Book 09 - Eric by Terry Pratchett

Author:Terry Pratchett [Pratchett, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, Discworld
ISBN: 9780380821211
Publisher: HarperTorch
Published: 1990-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

“Something in the wood, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Good job we didn’t build the sodding horse out of it, then.”

“Yes.”

“Got into it by magic, did you?”

“Yes.”

“Thought so.” He threw another sandwich at the Luggage. “Where you from?”

Rincewind decided to come clean. “The future,” he said. This didn’t have the expected effect. The man just nodded.

“Oh,” he said, and then he said, “Did we win?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. I suppose you can’t remember the results of any horse races?” said the man, without much hope.

“No.”

“I thought you probably wouldn’t. Why did you open the gate for us?”

It occurred to Rincewind that saying it was because he had always been a firm admirer of the Ephebian political position would not, strangely enough, be the right thing to do. He decided to try the truth again. It was a novel approach and worth experimenting with.

“I was looking for a way out,” he said.

“To run away.”

“Yes.”

“Good man. Only sensible thing, in the circumstances.” He noticed Eric, who was staring at the other captains clustered around their table and deep in argument.

“You, lad,” he said. “Want to be a soldier when you grow up?”

“No, sir.”

The man brightened a bit.

“That’s the stuff,” he said.

“I want to be a eunuch, sir,” Eric added.

Rincewind’s head turned as though it was being dragged.

“Why?” he said, and then came up with the obvious answer at the same time as Eric: “Because you get to work in a harem all day long,” they chorused slowly.

The captain coughed.

“You’re not this boy’s teacher, are you?” he said.

“No.”

“Do you think anyone has explained to him—?”

“No.”

“Perhaps it would be a good idea if I got one of the centurions to have a word? You’d be amazed at the grasp of language those chaps have got.”

“Do him the power of good, I expect,” said Rincewind.

The soldier picked up his helmet, sighed, nodded at the sergeant and smoothed out the creases in his cloak. It was a grubby cloak.

“I think I’m expected to tell you off, or something,” he said.

“What for?”

“Spoiling the war, apparently.”

“Spoiling the war?”

The soldier sighed. “Come on. Let’s go for a stroll. Sergeant—you and a couple of lads, please.”

A stone whistled down from the fort high above them, and shattered.

“They can hold out for bloody weeks, up there,” said the soldier gloomily, as they walked away with the Luggage padding patiently behind them. “I’m Lavaeolus. Who’re you?”

“He’s my demon,” said Eric.

Lavaeolus raised an eyebrow, the closest he ever came to expressing surprise at anything.

“Is he? I suppose it takes all sorts. Any good at getting in places, is he?”

“He’s more the getting-out kind,” said Eric.

“Right,” said Lavaeolus. He stopped beside a building and walked up and down a bit with his hands in his pockets, tapping on the flagstones with the toe of his sandal.

“Just here, I think, sergeant,” he said, after a while.

“Right you are, sir.”

“Look at that lot, will you?” said Lavaeolus, while the sergeant and his men started to lever up the stones. “That bunch around the table. Brave lads, I’ll grant you, but look at them. Too busy posing for triumphant statues and making sure the historians spell their names right.

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