tp.lightfantastic-第7部分

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essfully。
　'Urgh；'　he　said。
　Red　hats！　He　wondered　whether　to　enlighten　the　tourist　about　what　life　was　really　like　when　a　frog　was　a　good　meal；　a　rabbit　hole　a　useful　place　to　shelter　out　of　the　rain；　and　an　owl　a　drifting；　silent　terror　in　the　night。　Moleskin　trousers　sounded　quaint　unless　you　personally　had　to　remove　them　from　their　original　owner　when　the　vicious　little　sod　was　cornered　in　his　burrow。　As　for　red　hats；　anyone　who　went　around　a　forest　looking　bright　nd　conspicuous　would　only　do　so　very；　very　briefly。
　He　wanted　to　say：　look；　the　life　of　gnomes　and　goblins　is　nasty；　brutish　and　short。　So　are　they。
　He　wanted　to　say　all　this；　and　couldn't。　For　a　man　with　an　itch　to　see　the　whole　of　infinity；　Twoflower　never　actually　moved　outside　his　own　head。　Telling　him　the　truth　would　be　like　kicking　a　spaniel。
　'Swee　whee　weedle　wheet；'　said　a　voice　by　his　foot。　He　looked　down。　The　gnome；　who　had　introduced　himself　as　Swires；　looked　up。　Rincewind　had　a　very　good　ear　for　languages。　The　gnome　had　just　said；　'I've　got　some　newt　sorbet　left　over　from　yesterday。'
　'Sounds　wonderful；'　said　Rincewind。
　Swires　gave　him　another　prod　in　the　ankle。
　'The　other　bigger；　is　he　all　right？'　he　said　solicitously。
　'He's　just　suffering　from　reality　shock；'　said　Rincewind。　You　haven't　got　a　red　hat；　by　any　chance？'
　'Wheet？'
　'Just　a　thought。'
　'I　know　where　there's　some　food　for　biggers；'　said　the　gnome；　'and　shelter；　too。　It's　not　far。'
　Rincewind　looked　at　the　lowering　sky。　The　daylight　was　draining　out　of　the　landscape　and　the　clouds　looked　as　if　they　had　heard　about　snow　and　were　considering　the　idea。　Of　course；　people　who　lived　in　mushrooms　couldn't　necessarily　be　trusted；　but　right　now　a　trap　baited　with　a　hot　meal　and　clean　sheets　would　have　had　the　wizard　hammering　to　get　in。
　They　set　off。　After　a　few　seconds　the　Luggage　got　carefully　to　its　feet　and　started　to　follow。
　'Psst！'
　It　turned　carefully；　little　legs　moving　in　a　plicated　pattern；　and　appeared　to　look　up。
　'Is　it　good；　being　joinery？'　said　the　tree；　anxiously。　'Did　it　hurt？'
　The　Luggage　seemed　to　think　about　this。　Every　brass　handle；　every　knothole；　radiated　extreme　concentration。
　Then　it　shrugged　its　lid　and　waddled　away。
　The　tree　sighed；　and　shook　a　few　dead　leaves　out　of　its　twigs。
　

　The　cottage　was　small；　tumbledown　and　as　ornate　as　a　doily。　Some　mad　whittler　had　got　to　work　on　it；　Rincewind　decided；　and　had　created　terrible　havoc　before　he　could　be　dragged　away。　Every　door；　every　shutter　had　its　clusters　of　wooden　grapes　and　half…moon　cutouts；　and　there　were　massed　outbreaks　of　fretwork　pinecones　all　over　the　walls。　He　half　expected　a　giant　cuckoo　to　e　hurtling　out　of　an　upper　window。
　What　he　also　noticed　was　the　characteristic　greasy　feel　in　the　air。　Tiny　green　and　purple　sparks　flashed　from　his　fingernails。
　'Strong　magical　field；'　he　muttered。　'A　hundred　milli…thaums＇2＇　at　least。'
　'There's　magic　all　over　the　place；'　said　Swires。　'An　old　witch　used　to　live　around　here。　She　went　a　long　time　ago　but　the　magic　still　keeps　the　house　going。'
　'Here；　there's　something　odd　about　that　door；'　said　Twoflower。
　Why　should　a　house　need　magic　to　keep　it　going？'　said　Rincewind。　Twoflower　touched　a　wall　gingerly。
　'It's　all　sticky！'
　'Nougat；'　said　Swires。
　'Good　grief！　A　real　gingerbread　cottage！　Rincewind；　a　real…'
　Rincewind　nodded　glumly。　Yeah；　the　Confectionary　School　of　Architecture；'　he　said。　'It　never　caught　on。'
　He　looked　suspiciously　at　the　liquorice　doorknocker。
　'It　sort　of　regenerates；'　said　Swires。　'Marvellous；　really。　You　just　don't　get　this　sort　of　place　nowadays；　you　just　an't　get　the　gingerbread。'
　'Really？'　said　Rincewind；　gloomily。
　'e　on　in；'　said　the　gnome；　'but　mind　the　doormat。
　'Why？'
　'Candyfloss。'
　

