Terry Pratchett - Wintersmith

"I hope I've got it right, though," said Roland. "My aunts say I'm too clever by half."

"Glad tae hear it," said Rob Anybody, "'cuz that's much better than bein' too stupid by three quarters! Now grab the lady an' run!"

Roland tried to avoid the stare of the girl as he took her hand and pulled her gently off the slab. She said something in a language he couldn't understand, except that it sounded as though there were a question mark on the end of it.

"I'm here to rescue you," he said. She looked at him with the golden eyes of a snake.

"The sheep girl is in trouble," she said, in a voice full of unpleasant echoes and hisses. "So sad, so sad."

"Well, er, we'd better run," he managed, "whoever you are…."

The not-Tiffany gave him a smile. It was an uncomfortable one, with a bit of a smirk in it. They ran.

"How do you fight the bogles?" he panted when the Feegle army jogged through the caves.

"Ach, they dinna like the taste o' us overmuch," said Rob Anybody as the shadows parted. "It may be 'cuz we think aboot the drinkin' a lot—it makes 'em squiffy. Keep movin'!"

And it was at this point that the bogles struck, although that was hardly the right word. It was more like running into a wall of whispers. Nothing grabbed; there were no claws. If thousands of tiny weak things like shrimps or flies were trying to stop someone, this would be how it felt.

But the ferryman was waiting. He raised a hand as Roland staggered toward the boat.

THAT WILL BE SIX PENNIES, he said.

"Six?" said Roland.

"Ah, we wasna doon here more'n two hour, an' bang went sixpence!" said Daft Wullie.

ONE ONE-DAY ROUND TRIP, ONE ONE-WAY, said the ferryman.

"I don't have that much!" Roland shouted. He was beginning to feel little tugs in his head now. Thoughts had to push hard to get as far as his mouth.

"Leave this tae me," said Rob Anybody. He turned to look down on his fellow Feegles and banged on Roland's helmet for silence.

"Okay, lads," he announced. "We're no' leavin'!"

WHAT? said the ferryman. OH NO, YOU LEAVE! I'M NOT HAVING YOU DOWN HERE AGAIN! WE'RE STILL FINDING THE BOTTLES FROM LAST TIME! COME ON, GET ON THE BOAT THIS MINUTE!

"Crivens, we canna do that, pal," said Rob Anybody. "We're under a geas to help this lad, ye ken. Where he disna go, we dinna go!"

PEOPLE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO WANT TO STAY HERE! snapped the ferryman.

"Ach, we'll soon ha' the old place jumpin' again," said Rob Anybody, grinning.

The ferryman drummed his fingers on the pole. They made a clicking sound, like dice.

OH, ALL RIGHT THEN. BUT—AND I WANT TO BE CLEAR ON THIS—THERE IS TO BE NO SINGING!

Roland dragged the girl onto the boat. The bogles kept clear of that, at least, but as the ferryman pushed away from the shore, Big Yan kicked Roland on the boot and pointed upward. Scribbles of orange light, hundreds of them, were moving across the roof of the cavern. There were more of them on the opposite shore.

"How's the Plan goin', Mister Hero?" asked Rob Anybody quietly as he climbed down from the boy's helmet.

"I'm waiting for the opportune moment," said Roland haughtily. He turned to look at the not-Tiffany. "I'm here to get you out," he said, trying not to look directly at her eyes.

"You?" said the not-Tiffany, as if the idea were amusing.

"Well, us," Roland corrected himself. "Everything is—"

There was a bump as the boat grounded on the farther shore, where the bogles were as thick as standing corn.

"Off ye go, then," said Big Yan.

Roland pulled the not-Tiffany along the path for a few steps, and stopped. When he blinked, the path ahead was a writhing orange mass. He could feel the little pulls on him, no stronger than a breeze. But they were in his brain, too. Cold, and nibbling. This was stupid. It couldn't work. He wouldn't be able to do it. He wasn't any good at this sort of thing. He was wayward and inconsiderate and disobedient, just like his…aunts…said.

