tp.wyrd sisters-第41节

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　Tomjon　nudged　him。　'These　don't　look　like　Guild　thieves；'　he　hissed。　'They　definitely　look　freelance　to　me。'
　It　would　be　nice　to　say　that　the　leader　of　the　robbers　was　a　black…bearded；　swaggering　brute；　with　a　red　headscarf　and　one　gold　earring　and　a　chin　you　could　clean　pots　with。　Actually　it　would　be　practically　pulsory。　And；　in　fact；　this　was　so。　Hwel　thought　the　wooden　leg　was　overdoing　it；　but　the　man　had　obviously　studied　the　role。
　'Well　now；'　said　the　bandit　chief。　'What　have　we　here；　and　do　they　have　any　money？'
　'We're　actors；'　said　Tomjon。
　'That　ought　to　answer　both　questions；'　said　Hwel。
　'And　none　of　your　repartee；'　said　the　bandit。　'I've　been　to　the　city；　I　have。　I　know　repartee　when　I　see　it　and…'　he　half　turned　to　his　followers；　raising　an　eyebrow　to　indicate　that　the　next　remark　was　going　to　be　witty　…　'if　you're　not　careful　I　can　make　a　few　cutting　remarks　of　my　own。'
　There　was　dead　silence　behind　him　until　he　made　an　impatient　gesture　with　his　cutlass。
　'All　right；'　he　said；　against　a　chorus　of　uncertain　laughter。　'We'll　just　take　any　loose　change；　valuables；　food　and　clothing　you　might　be　having。'
　'Could　I　say　something？'　said　Tomjon。
　The　pany　backed　away　from　him。　Hwel　smiled　at　his　own　feet。
　'You're　going　to　beg　for　mercy；　are　you？'　said　the　bandit。
　'That's　right。'
　Hwel　thrust　his　hands　deep　into　his　pockets　and　looked　up　at　the　sky；　whistling　under　his　breath　and　trying　not　to　break　into　a　maniac　grin。　He　was　aware　that　the　other　actors　were　also　looking　expectantly　at　Tomjon。
　He's　going　to　give　them　the　mercy　speech　from　The　Troll's　Tale；　he　thought　。　。　。
　'The　point　I'd　just　like　to　make　is　that…'　said　Tomjon；　and　his　stance　changed　subtly；　his　voice　became　deeper；　his　right　hand　flung　out　dramatically　…　'　〃The　worth　of　man　lies　not　in　feats　of　arms；　Or　the　fiery　hunger　o'　the　ravening…〃　'
　It's　going　to　be　like　when　that　man　tried　to　rob　us　back　in　Sto　Lat；　Hwel　thought。　If　they　end　up　giving　us　their　swords；　what　the　hell　can　we　do　with　them？　And　it's　so　embarrassing　when　they　start　crying。
　It　was　at　this　moment　that　the　world　around　him　took　a　green　tint　and　he　thought　he　could　make　out；　right　on　the　cusp　of　hearing；　other　voices。
　'There's　men　with　swords；　Granny！'
　'…rend　with　glowing　blades　the　marvel　of　the　world…'　Tomjon　said；　and　the　voices　at　the　edge　of　imagination　said。　'No　king　of　mine　is　going　to　beg　anything　off　anyone。　Give　me　that　milk　jug；　Magrat。'
　'…the　heart　of　passion；　the　kiss…'
　'That　was　a　present　from　my　aunt。'
　'…this　jewel　of　jewels；　this　crown　of　crowns。'
　There　was　silence。　One　or　two　of　the　bandits　were　weeping　silently　into　their　hands。
　Their　chief　said；　'Is　that　it？'
　For　the　first　time　in　his　life　Tomjon　looked　nonplussed。
　'Well；　yes；'　he　said。　'Er。　Would　you　like　me　to　repeat　it？'
　'It　was　a　good　speech；'　the　bandit　conceded。　'But　I　don't　see　what　it's　got　to　do　with　me。　I'm　a　practical　man。　Hand　over　your　valuables。'
　His　sword　came　up　until　it　was　level　with　Tomjon's　throat。