　The　great　Disc　spun　slowly　under　its　toiling　sun；　and　daylight　pooled　in　hollows　and　finally　drained　away　as　night　fell。
　In　his　chilly　room　in　Unseen　University　Trymon　pored　over　the　book；　his　lips　moving　as　his　finger　traced　the　unfamiliar；　ancient　script。　He　read　that　the　Great　Pyramid　of　Tsort；　now　long　vanished；　was　made　of　one　million；　three　thousand　and　ten　limestone　blocks。　He　read　that　ten　thousand　slaves　had　been　worked　to　death　in　its　building。　He　learned　that　it　was　a　maze　of　secret　passages；　their　walls　reputedly　decorated　with　the　distilled　wisdom　of　ancient　Tsort。　He　read　that　its　height　plus　its　length　divided　by　half　its　width　equalled　exactly　1。67563；　or　precisely　1；237。98712567　times　the　difference　between　the　distance　to　the　sun　and　the　weight　of　a　small　orange。　He　learned　that　sixty　years　had　been　devoted　entirely　to　its　construction。
　It　all　seemed；　he　thought；　to　be　rather　a　lot　of　trouble　to　go　to　just　to　sharpen　a　razor　blade。
　And　in　the　Forest　of　Skund　Twoflower　and　Rincewind　settled　down　to　a　meal　of　gingerbread　mantlepiece　and　thought　longingly　of　pickled　onions。
　And　far　away；　but　set　as　it　were　on　a　collision　course；　the　greatest　hero　the　Disc　ever　produced　rolled　himself　a　cigarette；　entirely　unaware　of　the　role　that　lay　in　store　for　him。
　It　was　quite　an　interesting　tailormade　that　he　twirled　expertly　between　his　fingers　because；　like　many　of　the　wandering　wizards　from　whom　he　had　picked　up　the　art；　he　was　in　the　habit　of　saving　dogends　in　a　leather　bag　and　rolling　them　into　fresh　smokes。　The　implacable　law　of　verages　therefore　dictated　that　some　of　that　tobacco　had　been　smoked　almost　continuously　for　many　years　now。　The　thing　he　was　trying　unsuccessfully　to　light　was；　well；　you　could　have　coated　roads　with　it。
　So　great　was　the　reputation　of　this　person　that　a　group　of　nomadic　barbarian　horsemen　had　respectfully　invited　him　to　join　them　as　they　sat　around　a　horseturd　fire。　The　nomads　of　the　Hub　regions　usually　migrated　Rimwards　for　the　winter；　and　these　were　part　of　a　tribe　who　had　pitched　their　felt　tents　in　the　sweltering　heatwave　of　a　mere　…3　degrees　and　were　going　around　with　peeling　noses　and　plaining　about　heatstroke。
　The　barbarian　chieftain　said：　What　then　are　the　greatest　things　that　a　man　may　find　in　life？'　This　is　the　sort　of　thing　you're　supposed　to　say　to　maintain　steppe…cred　in　barbarian　circles。
　The　man　on　his　right　thoughtfully　drank　his　cocktail　of　mare's　milk　and　snowcat　blood；　and　spoke　thus：　The　crisp　horizon　of　the　steppe；　the　wind　in　your　hair；　a　fresh　horse　under　you。'
　The　man　on　his　left　said：　The　cry　of　the　white　eagle　in　the　heights；　the　fall　of　snow　in　the　forest；　a　true　arrow　in　your　bow。'
　The　chieftain　nodded；　and　said：　'Surely　it　is　the　sight　of　your　enemy　slain；　the　humiliation　of　his　tribe　and　the　lamentation　of　his　women。'
　There　was　a　general　murmur　of　whiskery　approval　at　this　outrageous　display。
　Then　the　chieftain　turned　respectfully　to　his　guest；　a　small　figure　carefully　warming　his　chilblains　by　the　fire；　and　said：　'But　our　guest；　whose　name　is　legend；　must　tell　us　truly：　what　is　it　that　a　man　may　call　the　greatest　things　in　life？'
　The　guest　paused　in　the　middle　of　another　unsuccessful　attempt　to　light　up。
　'What　shay？'　he　said；　toothlessly。
　'I　said：　what　is　it　that　a　man　may　call　the　greatest　things　in　life？'
　The　warriors　leaned　closer。　This　should　be　worth　hearing。
　The　guest　thought　long　and　hard　and　then　said；　with　deliberation：　'Hot　water；　good　dentishtry　and　shoft　lavatory　paper。'
　

　Brilliant　octarine　light　flared　in　the　forge。　Galder　Weatherwax；　stripped　to　the　waist；　his　face　hidden　by　a　mask　of　smoked　glass；　squinted　into　the　glow　and　brought　a　hammer　down　with　surgical　precision。　The　magic　squealed　and　writhed　in　the　tongs　but　still　he　worked　it；　drawing　it　into　a　line　of　agonised　fire。
　A　floorboard　creaked。　Galder　had　spent　many　hours　tuning　them；　always　a　wise　precaution　with　an　ambitious　assistant　who　walked　like　a　cat。
　D　flat。　That　meant　he　was　just　to　the　right　of　the　door。
　'Ah；　Trymon；'　he　said；　without　turning；　and　noted　with　some　satisfaction　the　faint　indrawing　of　breath　behind　him。　'Good　of　you　to　e。　Shut　the　door；　will　you？'
　Trymon　pushed　the　heavy　door；　his　face　expressionless。　On　the　high　shelf　above　him　various　bottled　impossibilities　wallowed　in　their　pickle　jars　and　watched　him　with　interest。
　Like　all　wizards'　workshops