Terry Pratchett - Small Gods

Clearly they had reached a shore, not of proper mud and reeds, but of very small gritty bits. He lugged his little reed boat up the sand, and sat down with interest to see what the men in the feathery hats and shiny fish-scale vests were going to do next.

General Argavisti scanned the beach.

"They must have seen us coming," he said. "So why would they let us establish a beachhead?"

Heat haze wavered over the dunes. A dot appeared, growing and contracting in the shimmering air.

More troops poured ashore.

General Argavisti shaded his eyes against the sun.

"Fella's just standing there," he said.

"Could be a spy," said Borvorius.

"Don't see how he could be a spy in his own country," said Argavisti. "Anyway, if he was a spy he'd be creepin' around. That's how you can tell."

The figure had stopped at the foot of the dunes. There was something about it that drew the eye. Argavisti had faced many an opposing army, and this was normal. One patiently waiting figure was not. He found he kept turning to look at it.

"S'carrying something," he said eventually. "Sergeant? Go and bring that man here."

A few minutes later the sergeant returned.

"Says he'll meet you in the middle of the beach, sir," he reported.

"Didn't I tell you to bring him here?"

"He didn't want to come, sir."

"You've got a sword, haven't you?"

"Yessir. Prodded him a bit, but he dint want to move, sir. And he's carrying a dead body, sir."

"On a battlefield? It's not bring-your-own, you know."

"And . . . sir?"

"What?"

"Says he's probably the Cenobiarch, sir. Wants to talk about a peace treaty."

"Oh, he does? Peace treaty? We know about peace treaties with Omnia. Go and tell . . . no. Take a couple of men and bring him here."

Brutha walked back between the soldiers, through the organized pandemonium of the camp. I ought to feel afraid, he thought. I was always afraid in the Citadel. But not now. This is through fear and out the other side.

Occasionally one of the soldiers would give him a push. It's not allowed for an enemy to walk freely into a camp, even if he wants to.

He was brought before a trestle table, behind which sat half a dozen large men in various military styles,

and one small olive-skinned man who was gutting a fish and grinning hopefully at everyone.

"Well, now," said Argavisti, "Cenobiarch of Omnia, eh?"

Brutha dropped Vorbis's body on to the sand. Their gaze followed it.

"I know him-” said Borvorius. "Vorbis! Someone killed him at last, eh? And will you stop trying to sell me fish? Does anyone know who this man is?" he added, indicating Fasta Benj.

"It was a tortoise," said Brutha.

"Was it? Not surprised. Never did trust them, always creeping around. Look, I said no fish! He's not one of mine, I know that. Is he one of yours?"

Argavisti waved a hand irritably. "Who sent you, boy?"

"No one. I came by myself. But you could say I come from the future."

"Are you a philosopher? Where's your sponge?"

"You've come to wage war on Omnia. This would not be a good idea."

"From Omnia's point of view, yes."

"From everyone's. You will probably defeat us. But not all of us. And then what will you do? Leave a garrison? For ever? And eventually a new generation will retaliate. Why you did this won't mean anything to them. You'll be the oppressors. They'll fight. They might even win. And there'll be another war. And one day people will say: why didn't they sort it all out, back then? On the beach. Before it all started. Before all those people died. Now we have that chance. Aren't we lucky?"

Argavisti stared at him. Then he nudged Borvorius.

"What did he say?"

Borvorius, who was better at thinking than the others, said, "Are you talking about surrender?"

"Yes. If that's the word."

Argavisti exploded.

"You can't do that!"

"Someone will have to. Please listen to me. Vorbis is dead. He's paid."

"Not enough. What about your soldiers? They tried to sack our city!"

"Do your soldiers obey your orders?"

"Certainly! "

"And they'd cut me down here and now if you commanded it?"

"I should say so!"

"And I'm unarmed," said Brutha.

The sun beat down on an awkward pause.

"When I say they'd obey-” Argavisti began.

"We were not sent here to parley," said Borvorius abruptly. "Vorbis's death changes nothing fundamental. We are here to see that Omnia is no longer a threat."

"It is not. We will sent materials and people to help rebuild Ephebe. And gold, if you like. We will reduce the size of our army. And so on. Consider us beaten. We will even open Omnia to whatever other religions wish to build holy places here."

A voice echoed in his head, like the person behind you who says, "Put the red Queen on the black King," when you think you have been playing all by yourself . . .

I. What?

"This will encourage . . . local effort," said Brutha.

IL Other Gods? Here?

"There will be free trade along the coast. I wish to see Omnia take its place among its fellow nations."

III. I heard You Mention Other Gods.

"Its place is at the bottom," said Borvorius.

"No. That won't work."

IV. Could We Please Get Back To The Matter Of Other Gods?

"Will you please excuse me a moment?" said Brutha, brightly. "I need to pray."

Even Argavisti raised no objection as Brutha walked off a little way up the beach. As St. Ungulant preached to any who would listen, there were plus points in being a madman. People hesitated to stop you, in case it made things worse.

"Yes?" said Brutha, under his breath.

V. I Don't Seem To Recall Any Discussion About Other Gods Being Worshiped In Omnia?

"Ah, but it'll work for you," said Brutha. "People will soon see that those other ones are no good at all, won't they?" He crossed his fingers behind his back.

VI. This Is Religion, Boy. Not Comparison Bloody Shopping! You Shall Not Subject Your God To Market Forces!

"I'm sorry. I can see that you would be worried about-”

VII. Worried? Me? By A Bunch Of Primping Women And Muscle­bound Posers In Curly Beards?

"Fine. Is that settled, then?"

VIII. They Won't Last Five Minutes! . . . what?

"And now I'd better go and talk to these men one more time."

His eye was caught by a movement among the dunes.

"Oh, no," he said. "The idiots . . .

He turned and ran desperately toward the beached fleet.

"No! It's not like that! Listen! Listen!"

But they had seen the army, too.

It looked impressive, perhaps more impressive than it really was. When news gets through that a huge enemy fleet has beached with the intent of seriously looting, pillaging, and-­because they are from civilized countries-whistling and making catcalls at the women and impressing them with their flash bloody uniforms and wooing them away with their flash bloody consumer goods, I don't know, show them a polished bronze mirror and it goes right to their heads, you'd think there was something wrong with the local lads . . . then people either head for the hills or pick up some handy, swingable object, get Granny to hide the family treasures in her drawers, and prepare to make a fight of it.

And, in the lead, the iron cart. Steam poured out of its funnel. Urn must have got it working again.

"Stupid! Stupid!" Brutha shouted, to the world in general, and carried on running.

The fleet was already forming battle-lines, and its commander, whichever he was, was amazed to see an apparent attack by one man.

Borvorius caught him as he plunged towards a line of spears.

"I see," he said. "Keep us talking while your soldiers got into position, eh?"

"No! I didn't want that!"

Borvorius's eyes narrowed. He had not survived the many wars of his life by being a stupid man.