Terry Pratchett: The Carpet People

"We never joined the Empire!" said Brocando.

"When it was time to choose, whose side were you on?" said Snibril. "Anyway, you were part of the Empire. You just didn't know it. You spent so much time being proud of not being part of it that you ended up ... well, being part of it. What would you do if the Empire didn't exist? Go back to throwing people off rocks!"

"I don't throw people off rocks!"

Jornarileesh's head turned from one to the other in fascination.

"Why did you stop?" said Snibril.

"Well-it just wasn't the ... never mind!"

"These?" said Jornarileesh, in astonishment. "These beat me? Weak stupid people arguing all the time?"

"Amazing, isn't it," said Bane. "Take him away and lock him up."

"I demand an honourable death!"

"Listen to me," said Bane, and now the tone of his voice was like bronze. "I killed Gormaleesh because people like that shouldn't be allowed to exist. You, I'm not sure about. But if you annoy me one more time, I'll kill you where you stand. Now ... take him away!"

Jornarileesh opened his mouth, and then shut it again. Snibril stared at the pair of them. He'd do it, he thought. Here and now. Not out of cruelty or rage, but because it needed to be done.

It dawned on him that he'd much rather face a fighting-mad Brocando, or Jornarileesh in a fury, than Bane.

"Snibril's right, though," said Pismire, as the silent moul was hurried off. "Everyone's done things the old way. Now we'll have to find a new way. Otherwise there won't be any way. We don't want to have to go through all this just to start squabbling over something else. The Empire-"

"I'm not sure there's going to be an Empire again," said Bane.

"What? But there's got to be an Empire!" said Pismire.

"There might be something better," said Bane. "I'm thinking about it. Lots of small countries and cities joined together could be better than one big Empire. I don't know."

"And a voice for women," said Lady Vortex's voice from somewhere in the crowd.

"Possibly even that," he said. "There should be something for everyone."

He looked up. At the back of the group were some of the wights. They hadn't said anything. No-one knew their names.

"Something for everyone," said Bane. "We should talk about it-"

A wight stepped forward, and pulled back his hood, revealing that he was in fact a her.

"I have to speak to you," she said.

All the wights in the room removed their hoods.

"My name is Tarillon the minemaster. We are leaving now. We think ... we think we can feel a future now. We ... are remembering once more."

"I'm sorry?" said Bane.

"We have chosen a new Thread."

"I don't understand you."

"We are wights again. Proper wights. We think we are beginning to remember a new history so now, if you please, we will go back to our lives." She smiled. "I remember I said this!"

"Oh," said Bane. He looked embarrassed, a practical man faced with something he was too busy to understand. "Well. Good. I'm glad for you. If there's anything we can do-"

"We will meet again. We are ... sure."

"Well. Thank you again-"

The wights were already filing out.

Snibril slipped away after them. Behind him, he could hear people starting arguing again ...

It was morning. The wights were hurrying away through the ruins, and he had to hurry to catch up with them.

"Tarillon?"

She turned. "Yes?"

"Why go away? What did you mean?"

She frowned. "We tried this, this ... deciding. We listened to Athan. He told about the way of making choices. We have tried it. It is terrible. How can you do it? Living and not knowing what will happen. Unsure at every waking morning that you will see the night. It would drive us mad! But we're wights. We can't change what we are. We've helped create a new history. Now we think we can remember it again."

"Oh."

"What power you must all have, to be able to face such uncertainty."

"We think it's normal," said Snibril.

"How strange. Strange, Such courage. Well. Goodbye. You have made up your mind to leave Ware."

"Yes, I-how did you know that?"

She looked joyful. "I said-we can remember things again!"

He found Roland where he had tethered him. Snibril didn't have much in his pack now. The piece of lucky dust had got lost. So had the coins. He was wearing the spare pair of boots. All he had now was a blanket, some knives, a piece of rope. A spear. You didn't really need much else.

Pismire spoke from right behind him, just as he was adjusting the saddle.

"Leaving?"

"Oh. I didn't hear you," said Snibril.

"I've spent a lot of time with you Munrungs. You know how to creep up. And, I might add, how to creep away."

"I'm sure people are going to sort things out," said Snibril.

"So long as they never stop arguing," said Pismire. "Very important, arguing."

Snibril turned. "I just want to find out about the Carpet," he said. "What Fray is. What's at the end of it all. You said we should always ask questions ... "

"Right. Very important, questions."

"Do you think Bane's idea will work?"

"Who knows? It's the time to try new things."

"Yes." Snibril climbed into the saddle. "Did you know the wights think we're courageous because we can make decisions? They can't do it! They can't cope with it! And we thought they were special. Amazing what you learn."

"Haven't I always said so?" said Pismire.

"Well, I want to find out more! And I want to go now, because if I leave it, I'll never go. I want to see all the things you told me about!" Snibril said. "The Chairleg. The Hearth. The Edge."

"Let me know what they're like, then," said Pismire. "I only read about 'em."

Snibril stopped. "But when I was little, you told me all sorts of stories about the Carpet! You mean they weren't true?"

"Oh, they were true. Otherwise they wouldn't have been written down." Pismire shrugged. "Always wanted to travel, myself. Never had the time, somehow. If you can, you know, ever find the time to jot down a few notes ... "

"Right. Hah. Yes. I will. If I find time. Well, then ... Goodbye?"

"Goodbye."

"And say goodbye to-"

"I will."

"You know how it is."

"Probably. Goodbye. Come back and tell us about it, some time."

This last word was a shout, for Snibril had urged Roland forward. When he was no more than a speck on the road he turned and waved again.

Pismire walked slowly back to the argument.

Snibril stopped again, a little way from Ware, and breathed deeply, of the Carpet air.

He felt a little sad. But there would always be somewhere to return to, somewhere. He smiled, and patted Roland's neck. Then, with rising hope and streaming hair, he urged the white horse into a gallop and they disappeared among the crowding hairs.