Read Online Discworld 27 - The Last Hero by Terry Pratchett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Terry Pratchett
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the message on the sampler she
was sewing, surrounded by little flowers, was EAT COLD STEEL PIGDOG.
”Well, well.“ said Cohen, sheathing his sword. ”I thought I recognised
the handiwork back there. How're you doing. Vena?“
”You're looking well, Cohen,“ said the woman, as calmly as though she had
been expecting them. ”You boys want some stew?“
”Yeah.“ said Truckle, grinning. ”Let the bard try it first, though.“
”Shame on you, Truckle,“ said the woman, putting aside her embroidery.
”Well, you did drug me and steal a load of jewels off me last time we
met...“
”That was forty years ago, man! Anyway, you left me alone to fight that
band of goblins.“
”I knew you'd beat the goblins, though.“
”I knew you didn't need the jewels. Morning, Evil Harry. Hello, boys.
Pull up a rock. Who's the thin streak of misery?“
This is the bard,” said Cohen. “Bard, this is Vena the Raven-Haired.”
“What?” said the bard. “No, she's not! Even I've heard of Vena the Raven-
Haired, and she's a tall young woman with- oh ...”
Vena sighed. “Yes, the old stories do hang around so, don't they?” she
said, patting her grey hair. “And it's Mrs McGarry now, boys.”
“Yes, I heard you'd settled down.” said Cohen, dipping the ladle into the
stew and tasting it. “Married an innkeeper, didn't you? Hung up your
sword, had kids ...”
“Grandchildren,” said Mrs McGarry. proudly. But then the proud smile
faded. “One of them's taken over the inn, but the other's a paper-maker.”
“Running an inn's a good trade,” said Cohen. “But there's not much
heroing in wholesale stationery. A paper cut's just not the same.” He
smacked his lips. “This is good stuff, girl.”
“It's funny,” said Vena. “I never knew I had the talent, but people will
come miles for my dumplings.”
“No change there, then, said Truckle the Uncivil. ”Hur, hur. hur.“
”Truckle,“ said Cohen, ”remember when you told me to tell you when you
were bein' too uncivil?“
”Yeah?“
”That was one of those times.“
”Anyway,“ said Mrs McGarry, smiling sweetly at the blushing Truckle. ”I
was sitting around after Charlie died, and I thought, well, is this it?
I've just got to wait for the Grim Reaper? And then ... there was this
scroll...“
”What scroll?“ said Cohen and Evil Harry together. Then they stared at
one another.
”Y'see,“ said Cohen, reaching into his pack. ”I found this old scroll,
showing a map of how to get to the Mountains and all the little tricks
for getting past-"
“Me too,” said Harry.
“You never told me!”
“I'm a Dark Lord. Cohen,” said Evil Harry patiently. “I'm not supposed to
be Captain Helpful.”
“Tell me where you found it, at least.”
“Oh, in some ancient sealed tomb we was despoilin'.”
“I found mine in an old storeroom back in the Empire,” said Cohen.
“Mine was left in my inn by a traveller all in black,” said Mrs McGarry.
In the silence, the minstrel said, “Um? Excuse me?”
“What?” said all three together.
“Is it just me.” said the minstrel, “or are we missing something here?”
“Like what?” demanded Cohen.
“Well, these scrolls all tell you how to get to the mountain, a perilous
trek that no one has ever survived?”
“Yes? So?”
“So ... um ... who wrote the scrolls?”
A few of the Discworld gods, passing the time, as they do. L to R:
Sessifet, goddess of the afternoon, Offler the Crocodile-Headed. Flatulus
(God of the winds), Fate. Urika (Goddess of saunas, snow and theatrical
performances for fewer than 120 people). Blind Io (chief of the Gods, and
general Thundering). Libertina (Goddess of the sea, apple pie, certain
types of ice cream and short lengths of string), The Lady (don't even
ask), Bibulous (god of wine and things on sticks). Patina (back, goddess
of wisdom). Topaxi (front god of certain mushrooms, and also of great
ideas that you
was sewing, surrounded by little flowers, was EAT COLD STEEL PIGDOG.