　'And　all　the　rest　of　you　shouldn't　be　standing　there　like　idiots；'　he　added。　'e　on。　Or　the　boy　gets　it。'
　Wimsloe　the　apprentice　raised　a　cautious　hand。
　'What？'　said　the　bandit。
　'A…are　you　s…sure　you　listened　carefully；　sir？'
　'I　won't　tell　you　again！　Either　I　hear　the　clink　of　coins；　or　you　hear　a　gurgle！'
　In　fact　what　they　all　heard　was　a　whistling　noise；　high　in　the　air；　and　the　crash　as　a　milk　jug；　its　sides　frosted　with　the　ice　of　altitude；　dropped　out　of　the　sky　on　to　the　spike　atop　the　chief's　helmet。
　The　remaining　bandits　took　one　look　at　the　results；　and　fled。
　The　actors　stared　down　at　the　recumbent　bandit。　Hwel　prodded　a　lump　of　frozen　milk　with　his　boot。
　'Well；　well；'　he　said　weakly。
　'He　didn't　take　any　notice！'　whispered　Tomjon。
　'A　born　critic；'　said　the　dwarf。　It　was　a　blue　and　white　jug。　Funny　how　little　details　stood　out　at　a　time　like　this。　It　had　been　smashed　several　times　in　the　past；　he　could　see；　because　the　pieces　had　been　carefully　glued　together　again。　Someone　had　really　loved　that　jug。
　'What　we're　dealing　with　here；'　he　said；　rallying　some　shreds　of　logic；　'is　a　freak　whirlwind。　Obviously。'
　'But　milk　jugs　don't　just　drop　out　of　the　sky；'　said　Tomjon；　demonstrating　the　astonishing　human　art　of　denying　the　obvious。
　'I　don't　know　about　that。　I've　heard　of　fish　and　frogs　and　rocks；'　said　Hwel。　'There's　nothing　against　crockery。'　He　began　to　rally。　'It's　just　one　of　these　unmon　phenomenons。
　They　happen　all　the　time　in　this　part　of　the　world；　there's　nothing　unusual　about　it。'
　They　got　back　on　to　the　carts　and　rode　on　in　unaccustomed　silence。　Young　Wimsloe　collected　every　bit　of　jug　he　could　find　and　stored　them　carefully　in　the　props　box；　and　spent　the　rest　of　the　day　watching　the　sky；　hoping　for　a　sugar　basin。
　
　The　lattys　toiled　up　the　dusty　slopes　of　the　Ramtops；　mere　motes　in　the　foggy　glass　of　the　crystal。
　'Are　they　all　right？'　said　Magrat。
　They're　wandering　all　over　the　place；'　said　Granny。　'They　may　be　good　at　the　acting；　but　they've　got　something　to　learn　about　the　travelling。'
　'It　was　a　nice　jug；'　said　Magrat。　'You　can't　get　them　like　that　any　more。　I　mean；　if　you'd　have　said　what　was　on　your　mind；　there　was　a　flatiron　on　the　shelf。'
　'There's　more　to　life　than　milk　jugs。'
　'It　had　a　daisy　pattern　round　the　top。'
　Granny　ignored　her。
　'I　think；'　she　said；　'it's　time　we　had　a　look　at　this　new　king。　Close　up。'　She　cackled。
　'You　cackled；　Granny；'　said　Magrat　darkly。
　'I　did　not！　It　was；'　Granny　fumbled　for　a　word；　'a　chuckle。'
　'I　bet　Black　Aliss　used　to　cackle。'
　'You　want　to　watch　out　you　don't　end　up　the　same　way　as　she　did；'　said　Nanny；　from　her　seat　by　the　fire。　'She　went　a　bit　funny　at　the　finish；　you　know。　Poisoned　apples　and　suchlike。'
　'Just　because　I　might　have　chuckled　a　。　。　。　a　bit　roughly；'　sniffed　Granny。　She　felt　that　she　was　being　unduly　defensive。　'Anyway；　there's　nothing　wrong　with　cackling。　In　moderation。'
　
　'I　think；'　said　Tomjon；　'that　we're　lost。'
