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The Colour of Magic :: Пратчетт Терри
Страница: 141 из 150Someone out there is expecting these two guys to come out in the suits in a minute. I suppose they thought we were slaves. Help me hide these behind the drapes and then, and then—”
“—e’d better suit up,” said Twoflower, picking up the second helmet.
“Yes,” said Rincewind. “You know, as soon as I saw the suits I just knew I’d end up wearing one. Don’t ask me how I knew—I suppose it was because it was just about the worst possible thing that was likely to happen.”
“Well, you said yourself we have no way of escaping,” said Twoflower, his voice muffled as he pulled the top half of a suit over his head. “Anything’s better than being sacrificed.”
“As soon as we get a chance we run for it,” said Rincewind. “Don’t get any ideas.”
He thrust an arm savagely into his suit and banged his head on the helmet. He reflected briefly that someone up there was watching over him.
“Thanks a lot,” he said bitterly.
At the very edge of the city and country of Krull was a large semicircular amphitheatre, with seating for several tens of thousands of people. The arena was only semi-circular for the very elegant reason that it overlooked the cloud sea that boiled up from the Rimfall, far below, and now every seat was occupied. And the crowd was growing restive. It had come to see a double sacrifice and also the launching of the great bronze space ship. Neither event had yet materialised.
The Arch-astronomer beckoned the Master Launchcontroller to him.
“Well?” he said, filling a mere four letters with a full lexicon of anger and menace. The Master Launchcontroller went pale.
“No news, lord,” said the Launchcontroller, and added with a brittle brightness, “except that your prominence will be pleased to hear that Garhartra has recovered.”
“That is a fact he may come to regret,” said the Arch-astronomer.
“Yes, lord.”
“How much longer do we have?”
The Launchcontroller glanced at the rapidly-climbing sun.
“Thirty minutes, your prominence. After that Krull will have revolved away from Great A’Tuin’s tail and the Potent Voyager will be doomed to spin away into the interterrapene gulf. I have already set the automatic controls, so—”
“All right, all right,” the Arch-astronomer said, waving him away. “The launch must go ahead. Maintain the watch on the harbour, of course. When the wretched pair are caught I will personally take a great deal of pleasure in executing them myself.”
“Yes, lord. Er—”
The Arch-astronomer frowned.
“—e’d better suit up,” said Twoflower, picking up the second helmet.
“Yes,” said Rincewind. “You know, as soon as I saw the suits I just knew I’d end up wearing one. Don’t ask me how I knew—I suppose it was because it was just about the worst possible thing that was likely to happen.”
“Well, you said yourself we have no way of escaping,” said Twoflower, his voice muffled as he pulled the top half of a suit over his head. “Anything’s better than being sacrificed.”
“As soon as we get a chance we run for it,” said Rincewind. “Don’t get any ideas.”
He thrust an arm savagely into his suit and banged his head on the helmet. He reflected briefly that someone up there was watching over him.
“Thanks a lot,” he said bitterly.
At the very edge of the city and country of Krull was a large semicircular amphitheatre, with seating for several tens of thousands of people. The arena was only semi-circular for the very elegant reason that it overlooked the cloud sea that boiled up from the Rimfall, far below, and now every seat was occupied. And the crowd was growing restive. It had come to see a double sacrifice and also the launching of the great bronze space ship. Neither event had yet materialised.
The Arch-astronomer beckoned the Master Launchcontroller to him.
“Well?” he said, filling a mere four letters with a full lexicon of anger and menace. The Master Launchcontroller went pale.
“No news, lord,” said the Launchcontroller, and added with a brittle brightness, “except that your prominence will be pleased to hear that Garhartra has recovered.”
“That is a fact he may come to regret,” said the Arch-astronomer.
“Yes, lord.”
“How much longer do we have?”
The Launchcontroller glanced at the rapidly-climbing sun.
“Thirty minutes, your prominence. After that Krull will have revolved away from Great A’Tuin’s tail and the Potent Voyager will be doomed to spin away into the interterrapene gulf. I have already set the automatic controls, so—”
“All right, all right,” the Arch-astronomer said, waving him away. “The launch must go ahead. Maintain the watch on the harbour, of course. When the wretched pair are caught I will personally take a great deal of pleasure in executing them myself.”
“Yes, lord. Er—”
The Arch-astronomer frowned.