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The Colour of Magic :: Пратчетт Терри
Страница: 150 из 150This was going to be my big chance,” said Scrofula, “but look at it this way—if I hit you with this scythe you’ll be just as dead as you would beif Death had done it. Who’d know?”
“I’d know!” snapped Rincewind.
“You wouldn’t. You’d be dead,” said Scrofula logically.
“Piss off,” said Rincewind.
“That’s all very well,” said the demon, hefting the scythe, “but why not try to see things from my point of view? This means a lot to me, and you’ve got to admit that your life isn’t all that wonderful. Reincarnation can only be an improvement—uh.”
His hand flew to his mouth but Rincewind was already pointing a trembling finger at him.
“Reincarnation!” he said excitedly. “So it is true what the mystics say!”
“I’m admitting nothing,” said Scrofula testily. “It was a slip of the tongue. Now-are you going to die willingly or not?”
“No,” said Rincewind.
“Please yourself,” replied the demon. He raised the scythe. It whistled down in quite a professional way, but Rincewind wasn’t there. He was in fact several metres below, and the distance was increasing all the time, because the branch had chosen that moment to snap and send him on his interrupted journey towards the interstellar gulf.
“Come back!” screamed the demon.
Rincewind didn’t answer. He was lying belly down in the rushing air, staring down into the clouds that even now were thinning.
They vanished.
Below, the whole Universe twinkled at Rincewind. There was Great A’Tuin, huge and ponderous and pocked with craters. There was the little Disc moon. There was a distant gleam that could only be the Potent Voyager. And there were all the stars, looking remarkably like powdered diamonds spilled on black velvet, the stars that lured and ultimately called the boldest towards them…
The whole of Creation was waiting for Rincewind to drop in. He did so. There didn’t seem to be any alternative.
“I’d know!” snapped Rincewind.
“You wouldn’t. You’d be dead,” said Scrofula logically.
“Piss off,” said Rincewind.
“That’s all very well,” said the demon, hefting the scythe, “but why not try to see things from my point of view? This means a lot to me, and you’ve got to admit that your life isn’t all that wonderful. Reincarnation can only be an improvement—uh.”
His hand flew to his mouth but Rincewind was already pointing a trembling finger at him.
“Reincarnation!” he said excitedly. “So it is true what the mystics say!”
“I’m admitting nothing,” said Scrofula testily. “It was a slip of the tongue. Now-are you going to die willingly or not?”
“No,” said Rincewind.
“Please yourself,” replied the demon. He raised the scythe. It whistled down in quite a professional way, but Rincewind wasn’t there. He was in fact several metres below, and the distance was increasing all the time, because the branch had chosen that moment to snap and send him on his interrupted journey towards the interstellar gulf.
“Come back!” screamed the demon.
Rincewind didn’t answer. He was lying belly down in the rushing air, staring down into the clouds that even now were thinning.
They vanished.
Below, the whole Universe twinkled at Rincewind. There was Great A’Tuin, huge and ponderous and pocked with craters. There was the little Disc moon. There was a distant gleam that could only be the Potent Voyager. And there were all the stars, looking remarkably like powdered diamonds spilled on black velvet, the stars that lured and ultimately called the boldest towards them…
The whole of Creation was waiting for Rincewind to drop in. He did so. There didn’t seem to be any alternative.