　Hwel　looked　at　the　baking　purple　moorland　around　them；　which　stretched　up　to　the　towering　spires　of　the　Ramtops　themselves。　Even　in　the　height　of　summer　there　were　pennants　of　snow　flying　from　the　highest　peaks。　It　was　a　landscape　of　describable　beauty。
　Bees　were　busy；　or　at　least　endeavouring　to　look　and　sound　busy；　in　the　thyme　by　the　trackside。　Cloud　shadows　flickered　over　the　alpine　meadows。　There　was　the　kind　of　big；　empty　silence　made　by　an　environment　that　not　only　doesn't　have　any　people　in　it；　but　doesn't　need　them　either。
　Or　signposts。
　'We　were　lost　ten　miles　ago；'　said　Hwel。　'There's　got　to　be　a　new　word　for　what　we　are　now。'
　'You　said　the　mountains　were　honeybed　with　dwarf　mines；'　said　Tomjon。　'You　said　a　dwarf　could　tell　wherever　he　was　in　the　mountains。'
　'Underground；　I　said。　It's　all　a　matter　of　strata　and　rock　formations。　Not　on　the　surface。　All　the　landscape　gets　in　the　way。'
　'We　could　dig　you　a　hole；'　said　Tomjon。
　But　it　was　a　nice　day　and；　as　the　road　meandered　through　clumps　of　hemlock　and　pine；　outposts　of　the　forest；　it　was　pleasant　enough　to　let　the　mules　go　at　their　own　pace。　The　road；　Hwel　felt；　had　to　go　somewhere。
　This　geographical　fiction　has　been　the　death　of　many　people。　Roads　don't　necessarily　have　to　go　anywhere；　they　just　have　to　have　somewhere　to　start。
　'We　are　lost；　aren't　we？'　said　Tomjon；　after　a　while。
　'Certainly　not。'
　'Where　are　we；　then？'
　'The　mountains。　Perfectly　clear　on　any　atlas。'
　'We　ought　to　stop　and　ask　someone。'
　Tomjon　gazed　around　at　the　rolling　countryside。　Somewhere　a　lonely　curlew　howled；　or　possibly　it　was　a　badger　…　Hwel　was　a　little　hazy　about　rural　matters；　at　least　those　that　took　place　higher　than　about　the　limestone　layer。　There　wasn't　another　human　being　within　miles。
　'Who　did　you　have　in　mind？'　he　said　sarcastically。
　'That　old　woman　in　the　funny　hat；'　said　Tomjon；　pointing。　'I've　been　watching　her。　She　keeps　ducking　down　behind　a　bush　when　she　thinks　I've　seen　her。'
　Hwel　turned　and　looked　down　at　a　bramble　bush；　which　wobbled。
　'Ho　there；　good　mother；'　he　said。
　The　bush　sprouted　an　indignant　head。
　'Whose　mother？'　it　said。
　Hwel　hesitated。　'Just　a　figure　of　speech；　Mrs　。　。　。　Miss　。　。　。'
　'Mistress；'　snapped　Granny　Weatherwax。　'And　I'm　a　poor　old　woman　gathering　wood；'　she　added　defiantly。
　She　cleared　her　throat。　'Lawks；'　she　went　on。　'You　did　give　me　a　fright；　young　master。　My　poor　old　heart。'
　There　was　silence　from　the　carts。　Then　Tomjon　said；　'I'm　sorry？'
　'What？'　said　Granny。
　'Your　poor　old　heart　what？'
　'What　about　my　poor　old　heart？'　said　Granny；　who　wasn't　used　to　acting　like　an　old　woman　and　had　a　very　limited　repertoire　in　this　area。　But　it's　traditional　that　young　heirs　seeking　their　destiny　get　help　from　mysterious　old　women　gathering　wood；　and　she　wasn't　about　to　buck　tradition。
　'It's　just　that　you　mentioned　it；'　said　Hwel。
　'Well；　it　isn't　important。　Lawks。　I　expect　you're　looking　for　Lancre；'　said　Granny　testily；　in　a　hurry　to　get　to　the　point。
　'Well；　yes；'　said　Tomjon。　'All　day。'
　'You've　e　too　far；'　said　Granny。　'Go　back　about　two　miles；　and　take　the　track　on　the　right；　past　the　stand　of　pines。'
　Wimsloe　t