tp.wyrd sisters-第31节

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　'Did　I　hurt　you？'
　'I　think　I've　got　one　or　two　bells　that　won't　be　the　same　again。'
　The　Fool　scrabbled　through　the　leafmould；　and　finally　located　his　hated　hat。　It　clonked。
　'Totally　crushed；　i'faith；'　he　said；　putting　it　on　anyway。　He　seemed　to　feel　better　for　that；　and　went　on；　'Rain；　yes；　hail；　yes；　even　lumps　of　rock。　Fish　and　small　frogs；　okay。　Women　no；　up　till　now。　Is　it　going　to　happen　again？'
　'You've　got　a　bloody　hard　head；'　said　Magrat；　pulling　herself　to　her　feet。
　'Modesty　forbids　me　to　ment；'　said　the　Fool；　and　then　remembered　himself　and　added；　quickly；　'Prithee。'
　They　stared　at　one　another　again；　their　minds　racing。
　Magrat　thought：　Nanny　said　look　at　him　properly。　I'm　looking　at　him。　He　just　looks　the　same。　A　sad　thin　little　man　in　a　ridiculous　jester's　outfit；　he's　practically　a　hunchback。
　Then；　in　the　same　way　that　a　few　random　bulges　in　a　cloud　can　suddenly　bee　a　galleon　or　a　whale　in　the　eye　of　the　beholder；　Magrat　realised　that　the　Fool　was　not　a　little　man。　He　was　at　least　of　average　height；　but　he　made　himself　small；　by　hunching　his　shoulders；　bandying　his　legs　and　walking　in　a　half…crouch　that　made　him　appear　as　though　he　was　capering　on　the　spot。
　I　wonder　what　else　Gytha　Ogg　noticed？　she　thought；　intrigued。
　He　rubbed　his　arm　and　gave　her　a　lopsided　grin。
　'I　suppose　you　haven't　got　any　idea　where　we　are？'　he　said。
　'Witches　never　get　lost；'　said　Magrat　firmly。　'Although　they　can　bee　temporarily　mislaid。　Lancre's　over　that　way；　I　think。　I've　got　to　find　a　hill；　if　you'll　excuse　me。'
　'To　see　where　you　are？'
　'To　see　when；　I　think。　There's　a　lot　of　magic　going　on　tonight。'
　'Is　there？　Then　I　think　I'll　acpany　you；'　the　Fool　added　chivalrously；　after　peering　cautiously　into　the　tree…haunted　gloom　that　apparently　lay　between　him　and　his　flagstones。　'I　wouldn't　want　anything　to　happen　to　you。'
　Granny　lay　low　over　the　broomstick　as　it　plunged　through　the　trackless　chasms　of　the　mountains；　leaning　from　side　to　side　in　the　nope　that　this　might　have　some　effect　on　the　steering　which　seemed；　strangely；　to　be　getting　worse。　Falling　snow　behind　her　was　whipped　and　spiralled　into　odd　shapes　by　the　wind　of　her　passage。　Rearing　waves　of　crusted　snow；　poised　all　winter　over　the　glacial　valleys；　trembled　and　then　began　the　long；　silent　fall。　Her　flight　was　punctuated　by　the　occasional　boom　of　an　avalanche。
　She　looked　down　at　a　landscape　of　sudden　death　and　jagged　beauty；　and　knew　it　was　looking　back　at　her；　as　a　dozing　man　may　watch　a　mosquito。　She　wondered　if　it　realised　what　she　was　doing。　She　wondered　if　it'd　make　her　fall　any　softer；　and　mentally　scolded　herself　for　such　softness。　No；　the　land　wasn't　like　that。　It　didn't　bargain。　The　land　gave　hard；　and　took　hard。　A　dog　always　bit　deepest　on　the　veterinary　hand。
　And　then　she　was　through；　vaulting　so　low　over　the　last　peak　that　one　of　her　boots　filled　with　snow；　and　barrelling　down　towards　the　lowlands。
　The　mist；　never　far　away　in　the　mountains；　was　back　again；　but　this　time　it　was　making　a　fight　of　it　and　had　bee　a　thick；　silver　sea　in　front　of　her。　She　groaned。
