Read Online Fifth Elephant by Terry Pratchett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Terry Pratchett
Ads: Link
mysteriously slipped sideways by six feet.
Semaphore had been around for centuries, and everyone knew that knowledge had a value, and everyone knew thatexporting goods was a way of making money. And then, suddenly, someone realized how much money you could make by exporting to Genua by tonight things known in Ankh-Morpork today. And some bright young man in the Street of Cunning Artificers had been unusually cunning.
Knowledge, information, power, words…flying through the air, invisible…
And suddenly the world was tap dancing on quicksand.
In that case, the prize went to the best dancer.
Lord Vetinari turned away, took some papers from a desk drawer, walked to a wall, touched a certain area and stepped quickly through the hidden door that noiselessly swung open.
Beyond was a corridor, lit by borrowed light from high windows and paved with small flagstones. He walked forward, hesitated, said “…no, this is Tuesday…” and moved his descending foot so that it landed on a stone that in every respect appeared to be exactly the same as its fellows. *
Anyone overhearing his progress along the passages and stairs may have caught muttered phrases on the lines of “…the moon is…waxing…” and “yes, it is before noon.” A really keen listener would have heard the faint whirring and ticking inside the walls.
A really keen and paranoid listener would have reflected that anything the Lord Vetinari said aloud even while he was alone might not be totally worth believing. Not, certainly, if your life depended on it.
Eventually he reached a door, which he unlocked.
There was a large attic room beyond, suddenly airy and bright and cheerful with sunlight from the windows in the roof. It seemed to be a cross between a workshop and a storeroom. Several bird skeletons hung from the ceiling and there were a few other bones on the worktables, along withcoils of wire and metal springs and tubes of paint and more tools, many of them probably unique, than you normally saw in any one place. Only a narrow bed, wedged between a thing like a loom with wings and a large bronze statue, suggested that someone actually lived here. They were clearly someone who was obsessively interested in everything .
What interested Lord Vetinari right now was the device all by itself on a table in the middle of the room. It looked like a collection of copper balls balanced on one another. Steam was hissing gently from a few rivets, and occasionally the device went blup—
“Your Lordship!”
Vetinari looked around. A hand was waving desperately at him from behind an upturned bench.
And something made him look up as well. The ceiling above him was crusted with some brownish substance, which hung from it like stalactites…
Blup
With quite surprising speed the Patrician was behind the bench. Leonard of Quirm smiled at him from underneath his homemade protective helmet.
“I do apologize,” he said. “I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in. I’m sure it will work this time, however.”
Blup
“What is it?” said Vetinari.
Blup
“I’m not quite sure, but I hope it is a—”
And then it was, suddenly, too noisy to talk.
Leonard of Quirm never dreamed that he was a prisoner. If anything, he was grateful to Vetinari for giving him this airy work space, and regular meals, and laundry, and protecting him from those people who for some reason always wanted to take his perfectly innocent inventions, designed for the betterment of mankind, and use them for despicable purposes. It was amazing how many of them there were—both the people and the inventions. It was as if all the genius of a civilization had funneled into one head which was, therefore, in a constant state of highly inventive spin. Vetinari often speculated upon the fate of mankind should Leonard keep his mind on one thing for more than an hour or so.
The rushing noise died away. Blup .
Leonard peered cautiously over the bench and smiled broadly.
“Ah!
Semaphore had been around for centuries, and everyone knew that knowledge had a value, and everyone knew thatexporting goods was a way of making money. And then, suddenly, someone realized how much money you could make by exporting to Genua by tonight things known in Ankh-Morpork today. And some bright young man in the Street of Cunning Artificers had been unusually cunning.
Knowledge, information, power, words…flying through the air, invisible…
And suddenly the world was tap dancing on quicksand.
In that case, the prize went to the best dancer.
Lord Vetinari turned away, took some papers from a desk drawer, walked to a wall, touched a certain area and stepped quickly through the hidden door that noiselessly swung open.
Beyond was a corridor, lit by borrowed light from high windows and paved with small flagstones. He walked forward, hesitated, said “…no, this is Tuesday…” and moved his descending foot so that it landed on a stone that in every respect appeared to be exactly the same as its fellows. *
Anyone overhearing his progress along the passages and stairs may have caught muttered phrases on the lines of “…the moon is…waxing…” and “yes, it is before noon.” A really keen listener would have heard the faint whirring and ticking inside the walls.
A really keen and paranoid listener would have reflected that anything the Lord Vetinari said aloud even while he was alone might not be totally worth believing. Not, certainly, if your life depended on it.
Eventually he reached a door, which he unlocked.
There was a large attic room beyond, suddenly airy and bright and cheerful with sunlight from the windows in the roof. It seemed to be a cross between a workshop and a storeroom. Several bird skeletons hung from the ceiling and there were a few other bones on the worktables, along withcoils of wire and metal springs and tubes of paint and more tools, many of them probably unique, than you normally saw in any one place. Only a narrow bed, wedged between a thing like a loom with wings and a large bronze statue, suggested that someone actually lived here. They were clearly someone who was obsessively interested in everything .
What interested Lord Vetinari right now was the device all by itself on a table in the middle of the room. It looked like a collection of copper balls balanced on one another. Steam was hissing gently from a few rivets, and occasionally the device went blup—
“Your Lordship!”
Vetinari looked around. A hand was waving desperately at him from behind an upturned bench.
And something made him look up as well. The ceiling above him was crusted with some brownish substance, which hung from it like stalactites…
Blup
With quite surprising speed the Patrician was behind the bench. Leonard of Quirm smiled at him from underneath his homemade protective helmet.
“I do apologize,” he said. “I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in. I’m sure it will work this time, however.”
Blup
“What is it?” said Vetinari.
Blup
“I’m not quite sure, but I hope it is a—”
And then it was, suddenly, too noisy to talk.
Leonard of Quirm never dreamed that he was a prisoner. If anything, he was grateful to Vetinari for giving him this airy work space, and regular meals, and laundry, and protecting him from those people who for some reason always wanted to take his perfectly innocent inventions, designed for the betterment of mankind, and use them for despicable purposes. It was amazing how many of them there were—both the people and the inventions. It was as if all the genius of a civilization had funneled into one head which was, therefore, in a constant state of highly inventive spin. Vetinari often speculated upon the fate of mankind should Leonard keep his mind on one thing for more than an hour or so.
The rushing noise died away. Blup .
Leonard peered cautiously over the bench and smiled broadly.
“Ah!
Similar Books
