Terry Pratchett - Thud

Anyway, it had been a good start. They'd clawed back some time, hadn't they? They could keep up a cracking pace and change horses at every staging inn, couldn't they? Why was he trying to persuade himself? It made sense to slow down. It was dangerous to go fast.

`If we keep up this pace we might get there the day after tomorrow, right?' he said to Willikins, as they rattled on between stands of young maize.

`If you say so, sir,' said Willikins. Vimes noted the hint of diplomacy. `You don't think so?' he said. `Come on, you can speak your mind!' `Well, sir, those dwarfs want to get there fast, d'you think?' said

Willikins.

`I expect so. I don't think they want to hang around. So?'

`So I'm just puzzled that you think they'll be using the road, sir. They could use broomsticks, couldn't they?'

`I suppose so,' Vimes conceded. `But the Archchancellor would have told me if they'd done that, surely.'

`Begging your pardon, sir, but what business would it be of his?

They wouldn't have to bother the gentlemen at the university. Everyone knows the best broomsticks are made by the dwarfs, up at Copperhead.'

The coach rolled on.

After a while Vimes observed, in the voice of one who has been thinking deeply, `They'd have to travel at night, though. They'd be spotted otherwise.'

`Very true, sir,' said Willikins, staring ahead.

There was more thoughtful silence.

`Do you think this thing could jump fences?' said Vimes.

`I'm game to give it a try, sir,' said Willikins. `I think the wizards put some thought into all this.'

`And how fast do you think it could go, for the sake of argument?' said Vimes.

'Dunno, sir. But I've got a feeling it might be pretty fast. A hundred miles in an hour, maybe?'

`You really think so? That means we could be halfway there in a couple of hours!'

`Well, you did say you wanted to get there fast, sir,' said Willikins.

This time the silence went on longer before Vimes said, `All right, stop somewhere. I want to make sure that everyone knows what we're going to do.'

`Happy to do that, sir,' said Willikins. `It'll give me a chance to tie my hat on.'

What Vimes remembered most of all about that journey - and there was so much of it he wanted to forget - was the silence. And the softness.

Oh, he could feel the wind in his face, but it was only a breeze,

even when the ground was a flat green blur. The air was shaping itself around them. When Vimes experimentally held up a piece of paper a foot above his head, it blew away in an instant.

The corn exploded, too. As the coach approached, the green shoots grew out of the ground as if dragged and then burst like fireworks.

The corn belt was giving way to cattle country when Willikins said: `You know, sir, this thing steers itself. Watch.'

He lowered the reins as a patch of woodland approached. The scream had hardly formed in Vimes's throat before the coach curved around the woodland and then swung delicately back on to its original course.

`Don't do that again, please!' said Vimes.

`All right, sir, but it's steering itself. I don't think I could make it run into anything.'

`Don't try!' Vimes said quickly. `And I swear I saw a cow explode back there! Keep us away from towns and people, will you?'

Behind the coach, turnips and rocks leapt into the air and bounced away in the opposite direction. Vimes hoped they wouldn't get into trouble about that. [1]

The other thing he noticed was that the landscape ahead was strangely bluish, while behind them it had a relatively red tint. He didn't like to point this out, though, in case it sounded strange.

They had to stop twice to get directions, and were twenty miles from Koom Valley at half past five. There was a coaching inn. They sat out in its yard. No one spoke much. Apart from the speedhungry Willikins, the only people not shaken by the journey were Sybil and Young Sam, who seemed quite happy, and Detritus, who had watched the world skim past with every sign of enjoyment. Brick was still face-down on the coach roof, holding tight.

`Ten hours,' said Fred Colon. `And that included lunch and stoppin' to be sick. I can't believe it ...'

[1] But as it happened, it was all blamed on people from another world, so that was all right.

`I don't think people are s'posed to go this fast,' Nobby moaned. `I fink my brain's still back home.'

`Well, if we're going to have to wait for it to catch up, Nobby, I'll buy a house here, shall I?' said Fred.

Nerves were frayed, brains were jogging behind ... This is why I don't like magic, thought Vimes. But we're here, and it's amazing how the inn's beer has helped recovery.

`We might even be able to have a quick look at Koom Valley before it gets dark,' he ventured, to general groaning.

`No, Sam! Everyone needs a meal and a rest!' said Sybil. `Let's go into town like proper people, nice and slowly, and everyone will be fresh for tomorrow.'

`Lady Sybil is right, commander,' said Bashfullsson. `I wouldn't advise going up to the valley at night, even at this time of the year. It's so easy to get lost.'

`In a valley?' said Vimes.

`Oh yes, sir,' Cheery chimed in. `You'll see why, sir. And mostly, if you get lost, you die.'

On the sedate journey into town, and because it was six o'clock, Vimes read Where's My Cow? to Young Sam. In fact, it became a communal effort. Cheery obliged by handling the chicken noises, an area in which Vimes felt he was somewhat lacking, and Detritus delivered a Hruuugh! that rattled the windows. Grag Bashfullsson, against all expectation, managed a very passable pig. To Young Sam, watching with eyes like saucers, it was indeed the Show Of The Year.

Bunty was surprised to see them so soon, but Ladies Who Organize are seldom thrown by guests arriving unexpectedly early. It turned out Bunty was Berenice Waynesbury, nee Mousefather,

which must have come as a relief, with a daughter who was married and lived just outside Quirm and a son who'd had to go to Fourecks in a hurry over a complete misunderstanding but was now into sheep in a big way and she hoped Sybil and of course His Grace would be able to stay until Saturday because she'd invited simply everybody and wasn't Young Sam simply adorable ... and so on, right up to `-and we've cleaned out one of the stables for your trolls,' said with a happy smile.

Before Sybil or Vimes could say a word, Detritus had removed his helmet and bowed.

'T'ank you very much, missus,' he said gravely. `You know, sometimes people forget to clean dem out first. It's dem little touches dat mean a lot.'

`Why, thank you,' said Bunty. `How charming. I've, er, never seen a troll wearing clothing before . .

`I can take dem off if you like,' said Detritus. At which point Sybil took Bunty gently by the arm and said, `Let me introduce you to everybody else . .

Mr Waynesbury the magistrate wasn't the venal pocket-liner Vimes had expected. He was thin, tall, and didn't say a great deal, and spent his time at home in a study filled with law books, pipes and fishing tackle; he dispensed justice in the mornings, fished during the afternoon, and charitably forgave Vimes for his total uninterest in dry flies.

The local town of Ham-on-Koom made a good living off the river. When the Koom hit the plains it widened and slowed and was more full of fish than a tin of sardines. Marshes spread out on either side, too, with deep and hidden lakes that were the home and feeding ground of innumerable birds.

Oh ... and there were the skulls, too.

`I am the coroner as well,' Mr Waynesbury told Vimes, as he unlocked a cupboard in his desk. `We get a few bones washed down here every spring. Mostly tourists, of course. They really will not take advice, alas. But sometimes we get things that are of more ... historical interest.' He put a dwarf skull on the leather desktop.