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The Colour of Magic :: Пратчетт Терри
Страница: 118 из 150A certain smokey quality… Piquant. From the western plantations in, ah, Rehigreed Province, yes? Next year’s harvest, I fancy, from the colour. May I ask how you came by it?”
[ 9 ]
“All things drift into the Circumfence in time,” said the troll, gnomically, gently rocking in his chair. “My job is to recover the flotsam. Timber, of course, and ships. Barrels of wine. Bales of cloth. You.”
Light dawned inside Rincewind’s head.
“It’s a net, isn’t it? You’ve got a net right on the edge of the Sea!”
“The Circumfence,” nodded the troll. Ripples radiating across his chest.
Rincewind looked out into the phosphorescent darkness that surrounded the island, and grinned inanely.
“Of course,” he said. “Amazing! You could sink piles and attach it to reefs and—good grief! The net would have to be very strong.”
“It is,” said Tethis.
“It could be extended for a couple of miles, if you found enough rocks and things,” said the wizard.
“Ten thousands of miles. I just patrol this length.”
“That’s a third of the way around the disc!”
Tethis sloshed a little as he nodded again. While the two men helped themselves to some more of the green wine, he told them about the Circumfence, the great effort that had been made to build it, and the ancient and wise Kingdom of Krull which had constructed it several centuries before, and the seven navies that patrolled it constantly to keep it in repair and bring its salvage back to Krull, and the manner in which Krull had become a land of leisure ruled by the most learned seekers after knowledge, and the way in which they sought constantly to understand in every possible particular the wondrous complexity of the universe, and the way in which sailors marooned on the Circumfence were turned into slaves, and usually had their tongues cut out. After some interjections at this point he spoke, in a friendly way, on the futility of force, the impossibility of escaping from the island except by boat to one of the other three hundred and eighty isles that lay between the island and Krull itself, or by leaping over the Edge and the high merit of muteness in comparison to for example, death.
There was a pause. The muted night-roar of the Rimfall only served to give the silence a heavier texture.
The rocking chair started to creak again. Tethis seemed to have grown alarmingly during the monologue.
“There is nothing personal in all this,” he added. “I, too, am a slave.
[ 9 ]
“All things drift into the Circumfence in time,” said the troll, gnomically, gently rocking in his chair. “My job is to recover the flotsam. Timber, of course, and ships. Barrels of wine. Bales of cloth. You.”
Light dawned inside Rincewind’s head.
“It’s a net, isn’t it? You’ve got a net right on the edge of the Sea!”
“The Circumfence,” nodded the troll. Ripples radiating across his chest.
Rincewind looked out into the phosphorescent darkness that surrounded the island, and grinned inanely.
“Of course,” he said. “Amazing! You could sink piles and attach it to reefs and—good grief! The net would have to be very strong.”
“It is,” said Tethis.
“It could be extended for a couple of miles, if you found enough rocks and things,” said the wizard.
“Ten thousands of miles. I just patrol this length.”
“That’s a third of the way around the disc!”
Tethis sloshed a little as he nodded again. While the two men helped themselves to some more of the green wine, he told them about the Circumfence, the great effort that had been made to build it, and the ancient and wise Kingdom of Krull which had constructed it several centuries before, and the seven navies that patrolled it constantly to keep it in repair and bring its salvage back to Krull, and the manner in which Krull had become a land of leisure ruled by the most learned seekers after knowledge, and the way in which they sought constantly to understand in every possible particular the wondrous complexity of the universe, and the way in which sailors marooned on the Circumfence were turned into slaves, and usually had their tongues cut out. After some interjections at this point he spoke, in a friendly way, on the futility of force, the impossibility of escaping from the island except by boat to one of the other three hundred and eighty isles that lay between the island and Krull itself, or by leaping over the Edge and the high merit of muteness in comparison to for example, death.
There was a pause. The muted night-roar of the Rimfall only served to give the silence a heavier texture.
The rocking chair started to creak again. Tethis seemed to have grown alarmingly during the monologue.
“There is nothing personal in all this,” he added. “I, too, am a slave.