　Somewhere　in　the　middle　of　it　Nanny　Ogg　floated；　taking　the　occasional　pull　from　a　hip　flask　as　a　preventative　against　the　chill。
　And　thus　it　was　that　Granny；　her　hat　and　iron…grey　hair　dripping　with　moisture；　her　boots　shedding　lumps　of　ice；　heard　the　distant　and　muffled　sound　of　a　voice　enthusiastically　explaining　to　the　invisible　sky　that　the　hedgehog　had　less　to　worry　over　than　just　about　any　other　mammal。　Like　a　hawk　that　has　spotted　something　small　and　fluffy　in　the　grass；　like　a　wandering　interstellar　flu　germ　that　has　just　seen　a　nice　blue　planet　drifting　by；　Granny　turned　the　stick　and　plunged　down　through　the　choking　billows。
　'e　on！'　she　screamed；　drunk　with　speed　and　exhilaration；　and　the　sound　from　five　hundred　feet　overhead　put　a　passing　wolf　severely　off　its　supper。　'This　minute；　Gytha　Ogg！'
　Nanny　Ogg　caught　her　hand　with　considerable　reluctance　and　the　pair　of　broomsticks　swept　up　again　and　into　the　clear；　starlit　sky。
　The　Disc；　as　always；　gave　the　impression　that　the　Creator　has　designed　it　specifically　to　be　looked　at　from　above。　Streamers　of　cloud　in　white　and　silver　stretched　away　to　the　rim；　stirred　into　thousand…mile　swirls　by　the　turning　of　the　world。　Behind　the　speeding　brooms　the　sullen　roof　of　the　fog　was　dragged　up　into　a　curling　tunnel　of　white　vapour；　so　that　the　watching　gods　…　and　they　were　certainly　watching　…　could　see　the　terrible　flight　as　a　furrow　in　the　sky。
　A　thousand　feet　and　rising　fast　into　the　frosty　air；　the　two　witches　were　bickering　again。
　'It　was　a　bloody　stupid　idea；'　moaned　Nanny。　'I　never　liked　heights。'
　'Did　you　bring　something　to　drink？'
　'Certainly。　You　said。'
　'Well？'
　'I　drank　it；　didn't　I；'　said　Nanny。　'Sitting　around　up　there　at　my　age。　Our　Jason　would　have　a　fit。'
　Granny　gritted　her　teeth。　'Well；　let's　have　the　power；'　she　said。　'I'm　running　out　of　up。　Amazing　how…'
　Granny's　voice　ended　in　a　scream　as；　without　any　warning　at　all；　her　broomstick　pinwheeled　sharply　across　the　clouds　and　dropped　from　sight。
　
　The　Fool　and　Magrat　sat　on　a　log　on　a　small　outcrop　that　looked　out　across　the　forest。　The　lights　of　Lancre　town　were　in　fact　not　very　far　away；　but　neither　of　them　had　suggested　leaving。
　The　air　between　them　crackled　with　unspoken　thoughts　and　wild　surmisings。
　'You've　been　a　Fool　long？'　said　Magrat；　politely。　She　blushed　in　the　darkness。　In　that　atmosphere　it　sounded　the　most　impolite　of　questions。
　'All　my　life；'　said　the　Fool　bitterly。　'I　cut　my　teeth　on　a　set　of　bells。'
　'I　suppose　it　gets　handed　on；　from　father　to　son？'　said　Magrat。
　'I　never　saw　much　of　my　father。　He　went　off　to　be　Fool　for　the　Lords　of　Quirm　when　I　was　small；'　said　the　Fool。　'Had　a　row　with　my　grandad。　He　es　back　from　time　to　time；　to　see　my　mam。'
　'That's　terrible。'
　There　was　a　sad　jingle　as　the　Fool　shrugged。　He　vaguely　recalled　his　father　as　a　short；　friendly　little　man；　with　eyes　like　a　couple　of　oysters。　Doing　something　as　brave　as　standing　up　to　the　old　boy　must　have　been　quite　outside　his　nature。　The　sound　of　two　suits　of　bells　shaken　in　anger　still　haunted　his　memory；　which　was　full　enough　of　bad　scenes　as　it　was。
