Read Online Johnny and the Dead by Terry Pratchett - Free Book Online
Authors: Terry Pratchett
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life.”
“You can escape from almost anything,” said Mr. Vicenti.
There was a faint cough. They looked around. Mr. Grimm was watching them through the railings.
The dead seemed to sober up. They always becamemore serious in front of Mr. Grimm.
They shuffled their spectral feet.
“You’re outside,” said Mr. Grimm. “You know that’s wrong.”
“Only a little way, Eric,” said the Alderman. “That can’t do any harm. It’s for the good of the—”
“It’s WRONG.”
“We don’t have to listen to him,” said Mr. Vicenti.
“You’ll get into terrible trouble,” said Mr. Grimm.
“No we won’t,” said Mr. Vicenti.
“It’s dabbling with the Known,” said Mr. Grimm. “You’ll get into dreadful trouble and it won’t be my fault. You are bad people.”
He turned, and walked back to his grave.
“Dial the number,” said Mr. Vicenti. The others seemed to wake up.
“You know,” said Mrs. Liberty, “he may have a point—”
“Forget about Mr. Grimm,” said Mr. Vicenti. He opened his hands. A white dove shot out of his sleeve and perched on the phone booth, blinking. “Dial the number, Mr. Fletcher.”
“Hello, directory inquiries, what name please?”
“ He’s called Johnny Maxwell and he lives in Blackbury .”
“I’m afraid that is not sufficient information—”
“That’s all we—” (Listen, I can see how it works, there’s a connection—) (How many of us are there in here?) (Can I try, please?) (This is a lot better than those séances.)
The operator rubbed her headset. For some reason, her ear had gone cold.
“Ow!”
She ripped the headset off.
The operator on her right leaned over.
“What’s up, Dawn?”
“It went—it felt—”
They looked at the switchboard. Lights were coming on everywhere, and it was beginning to be covered in frost.
The point is—
—that all through history there have been people who couldn’t invent things because the rest of the world wasn’t ready. Leonardo da Vinci didn’t have the motors or materials to make his helicopter. Sir George Cayley invented the internal combustion engine before anyone else had invented gasoline. *
And in his life Addison Vincent Fletcher had spent long hours with motors and relays and glowing valvesand bits of wire, pursuing a dream the world didn’t even have a name for yet.
In his phone booth, dead Mr. Fletcher laughed. It had a name now. He knew exactly what a computer was when he saw one.
FIVE
J ohnny went home. He didn’t dare go back to the cemetery.
It was Saturday evening. He’d forgotten about the Visit.
“You’ve got to come,” said his mother. “You know she likes to see you.”
“No she doesn’t,” said Johnny. “She forgets who I am. She calls me Peter. I mean, that’s my dad’s name. And the place smells of old ladies. Anyway, why doesn’t Granddad ever come? She’s his wife.”
“He says he likes to remember her as she was,” said his mother. “Besides, it’s Markie and Mo’s Saturday Spectacular . You know he doesn’t like to miss it.”
“Oh…all right.”
“We don’t have to stay long.”
About ten minutes after Johnny had gone, the phone rang. Granddad dealt with it in his normal way, which was to shout “Phone!” while not taking his eyes off the screen. But it went on ringing. Eventually, grumbling and losing the remote control down the side of the cushion, where it wouldn’t be found for two days, he got up and shuffled out into the hall.
“Yes? He’s not here. Gone out. Who? Well, I’ll…is it? Never! Still doing the conjuring tricks, are you? Haven’t seen you about the town much lately. No. Right. That’s right. I don’t get out much myself these days. How are you, yourself? Dead. I see. But you’ve got out to use the telephone. It’s wonderful, what they can do with science. You sound a long way off. Right. You are a long way off. I remember that trick you used to do with the handcuffs and the
“You can escape from almost anything,” said Mr. Vicenti.
There was a faint cough. They looked around. Mr. Grimm was watching them through the railings.
The dead seemed to sober up. They always becamemore serious in front of Mr. Grimm.
They shuffled their spectral feet.
“You’re outside,” said Mr. Grimm. “You know that’s wrong.”
“Only a little way, Eric,” said the Alderman. “That can’t do any harm. It’s for the good of the—”
“It’s WRONG.”
“We don’t have to listen to him,” said Mr. Vicenti.
“You’ll get into terrible trouble,” said Mr. Grimm.
“No we won’t,” said Mr. Vicenti.
“It’s dabbling with the Known,” said Mr. Grimm. “You’ll get into dreadful trouble and it won’t be my fault. You are bad people.”
He turned, and walked back to his grave.
“Dial the number,” said Mr. Vicenti. The others seemed to wake up.
“You know,” said Mrs. Liberty, “he may have a point—”
“Forget about Mr. Grimm,” said Mr. Vicenti. He opened his hands. A white dove shot out of his sleeve and perched on the phone booth, blinking. “Dial the number, Mr. Fletcher.”
“Hello, directory inquiries, what name please?”
“ He’s called Johnny Maxwell and he lives in Blackbury .”
“I’m afraid that is not sufficient information—”
“That’s all we—” (Listen, I can see how it works, there’s a connection—) (How many of us are there in here?) (Can I try, please?) (This is a lot better than those séances.)
The operator rubbed her headset. For some reason, her ear had gone cold.
“Ow!”
She ripped the headset off.
The operator on her right leaned over.
“What’s up, Dawn?”
“It went—it felt—”
They looked at the switchboard. Lights were coming on everywhere, and it was beginning to be covered in frost.
The point is—
—that all through history there have been people who couldn’t invent things because the rest of the world wasn’t ready. Leonardo da Vinci didn’t have the motors or materials to make his helicopter. Sir George Cayley invented the internal combustion engine before anyone else had invented gasoline. *
And in his life Addison Vincent Fletcher had spent long hours with motors and relays and glowing valvesand bits of wire, pursuing a dream the world didn’t even have a name for yet.
In his phone booth, dead Mr. Fletcher laughed. It had a name now. He knew exactly what a computer was when he saw one.
FIVE
J ohnny went home. He didn’t dare go back to the cemetery.
It was Saturday evening. He’d forgotten about the Visit.
“You’ve got to come,” said his mother. “You know she likes to see you.”
“No she doesn’t,” said Johnny. “She forgets who I am. She calls me Peter. I mean, that’s my dad’s name. And the place smells of old ladies. Anyway, why doesn’t Granddad ever come? She’s his wife.”
“He says he likes to remember her as she was,” said his mother. “Besides, it’s Markie and Mo’s Saturday Spectacular . You know he doesn’t like to miss it.”
“Oh…all right.”
“We don’t have to stay long.”
About ten minutes after Johnny had gone, the phone rang. Granddad dealt with it in his normal way, which was to shout “Phone!” while not taking his eyes off the screen. But it went on ringing. Eventually, grumbling and losing the remote control down the side of the cushion, where it wouldn’t be found for two days, he got up and shuffled out into the hall.
“Yes? He’s not here. Gone out. Who? Well, I’ll…is it? Never! Still doing the conjuring tricks, are you? Haven’t seen you about the town much lately. No. Right. That’s right. I don’t get out much myself these days. How are you, yourself? Dead. I see. But you’ve got out to use the telephone. It’s wonderful, what they can do with science. You sound a long way off. Right. You are a long way off. I remember that trick you used to do with the handcuffs and the
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