Eric (Discworld #9)

Eric (Discworld #9) Page 7

“Let's just run through this again, shall we?” said the Demon King. He leaned back in his

throne.

“You just happened to find the Tezumen one day and decided, I think I recall your words correctly, that they were 'a bunch of Stone-Age no-hopers sitting around in a swamp being no trouble to anyone', am I right? Whereupon you entered the mind of one of their high priests - I believe at the time they worshiped a small stick - drove him insane and inspired the tribes to unite, terrorise their neighbours and bring forth upon the continent a new nation dedicated to the proposition that all men should be taken to the top of ceremonial pyramids and be chopped up with stone knives.” The King pulled his notes towards him. “Oh yes, some of them were also to be flayed alive,” he added.

Quezovercoatl shuffled his feet.

“Whereupon,” said the King, “they immediately engaged in a prolonged war with just about everyone else, bringing death and destruction to thousands of moderately blameless people, ekcetra, ekcetra. Now, look, this sort of thing has got to stop.”

Quezovercoatl swayed back a bit.

“It was only, you know, a hobby,” said the imp. “I thought, you know, it was the right thing, sort of, thing. Death and destruction and that.”

“You did, did you?” said the king. “Thousands of more-or-less innocent people dying? Straight out of our hands,” he snapped his fingers, “just like that. Straight off to their happy hunting ground or whatever. That's the trouble with you people. You don't think of the Big Picture. I mean, look at the Tezumen. Gloomy, unimaginative, obsessive... by now they could have invented a whole bureaucracy and taxation system that could have turned the minds of the continent to slag. Instead of which, they're just a bunch of second-rate axe-murderers. What a waste.”

Quezovercoatl squirmed.

The King swiveled the throne back and forth a bit.

“Now, I want you to go back down there and tell them you're sorry,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“Tell them you've changed your mind. Tell them that what you really wanted them to do was strive day and night to improve the lot of their fellow men. It'll be a winner.”

“What?” said Quezovercoatl, looking extremely shifty. “You want me to manifest myself?” “They've seen you already, haven't they? I saw the statue, it's ver lifelike.” “Well, yes. I've appeared in dreams and that,” said the demon uncertainly. “Right, then. Get on with it.”

Quezovercoatl was clearly unhappy about something. “Er,” he said. “You want me to actually materialise, sort of thing? I mean, actually sort of turn up on the spot?”

“Yes!” “Oh.”

The prisoner dusted himself down and extended a wrinkled hand to Rincewind. “Many thanks. Ponce da Quirm,” he said. “Pardon?” “It's my name.” “Oh.” “It's a proud old name,” said da Quirm, searching Rincewind's eyes for any traces of

mockery. “Fine,” said Rincewind blankly. “We were searching for the Fountain of Youth,” da Quirm went on Rincewind looked him up and down.

“Any luck?” he said politely.

“Not significantly, no.” Rincewind peered back down into the pit. “You said we,” ha said. “Where's everyone else?” “They got religion.” Rincewind looked up at the statue of Quezovercoatl. I took no imagination whatsoever

to imagine what kind. “I think,” he said carefully, “that we had better go.” “Too true,” said the old man. “And quickly, too. Before the Ruler of the World turns up.” Rincewind went cold. It starts, he thought. I knew it was all going to turn out badly, and

this is where it starts. I must have an instinct for these things. “How do you know about that?” he said. "Oh, they've got this prophecy, really, it's more the entire history of the world, start to

finish. It's written all over this pyramid,“ said da Quirm, cheerfully. ”My word, I wouldn't like to be the Ruler when he arrives. They've got plans."

Eric stood up.

“Now just you listen to me,” he said. “I'm not going to stand for this sort of thing. I'm your ruler, you know...”

Rincewind stared at the blocks nearest the statue. It had taken the Tezumen two storeys, twenty years and ten thousand tons of granite to explain what they intended to do to the Ruler of the World, but the result was, well, graphic. He would be left in no doubt that they were annoyed. He might even go so far as to deduce that they were quite vexed.

“But why do they give him all these jewels to start with?” he said, pointing.

“Well, he is the Ruler,” said da Quirm. “He's entitled to some respect, I suppose.”

Rincewind nodded. There was a sort of justice in it. If you were a tribe who lived in a swamp in the middle of a damp forest, didn't have any metal, had been saddled with a god like Quezovercoatl, and then found someone who said he was in charge of the whole affair, you probably would want to spend some time explaining to him how incredibly disappointed in him you were. The Tezumen had never seen any reason to be subtle in dealing with deities.

It was a very good likeness of Eric.

His eye followed the story on to the next wall.

This block showed a very good likeness of Rincewind. He had a parrot on his shoulder.

“Hang on,” he said. “That's me!”

“You should see what they're doing to you on the next block,” said the parrot smugly. “It'll turn your wossname.”

Rincewind looked at the block. His wossname revolved.