”Well, well.“ said Cohen, sheathing his sword. ”I thought I recognised
the handiwork back there. How're you doing. Vena?“
”You're looking well, Cohen,“ said the woman, as calmly as though she had
been expecting them. ”You boys want some stew?“
”Yeah.“ said Truckle, grinning. ”Let the bard try it first, though.“
”Shame on you, Truckle,“ said the woman, putting aside her embroidery.
”Well, you did drug me and steal a load of jewels off me last time we
met...“
”That was forty years ago, man! Anyway, you left me alone to fight that
band of goblins.“
”I knew you'd beat the goblins, though.“
”I knew you didn't need the jewels. Morning, Evil Harry. Hello, boys.
Pull up a rock. Who's the thin streak of misery?“
This is the bard,” said Cohen. “Bard, this is Vena the Raven-Haired.”
“What?” said the bard. “No, she's not! Even I've heard of Vena the Raven-
Haired, and she's a tall young woman with- oh ...”
Vena sighed. “Yes, the old stories do hang around so, don't they?” she
said, patting her grey hair. “And it's Mrs McGarry now, boys.”
“Yes, I heard you'd settled down.” said Cohen, dipping the ladle into the
stew and tasting it. “Married an innkeeper, didn't you? Hung up your
sword, had kids ...”
“Grandchildren,” said Mrs McGarry. proudly. But then the proud smile
faded. “One of them's taken over the inn, but the other's a paper-maker.”
“Running an inn's a good trade,” said Cohen. “But there's not much
heroing in wholesale stationery. A paper cut's just not the same.” He
smacked his lips. “This is good stuff, girl.”
“It's funny,” said Vena. “I never knew I had the talent, but people will
come miles for my dumplings.”
“No change there, then, said Truckle the Uncivil. ”Hur, hur. hur.“
”Truckle,“ said Cohen, ”remember when you told me to tell you when you
were bein' too uncivil?“
”Yeah?“
”That was one of those times.“
”Anyway,“ said Mrs McGarry, smiling sweetly at the blushing Truckle. ”I
was sitting around after Charlie died, and I thought, well, is this it?
I've just got to wait for the Grim Reaper? And then ... there was this
scroll...“
”What scroll?“ said Cohen and Evil Harry together. Then they stared at
one another.
”Y'see,“ said Cohen, reaching into his pack. ”I found this old scroll,
showing a map of how to get to the Mountains and all the little tricks
for getting past-"
“Me too,” said Harry.
“You never told me!”
“I'm a Dark Lord. Cohen,” said Evil Harry patiently. “I'm not supposed to
be Captain Helpful.”
“Tell me where you found it, at least.”
“Oh, in some ancient sealed tomb we was despoilin'.”
“I found mine in an old storeroom back in the Empire,” said Cohen.
“Mine was left in my inn by a traveller all in black,” said Mrs McGarry.
In the silence, the minstrel said, “Um? Excuse me?”
“What?” said all three together.
“Is it just me.” said the minstrel, “or are we missing something here?”
“Like what?” demanded Cohen.
“Well, these scrolls all tell you how to get to the mountain, a perilous
trek that no one has ever survived?”
“Yes? So?”
“So ... um ... who wrote the scrolls?”
A few of the Discworld gods, passing the time, as they do. L to R:
Sessifet, goddess of the afternoon, Offler the Crocodile-Headed. Flatulus
(God of the winds), Fate. Urika (Goddess of saunas, snow and theatrical
performances for fewer than 120 people). Blind Io (chief of the Gods, and
general Thundering). Libertina (Goddess of the sea, apple pie, certain
types of ice cream and short lengths of string), The Lady (don't even
ask), Bibulous (god of wine and things on sticks). Patina (back, goddess
of wisdom). Topaxi (front god of certain mushrooms, and also of great
ideas that you
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