　'Still；'　said　Magrat；　her　voice　higher　than　usual　and　with　a　vibrato　of　uncertainty；　'it　must　be　a　happy　life。　Making　people　laugh；　I　mean。'
　When　there　was　no　reply　she　turned　to　look　at　the　man。　His　face　was　like　stone。　In　a　low　voice；　talking　as　though　she　was　not　there；　the　Fool　spoke。
　He　spoke　of　the　Guild　of　Fools　and　Joculators　in　Ankh…Morpork。
　Most　visitors　mistook　it　at　first　sight　for　the　offices　of　the　Guild　of　Assassins；　which　in　fact　was　the　rather　pleasant；…　airy　collection　of　buildings　next　door　（the　Assassins　always　had　plenty　of　money）；　sometimes　the　young　Fools；　slaving　at　their　rote　in　rooms　that　were　always　freezing；　even　in　high　summer；　heard　the　young　Assassins　at　play　over　the　wall　and　envied　them；　even　though；　of　course；　the　number　of　piping　voices　grew　noticeably　fewer　towards　the　end　of　term　（the　Assassins　also　believed　in　petitive　examination）。
　In　fact　all　sorts　of　sounds　managed　to　breach　the　high　grim　windowless　walls；　and　from　keen　questioning　of　servants　the　younger　Fools　picked　up　a　vision　of　the　city　beyond。　There　were　taverns　out　there；　and　parks。　There　was　a　whole　bustling　world；　in　which　the　students　and　apprentices　of　the　various　Guilds　and　Colleges　took　a　full　ripe　part；　either　by　playing　tricks　on　it；　running　through　it　shouting；　or　throwing　parts　of　it　up。　There　was　laughter　which　paid　no　attention　to　the　Five　Cadences　or　Twelve　Inflections。　And　…　although　the　students　debated　this　news　in　the　dormitories　at　night　…　there　was　apparently　unauthorised　humour；　delivered　freestyle；　with　no　reference　to　the　Monster　Fun　Book　or　the　Council　or　anyone。
　Out　there；　beyond　the　stained　stonework；　people　were　telling　jokes　without　reference　to　the　Lords　of　Misrule。
　It　was　a　sobering　thought。　Well；　not　a　sobering　thought　in　actual　fact；　because　alcohol　wasn't　allowed　in　the　Guild。　But　if　it　was；　it　would　have　been。
　There　was　nowhere　more　sober　than　the　Guild。
　The　Fool　spoke　bitterly　of　the　huge；　redfaced　Brother　Prankster；　of　evenings　learning　the　Merry　Jests；　of　long　mornings　in　the　freezing　gymnasium　learning　the　Eighteen　Pratfalls　and　the　accepted　trajectory　for　a　custard　pie。　And　juggling。　Juggling！　Brother　Jape；　a　man　with　a　soul　like　cold　boiled　string；　taught　juggling。　It　wasn't　that　the　Fool　was　bad　at　juggling　that　reduced　him　to　incoherent　fury。　Fools　were　expected　to　be　bad　at　juggling；　especially　if　juggling　inherently　funny　items　like　custard　pies；　flaming　torches　or　extremely　sharp　cleavers。　What　had　Brother　Jape　laying　about　him　in　red…hot；　clanging　rage　was　the　fact　that　the　Fool　was　bad　at　juggling　because　he　wasn　't　any　good　at　it。
　'Didn't　you　want　to　be　anything　else？'　said　Magrat。
　'What　else　is　there？'　said　the　Fool。　'I　haven't　seen　anything　else　I　could　be。'
　Student　Fools　were　allowed　out；　in　the　last　year　of　training；　but　under　a　fearsome　set　of　restrictions。　Capering　miserably　through　the　streets　he'd　seen　wizards　for　the　first　time；　moving　like　dignified　carnival　floats。　He'd　seen