Lords and Ladies (Discworld 14).pdf

Lords and Ladies

by Terry Pratchett

Corgi Books

ISBN: 0552138916

Author's Note

By and large, most Discworld books have stood by themselves, as complete books. It

helps to have read them in some kind of order, but it's not essential.

This one is different. I can't ignore the history of what has gone before. Granny

Weatherwax first turned up in Equal Rites. In Wyrd Sisters she became the unofficial head of

a tiny coven consisting of the easy-going, much-married Nanny Ogg and young Magrat, she

of the red nose and unkempt hair and a tendency to be soppy about raindrops and roses

and whiskers on kittens.

And what took place was a plot not unadjacent to that of a famous play about a

Scottish king, which ended with Verence II becoming king of the hilly, forested country of

Lancre.

Technically this shouldn't have happened, since strictly speaking he was not the heir,

but to the witches he looked like being the best man for the job and, as they say, all's well

that ends well. It also ended with Magrat reaching a very tentative Understanding with

Verence... very tentative indeed, since both of them were so shy they immediately forgot

whatever it was they were going to say to one another whenever they met, and whenever

either of them did manage to say anything the other one misunderstood it and took offense,

and both of them spent a lot of time wondering what the other one was thinking. This might

be love, or the next best thing.

In Witches Abroad the three witches had to travel halfway across the continent to

face down the Godmother (who made Destiny an offer it couldn't refuse).

NOW READ ON...

This is the story of what happened when they came home.

Now read on ...

When does it start?

There are very few starts. Oh, some things seem to be beginnings. The curtain goes

up, the first pawn moves, the first shot is fired * —but that's not the start. The play, the

game, the war is just a little window on a ribbon of events that may extend back thousands

of years. The point is, there's always something before. It's always a case of Now Read On.

* [Probably at the first pawn.]

Much human ingenuity has gone into finding the ultimate Before.

The current state of knowledge can be summarized thus:

In the beginning, there was nothing, which exploded.

Other theories about the ultimate start involve gods creating the universe out of the

ribs, entrails, and testicles of their father. * There are quite a lot of these. They are

interesting, not for what they tell you about cosmology, but for what they say about people.

Hey, kids, which part do you think they made your town out of?

* [Gods like a joke as much as anyone else.]

But this story starts on the Discworld, which travels through space on the back of

four giant elephants which stand on the shell of an enormous turtle and is not made of any

bits of anyone's bodies.

But when to begin?

Thousands of years ago? When a great hot cascade of stones came screaming out of

the sky, gouged a hole out of Copperhead Mountain, and flattened the forest for ten miles

around?

The dwarfs dug them up, because they were made of a kind of iron, and dwarfs,

contrary to general opinion, love iron more than gold. It's just that although there's more

iron than gold it's harder to sing songs about. Dwarfs love iron.

And that's what the stones contained. The love of iron. A love so strong that it drew

all iron things to itself. The three dwarfs who found the first of the rocks only got free by

struggling out of their chain-mail trousers.

Many worlds are iron, at the core. But the Discworld is as coreless as a pancake.

On the Disc, if you enchant a needle it will point to the Hub, where the magical field

is strongest. It's simple.

Elsewhere, on worlds designed with less imagination, the needle turns because of

the love of iron.

iron.

And now, spool time forward for thousands of years to a point fifty years or more

before the ever-moving now, to a hillside and a young woman, running. Not running away

from something, exactly, or precisely running toward anything, but running just fast enough

to keep ahead of a young man although, of course, not so far ahead that he'll give up. Out

from the trees and into the rushy valley where, on a slight rise in the ground, are the stones.

They're about man-height, and barely thicker than a fat man.

And somehow they don't seem worth it. If there's a stone circle you mustn't go near,

the imagination suggests, then there should be big brooding trilithons and ancient altar

stones screaming with the dark memory of blood-soaked sacrifice. Not these dull stubby

lumps.

It will turn out that she was running a bit too fast this time, and in fact the young

At the time, the dwarfs and the humans had a very pressing need for the love of

man in laughing pursuit will get lost and fed up and will eventually wander off back to the

town alone. She does not, at this point, know this, but stands absentmindedly adjusting the

flowers twined in her hair. It's been that kind of afternoon.

She knows about the stones. No one ever gets told about the stones. And no one is

ever told not to go there, because those who refrain from talking about the stones also know

how powerful is the attraction of prohibition. It's just that going to the stones is not. . . what

we do. Especially if we're nice girls.

But what we have here is not a nice girl, as generally understood. For one thing,

she's not beautiful. There's a certain set to the jaw and arch to the nose that might, with a

following wind and in the right light, be called handsome by a good-natured liar. Also, there's

a certain glint in her eye generally possessed by those people who have found that they are

more intelligent than most people around them but who haven't yet learned that one of the

most intelligent things they can do is prevent said people ever finding this out. Along with

the nose, this gives her a piercing expression which is extremely disconcerting. It's not a

face you can talk to. Open your mouth and you're suddenly the focus of a penetrating stare

which declares: what you're about to say had better be interesting.

Now the eight little stones on their little hill are being subjected to the same

penetrating gaze.

Hmm.

And then she approaches, cautiously. It's not the caution of a rabbit about to run.

It's closer to the way a hunter moves.

She puts her hands on her hips, such as they are.

There's a skylark in the hot summer sky. Apart from that, there's no sound. Down in

the little valley, and higher in the hills, grasshoppers are sizzling and bees are buzzing and

the grass is alive with micro-noise. But it's always quiet around the stones.

"I'm here," she says. "Show me."

A figure of a dark-haired woman in a red dress appears inside the circle. The circle is

wide enough to throw a stone across, but somehow the figure manages to approach from a

great distance.

Other people would have run away. But the girl doesn't, and the woman in the circle

is immediately interested.

"So you're real, then."

"Of course. What is your name, girl?"

"Esmerelda."

"And what do you want?"

"I don't want anything."

"Everyone wants something. Otherwise, why are you here?"

"I just wanted to find out if you was real."

"To you, certainly ... you have good sight."

The girl nods. You could bounce rocks off her pride.

"And now you have learned this," said the woman in the circle, "what is it that you

really want?"

"Nothing."

"Really? Last week you went all the way up to the mountains above Copperhead to

talk to the trolls. What did you want from them?"

"It's at the top of your mind, girl. Anyone could see it. Anyone with ... good sight."

"I shall be able to do that one day," said the girl smugly.

"Who knows? Possibly. What did you want from the trolls?"

"I ... wanted to talk to them. D'you know they think

time goes backward? Because you can see the past, they say, and—"

The girl put her head on one side. "How do you know I did that?"

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: