Read Online Discworld 27 - The Last Hero by Terry Pratchett - Free Book Online

older than us.”
“The fish were good,” said Cohen. “Real big buggers.”
“Just as well, really, since we've run out of walrus.” said Evil Harry.
“Wonderful display by your henchmen. Harry,” said Cohen. “Stupidity
wasn't the word for it. Never seen so many people hit themselves over the
head with their own swords.”
“They were good lads,” said Harry. “Morons to the end.”
Cohen grinned at Boy Willie, who was sucking a cut finger.
“Teeth,” he said. “Huh ... the answer is always ”teeth“, is it?”
“All right, all right, sometimes it's ”tongue“.” said Boy Willie. He
turned to the minstrel.
“Did you get that bit where I cut up that big taranchula?” be said.
The minstrel raised his head slowly. A lute string broke.
     
 
   
“Mwwa,” he bleated.
The rest of the Horde gathered round quickly. There was no sense in
letting just one of them get the best verses.
“Remember to sing about that bit where that fish swallowed me and I cut
my way out front inside, okay?”“
”Mwwa ...“
”And did you get that bit when I killed that big six-armed dancin'
statue?“
”Mwwa ...“
”What're you talkin' about? It was me what killed that statue?“
”Yeah? Well, I clove him clean in twain, mate. No one could have survived
that?
“Why didn't you just cut 'is 'ead off?”
“Couldn't. Someone'd already done that.”
“Ere, 'e's not writin' this down! Why isn't 'e writin this down? Cohen,
you tell 'im 'e's got to write this down!”
“Let him be for a while,” said Cohen. “I reckon the fish disagreed with
him.”
“Don't see why,” said Truckle. “I pulled him out before it'd hardly
chewed him. And he must've dried out nicely in that corridor. You know,
the one where the flames shot up out of the floor unexpectedly.”
“I reckon our bard wasn't expecting flames to shoot out of the floor
unexpectedly.” said Cohen.
Truckle shrugged theatrically. “Well, if you're not going to expect
unexpected flames, what's the point of going anywhere?”
“And we'd have been in some strife with those gate demons from the
netherworlds if Mad Hamish hadn't woken up,” Cohen went on.
Hamish stirred in his wheelchair, under a pile of large fish fillets
inexpertly wrapped in saffron robes.
“Whut?”
“I SAID YOU WERE GROUCHY WHAT WITH MISSING YER NAP!” Cohen shouted.
“Ach, right!”
Boy Willie rubbed his thigh. “I got to admit it, one of those monsters
nearly got me,” he said. “I'm going to have to give this up.”
Cohen turned around quickly. “And die like old Old Vincent?” he said.
“Well, not-”
“Where would he have been if we weren't there to give him a proper
funeral, eh? A great big bonfire, that's the funeral of a hero. And
everyone else said it was a waste of a good boat! So stop talking like
that and follow me!”
“Mw ... mw ,.. mw.” the minstrel sang, and finally the words came out.
“Mad! Mad! Mad! You're all stark staring mad!”
Caleb patted him gently on the shoulder as they turned to follow their
leader.
“We prefer the word berserk, lad,” he said.
Some things needed testing ...
“I have watched the swamp dragons at night,” Leonard said
conversationally as Ponder Stibbons adjusted the static-firing mechanism.
“And it is clear to me that the flame is quite useful to them as a means
of propulsion. In a sense, a swamp dragon is a living rocket. A strange
creature to have come into being on a world like ours, I have always
thought, I suspect they come from elsewhere,”
“They tend to explode a lot,” said Ponder, standing back. The dragon in
the steel cage watched him carefully.
“Bad diet.” said Leonard firmly. “Possibly not what they were used to.
But I am sure the mixture I have devised is both nourishing and safe and
will have ... usable effect...”
“But we will go and get behind the sandbags now, sir.” said Ponder.
     
 
   
“Oh, do you really think-?”