven,” said Twoflower.

“What?”

“Twenty-seven times,” said Twoflower helpfully. “I worked it out. But you never actually have.”

“What? Worked it out?” said Rincewind, who was beginning to have the familiar feeling that the conversation had been mugged.

“No. Been killed. Doesn’t that seem a bit suspicious?”

“I’ve never objected to it, if that’s what you mean,” said Rincewind. He glared at his feet. Twoflower was right, of course. The Spell was keeping him alive, it was obvious. No doubt if he jumped over a cliff a passing cloud would cushion his fall.

The trouble with that theory, he decided, was that it only worked if he didn’t believe it was true. The moment he thought he was invulnerable he’d be dead.

So, on the whole it was wisest not to think about it at all.

Anyway, he might be wrong.

The only thing he could be certain of was that he was getting a headache. He hoped that the Spell was somewhere in the area of the headache and really suffering.

When they rode out of the hollow both Rincewind and Twoflower were sharing a horse with one of their captors. Rincewind perched uncomfortably in front of Weems, who had sprained an ankle and was not in a good mood. Twoflower sat in front of Herrena which, since he was fairly short, meant that at least he kept his ears warm. She rode with a drawn knife and a sharp eye out for any walking boxes; Herrena hadn’t quite worked out what the Luggage was, but she was bright enough to know that it wouldn’t let Twoflower be killed.

After about ten minutes they saw it in the middle of the road. Its lid lay open invitingly. It was full of gold.

“Go around it,” said Herrena.

“But—”

“It’s a trap.”

“That’s right,” said Weems, white-faced. “You take it from me.”

Reluctantly they reined their horses around the glittering temptation and trotted on along the track. Weems glanced back fearfully, dreading to see the chest coming after him.

What he saw was almost worse. It had gone.

Far off to one side of the path the long grass moved mysteriously and was still.

Rincewind wasn’t much of a wizard and even less of a fighter, but he was an expert at cowardice and he knew fear when he smelled it. He said, quietly, “It’ll follow you, you know.”

“What?” said Weems, distractedly. He was still peering at the grass.

“It’s very patient and it never gives up. That’s sapient pearwood you’re dealing with. It’ll let you think it’s forgotten you, then one day you’ll be walking along a dark street and you’ll hear these little footsteps behind you—shlup, shlup, they’ll go, then you’ll start running and they’ll speed up, shlupshlupSHLUP—”

“Shut up!” shouted Weems.

“It’s probably already recognized you, so—”

“I said shut up!”

Herrena turned around in her saddle and glared at them. Weems scowled and pulled Rincewind’s ear until it was right in front of his mouth, and said hoarsely, “I’m afraid of nothing, understand? This wizard stuff, I spit on it.”

“They all say that until they hear the footsteps,” said Rincewind. He stopped. A knifepoint was pricking his ribs.

Nothing happened for the rest of the day but, to Rincewind’s satisfaction and Weems’s mounting paranoia, the Luggage showed itself several times. Here it would be perched incongruously on a crag, there it would be half-hidden in a ditch with moss growing over it.

By late afternoon they came to the crest of a hill and looked down on the broad valley of the upper Smarl, the longest river on the Disc. It was already half a mile across, and heavy with the silt that made the lower valley the most fertile area on the continent. A few wisps of early mist wreathed its banks.

“Shlup,” said Rincewind. He felt Weems jerk upright in the saddle.

“Eh?”

“Just clearing my throat,” said Rincewind, and grinned. He had put a lot of thought into that grin. It was the sort of grin people use when they stare at your left ear and tell you in an urgent tone of voice that they are being spied on by secret agents from the next galaxy. It was not a grin to inspire confidence. More horrible grins had probably been seen, but only on the sort of grinner that is orange with black stripes, has a long tail and hangs around in jungles looking for victims to grin at.

“Wipe that off,” said Herrena, trotting up.

Where the track led down to the river bank there was a crude jetty and a big bronze gong.

“It’ll summon the ferryman,” said Herrena. “If we cross here we can cut off a big bend in the river. Might even make it to a town tonight.”

Weems looked doubtful. The sun was getting fat and red, and the mists were beginning to thicken.

“Or maybe you want to spend the night this side of the water?”

Weems picked up the hammer and hit the gong so hard that it spun right around on its hanger and fell off.

They waited in silence. Then with a wet clinking sound a chain sprang out of the water and pulled taut against an iron peg set into the bank. Eventually the slow flat shape of the ferry emerged from the mist, its hooded ferryman heaving on a big wheel set in its center as he winched his way toward the shore.