“We'll just leave very quietly,” he said firmly. “I mean, we won't stop to thank them for the meal. We can always send them a letter later. You know, so's not to be impolite.”

“Just a moment,” said da Quirm, as Rincewind dragged at his arm, “I haven't had a chance to read all the blocks yet. I want to see how the world's going to end -”

“How it's going to end for everybody else I don't know,” said Rincewind grimly, dragging him down the tunnel. “I know how it's going to end for me.”

He stepped out in to the dawn light, which was fine. Where he went wrong was stepping into a semi-circle of Tezumen. They had spears. They had exquisitely chipped obsidian spearheads, which, like their swords, were nowhere near as sophisticated as ordinary, coarse, inferior steel weapons. Was it better to know that you were going to be skewered by delicate examples of genuine ethnic origin rather than nasty forge-made items hammered out by people not in contact with the cycles of nature?

Probably not, Rincewind decided.

“I always say,” said da Quirm, “that there is a good side to everything.”

Rincewind, trussed to the next slab, turned his head with difficulty. “Where is it at the moment, precisely?” he said. Da Quirm squinted down across the swamps and the forest roof. “Well. It's a first-class view from up here, to begin with.” “Oh, good,” said Rincewind. "You know, I never would have looked at it like that.

You're absolutely right. It's the kind of view you'll remember for the rest of your life, I expect. I mean, it's not as if it will be any great feat of recollection.“ ”There's no need to be sarcastic. I was only passing a remark."

“I want my mum,” said Eric, from the middle slab. “Chin up, lad,” said da Quirm. “At least you're being sacrificed for something worthwhile. I just suggested they tried using the wheels upright, so they'd roll. I'm afraid they're not very responsive to new ideas around here. Still, nil desperandum. Where there's life there's hope.”

Rincewind growled. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was people who were fearless in the face of death. It seemed to strike at something absolutely fundamental in him.

“In fact,” said da Quirm, “I think -” He rolled from side to side experimentally, tugging at the vines which were holding him down. “Yes, I think when they did these ropes up -yes, definitely, they -”

“What? What?” said Rincewind.

“Yes, definitely,” said da Quirm. “I'm absolutely sure about it. They did them up very tightly and professionally. Not an inch of give in them anywhere.” “Thank you,” said Rincewind. The flat top of the truncated pyramid was in fact quite large, with plenty of room for

statues, priests, slabs, gutters, knife-chipping production lines and all the other things the

Tezumen needed for the bulk disposal of religion. In front of Rincewind several priests were busily chanting a long list of complaints about swamps, mosquitoes, lack of metal ore, volcanoes, the weather, the way obsidian never kept it's edge, the trouble with having a god like Quezovercoatl, the way wheels never worked properly however often you laid them flat and pushed them, and so on.

The prayers of most religions generally praise and thank the gods involved, either out of general piety or in the hope that he or she will take the hint and start acting responsibly. The Tezumen, having taken a long hard look around their world and decided bluntly that things were just about as bad as they were ever going to get, had perfected the art of the plain-chant winge.

“Won't be long now,” said the parrot, from its perch atop a statue of one of the Tezumen's lesser gods.

It had got there by a complicated sequence of events that had involved a lot of squawking, a cloud of feathers and three Tezumen priests with badly swollen thumbs.

“The high priest is just performing a wossname in honour of Quezovercoatl,” it went on, conversationally. “You've drawn quite a crowd.”

“I suppose you wouldn't kind of hop down here and bite through these ropes, would you?” said Rincewind.

“Not a chance.”

“Thought so.”

“Sun's coming up soon,” the parrot continued. Rincewind felt that it sounded unnecessarily cheerful.

“I'm going to complain about this, demon,” moaned Eric. “You wait my mother finds out. My parents have got influence, you know.”

“Oh, good,” said Rincewind weakly. “Why don't you tell the high priest that if he cuts your heart out she'll be right down to the school tomorrow to complain.”

The Tezumen priests bowed towards the sun, and all eyes in the crowd below turned to the jungle.

Where something was happening. There was the sound of crackling undergrowth. Tropical birds erupted through the trees, shrieking.

Rincewind, of course, could not see this.

“You never should have wanted to be ruler of the world,” he said. “I mean, what did you expect? You can't expect people to be happy about seeing you. No-one ever is when the landlord turns up.”

“But they're going to kill me!”

“It's just their way of saying that, metaphorically, they're fed up with waiting for you to repaint the place and see to the drains.”

The whole jungle was in uproar now. Animals exploded out of the bushes as if running from a fire. A few heavy thumps indicated that trees were falling over.

At last a frantic jaguar crashed through the undergrowth and loped down the causeway. The Luggage was a few feet behind it.

It was covered with creepers, leaves and the feathers of various rare jungle fowls, some of which were now even rarer. The jaguar could have avoided it by zigging or zagging to either side, but sheer idiot terror prevented it. It made the mistake of turning its head to see what was behind.