Sourcery

She could see a rolling heap of bulldozed snow and soil bearing down on them through the forest, the mind-numbing sound of the leading glaciers now overlaid with the rhythmic snapping of tree trunks. And, advancing implacably above the treeline, so high that the eye mistook them at first for sky, the blue-green prows.

‘Nothing,’ said Nijel, ‘nothing at all. We’ve just got to resist them, that’s all there is to it. That’s what we’re here for.’

‘But it won’t make any difference,’ she said.

‘It will to me. If we’re going to die anyway, I’d rather die like this. Heroically.’

‘Is it heroic to die like this?’ said Conina.

‘I think it is,’ he said, ‘and when it comes to dying, there’s only one opinion that matters.’

‘Oh.’

A couple of deer blundered into the clearing, ignored the humans in their blind panic, and rocketed away.

‘You don’t have to stay,’ said Nijel. ‘I’ve got this geas, you see.’

Conina looked at the backs of her hands.

‘I think I should,’ she said, and added, ‘You know, I thought maybe, you know, if we could just get to know one another better—’

‘Mr and Mrs Harebut, was that what you had in mind?’ he said bluntly.

Her eyes widened. ‘Well—’ she began.

‘Which one did you intend to be?’ he said.

The leading glacier smashed into the clearing just behind its bow wave, its top lost in a cloud of its own creation.

At exactly the same time the trees opposite it bent low as a hot wind blew from the Rim. It was loaded with voices – petulant, bickering voices – and tore into the clouds like a hot iron into water.

Conina and Nijel threw themselves down into snow which turned to warm slush under them. Something like a thunderstorm crashed overhead, filled with shouting and what they at first thought were screams although, thinking about them later, they seemed more like angry arguments. It went on for a long time, and then began to fade in the direction of the Hub.

Warm water flooded down the front of Nijel’s vest. He lifted himself cautiously, and then nudged Conina.

Together they scrambled through the slush and mud to the top of the slope, climbed through a logjam of smashed timber and boulders, and stared at the scene.

The glaciers were retreating, under a cloud stuffed with lightning. Behind them the landscape was a network of lakes and pools.

‘Did we do that?’ said Conina.

‘It would be nice to think so, wouldn’t it?’ said Nijel.

‘Yes, but did—’ she began.

‘Probably not. Who knows? Let’s just find a horse,’ he said.

———

‘The Apogee,’ said War, ‘or something. I’m pretty sure.’

They had staggered out of the inn and were sitting on a bench in the afternoon sunshine. Even War had been persuaded to take off some of his armour.

‘Dunno,’ said Famine. ‘Don’t think so.’

Pestilence shut his crusted eyes and leaned back against the warm stones.

‘I think,’ he said, ‘it was something about the end of the world.’

War sat and thoughtfully scratched his chin. He hiccuped.

‘What, the whole world?’ he said.

‘I reckon.’

War gave this some further consideration. ‘I reckon we’re well out of it, then,’ he said.

———

People were returning to Ankh-Morpork, which was no longer a city of empty marble but was once again its old self, sprawling as randomly and colourfully as a pool of vomit outside the all-night takeaway of History.

And the University had been rebuilt, or had rebuilt itself, or in some strange way had never been unbuilt; every strand of ivy, every rotting casement, was back in place. The sourcerer had offered to replace everything as good as new, all wood sparkling, all stone unstained, but the Librarian had been very firm on the subject. He wanted everything replaced as good as old.

The wizards came creeping back with the dawn, in ones or twos, scuttling for their old rooms, trying to avoid one another’s gaze, trying to remember a recent past that was already becoming unreal and dream-like.

Conina and Nijel arrived around breakfast time and, out of kindness, found a livery stable for War’s horse.[25] It was Conina who insisted that they look for Rincewind at the University, and who, therefore, first saw the books.

They were flying out of the Tower of Art, spiralling around the University buildings and swooping through the door of the reincarnated Library. One or two of the more impudent grimoires were chasing sparrows, or hovering hawk-like over the quad.

The Librarian was leaning against the doorway, watching his charges with a benevolent eye. He waggled his eyebrows at Conina, the nearest he ever got to a conventional greeting.

‘Is Rincewind here?’ she said.

‘Oook.’

‘Sorry?’

The ape didn’t answer but took them both by the hand and, walking between them like a sack between two poles, led them across the cobbles to the tower.

There were a few candles alight inside, and they saw Coin seated on a stool. The Librarian bowed them into his presence like an ancient retainer in the oldest family of all, and withdrew.