tp.wyrd sisters-第14部分

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ff；　one　of　them　was　running　to　keep　up　。　。　。
　Particles　of　raw　inspiration　sleet　through　the　universe　all　the　time。　Every　once　in　a　while　one　of　them　hits　a　receptive　mind；　which　then　invents　DNA　or　the　flute　sonata　form　or　a　way　of　making　light　bulbs　wear　out　in　half　the　time。　But　most　of　them　miss。　Most　people　go　through　their　lives　without　being　hit　by　even　one。
　Some　people　are　even　more　unfortunate。　They　get　them　all。
　Such　a　one　was　Hwel。　Enough　inspirations　to　equip　a　plete　history　of　the　performing　arts　poured　continuously　into　a　small　heavy　skull　designed　by　evolution　to　do　nothing　more　spectacular　than　be　remarkably　resistant　to　axe　blows。
　He　licked　his　quill　and　looked　bashfully　around　the　camp。　No…one　was　watching。　He　carefully　lifted　up　the　Wizard　and　revealed　another　stack　of　paper。
　It　was　another　potboiler。　Every　page　was　stained　with　sweat　and　the　words　themselves　scrawled　across　the　manuscript　in　a　trellis　of　blots　and　crossings…out　and　tiny　scribbled　insertions。　Hwel　stared　at　it　for　a　moment；　alone　in　a　world　that　consisted　of　him；　the　next　blank　page　and　the　shouting；　clamouring　voices　that　haunted　his　dreams。
　He　began　to　write。
　Free　of　Hwel's　never…too…stringent　attention。　Tomjon　pushed　open　the　lid　of　the　props　hamper　and；　in　the　methodical　way　of　the　very　young；　began　to　unpack　the　crowns。
　The　dwarf　stuck　out　his　tongue　as　he　piloted　the　errant　quill　across　the　ink…speckled　page。　He'd　found　room　for　the　star…crossed　lovers；　the　ic　gravediggers　and　me　hunchback　king。　It　was　the　cats　and　the　roller　skates　that　were　currently　giving　him　trouble　。　。　。
　A　gurgle　made　him　look　up。
　'For　goodness　sake；　lad；'　he　said。　'It　hardly　fits。　Put　it　back。'
　
　The　Disc　rolled　into　winter。
　Winter　in　the　Ramtops　could　not　honestly　be　described　as　a　magical　frosty　wonderland；　each　twig　laced　with　confections　of　brittle　ice。　Winter　in　the　Ramtops　didn't　mess　about；　it　was　a　gateway　straight　through　to　the　primeval　coldness　that　lived　before　the　creation　of　the　world。　Winter　in　the　Ramtops　was　several　yards　of　snow；　the　forests　a　mere　collection　of　shadowy　green　tunnels　under　the　drifts。　Winter　meant　the　ing　of　the　lazy　wind；　which　couldn't　be　bothered　to　blow　around　people　and　blew　right　through　them　instead。　The　idea　that　Winter　could　actually　be　enjoyable　would　never　have　occurred　to　Ramtop　people；　who　had　eighteen　different　words　for　snow。＇5＇
　The　ghost　of　King　Verence　prowled　the　battlements；　bereft　and　hungry；　and　stared　out　across　his　beloved　forests　and　waited　his　chance。
　It　was　a　winter　of　portents。　ets　sparkled　against　the　chilled　skies　at　night。　Clouds　shaped　mightily　like　whales　and　dragons　drifted　over　the　land　by　day。　In　the　village　of　Razorback　a　cat　gave　birth　to　a　two…headed　kitten；　but　since　Greebo；　by　dint　of　considerable　effort；　was　every　male　ancestor　for　the　last　thirty　generations　this　probably　wasn't　all　that　portentous。
　However；　in　Bad　Ass　a　cockerel　laid　an　egg　and　had　to　put　up　with　some　very　embarrassing　personal　questions。　In　Lancre　town　a　man　swore　he'd　met　a　man　who　had　actually　seen　with　his　own　eyes　a　tree　get　up　and　walk。　There　was　a　short　sharp　shower　of　shrimps。　There　were　odd　lights　in　the　sky。　Geese　walked　backwards。　Above　all　of　this　flared　the　great　curtains　of　cold　fire　that　were　the　Aurora　Coriolis；　the　Hublights；　whose　frosty　tints　illuminated　and　coloured　the　midnight　snows。