Behind him, Daft Wullie shouted, in his cheerful way, "Make yer aunties proud of ye!"

Roland half turned, suddenly angry. "My aunts? Let me tell you about my aunts—"

"No time, laddie!" shouted Rob Anybody. "Get on wi' it!"

Roland looked around, his mind on fire.

Our memories are real, he thought. And I will not stand for this!

He turned to the not-Tiffany and said: "Don't be afraid." Then he held out his left hand and whispered, under his breath: "I remember…a sword…."

When he shut his eyes, there it was—so light he could barely feel it, so thin he could hardly see it, a line in the air that was made up mostly of sharpness. He'd killed a thousand enemies with it, in the mirror. It was never too heavy, it moved like part of him, and here it was. A weapon that chopped away everything that clung and lied and stole.

"Mebbe ye can make a Hero all in one go," said Rob Anybody thoughtfully, as bogles scribbled themselves into existence and died. He turned to Daft Wullie. "Daft Wullie?" he said. "Can ye bring to mind when it was I told ye that sometimes ye say exactly the right thing?"

Daft Wullie looked baffled. "Noo that ye mention it, Rob, I dinna recall ye ever sayin' that, ever."

"Aye?" said Rob. "Weel, if I had done, just now would ha' been one o' those times."

Daft Wullie looked worried. "That's all right though, aye? I said somethin' right?"

"Aye. Ye did, Daft Wullie. A First. I'm proud o' ye," said Rob.

Daft Wullie's face split in an enormous grin. "Crivens! Hey, lads, I said—"

"But dinna get carried awa'," Rob added.

As Roland swung the airy blade, the bogles parted like spiderwebs. There were more, always more, but the silver line always found them, cutting him free. They backed away, tried new shapes, recoiled from the heat of the anger in his head. The sword hummed. Bogles curled around the blade and squealed, and sizzled into nothingness on the floor—

—and someone was banging on his helmet. They'd been doing so for quite a while.

"Huh?" he said, opening his eyes.

"Ye've run oot," said Rob Anybody. His chest heaving, Roland looked around. Eyes open or shut, the caves were empty of orange streaks. The not-Tiffany was watching him with a strange smile on her face.

"Either we get oot noo," said Rob, "or ye can hang aroond and wait for some more, mebbe?"

"An' here they come," said Billy Bigchin. He pointed across the river. A pure mass of orange was pouring into the cave, so many bogles that there was no space between them.

Roland hesitated, still fighting for breath.

"I'll tell ye whut," said Rob Anybody soothingly. "If ye are a guid boy an' rescue the lady, we'll bring ye doon here another time, wi' some sandwiches so's we can make a day o' it."

Roland blinked. "Er, yes," he said. "Um…sorry. I don't know what happened just then…."

"Offski time!" yelled Big Yan. Roland grabbed the hand of the not-Tiffany.

"An' don't look back until we're well oot o' here," said Rob Anybody. "It's kind of traditional."

On the top of the tower, the ice crown appeared in the Wintersmith's pale hands. It shone more than diamonds could, even in the pale sunlight. It was purest ice, without bubbles, lines, or flaw.

"I made this for you," he said. "The Summer Lady will never wear it," he added sadly.

It fit perfectly. It didn't feel cold.

He stepped back.

"And now it is done," said the Wintersmith.

"There is something I have to do, too," said Tiffany. "But first there's something I have to know. You found the things that make a man?"

"Yes!"

"How did you find out what they were?"

The Wintersmith proudly told her about the children, while Tiffany breathed carefully, forcing herself to relax. His logic was very…logical. After all, if a carrot and two pieces of coal can make a heap of snow a snowman, then a big bucket of salts and gases and metal should certainly make him a human. It made…sense. At least, sense to the Wintersmith.