　There　was　nothing　the　least　unusual　about　any　of　this。　The　Ramtops；　which　as　it　were　lay　across　the　Disc's　vast　magical　standing　wave　like　an　iron　bar　dropped　innocently　across　a　pair　of　subway　rails；　were　so　saturated　with　magic　that　it　was　constantly　discharging　itself　into　the　environment。　People　would　wake　up　in　the　middle　of　the　night；　mutter；　'Oh；　it's　just　another　bloody　portent'；　and　go　back　to　sleep。
　Hogswatchnight　came　round；　marking　the　start　of　another　year。　And；　with　alarming　suddenness；　nothing　happened。
　The　skies　were　clear；　the　snow　deep　and　crisped　like　icing　sugar。
　The　freezing　forests　were　silent　and　smelled　of　tin。　The　only　things　that　fell　from　the　sky　were　the　occasional　fresh　showers　of　snow。
　A　man　walked　across　the　moors　from　Razorback　to　Lancre　town　without　seeing　a　single　marshlight；　headless　dog；　strolling　tree；　ghostly　coach　or　et；　and　had　to　be　taken　in　by　a　tavern　and　given　a　drink　to　unsteady　his　nerves。
　The　stoicism　of　the　Ramtoppers；　developed　over　the　years　as　a　sovereign　resistance　to　the　thaumaturgical　chaos；　found　itself　unable　to　cope　with　the　sudden　change。　It　was　like　a　noise　which　isn't　heard　until　it　stops。
　Granny　Weatherwax　heard　it　now　as　she　lay　snug　under　a　pile　of　quilts　in　her　freezing　bedroom。　Hogswatchnight　is；　traditionally；　the　one　night　of　the　Disc's　long　year　when　witches　are　expected　to　stay　at　home；　and　she'd　had　an　early　night　in　the　pany　of　a　bag　of　apples　and　a　stone　hotwater　bottle。　But　something　had　awoken　her　from　her　doze。
　An　ordinary　person　would　have　crept　downstairs；　possibly　armed　with　a　poker。　Granny　simply　hugged　her　knees　and　let　her　mind　wander。
　It　hadn't　been　in　the　house。　She　could　feel　the　small；　fast　minds　of　mice；　and　the　fuzzy　minds　of　her　goats　as　they　lay　in　their　cosy　flatulence　in　the　outhouse。　A　hunting　owl　was　a　sudden　dagger　of　alertness　as　it　glided　over　the　rooftops。
　Granny　concentrated　harder；　until　her　mind　was　full　of　the　tiny　chittering　of　the　insects　in　the　thatch　and　the　woodworm　in　the　beams。　Nothing　of　interest　there。
　She　snuggled　down　and　let　herself　drift　out　into　the　forest；　which　was　silent　except　for　the　occasional　muffled　thump　as　snow　slid　off　a　tree。　Even　in　midwinter　the　forest　was　full　of　life；　usually　dozing　in　burrows　or　hibernating　in　the　middle　of　trees。
　All　as　usual。　She　spread　herself　further；　to　the　high　moors　and　secret　passes　where　the　wolves　ran　silently　over　the　frozen　crust；　she　touched　their　minds；　sharp　as　knives。　Higher　still；　and　there　was　nothing　in　the　snowfields　but　packs　of　vermine。＇6＇
　Everything　was　as　it　should　be；　with　the　exception　that　nothing　was　right。　There　was　something　…　yes；　there　was　something　alive　out　there；　something　young　and　ancient　and　。　。　。
　Granny　turned　over　the　feeling　in　her　mind。　Yes。　That　was　it。　Something　forlorn。　Something　lost。　And　。　。　。
　Feelings　were　never　simple；　Granny　knew。　Strip　them　away　and　there　were　others　underneath　。　。　。
　Something　that；　if　it　didn't　stop　feeling　lost　and　forlorn　very　soon；　was　going　to　get　angry。
　And　still　she　couldn't　find　it。　She　could　feel　the　tiny　minds　of　chrysalises　down　under　the　frozen　leafmould。　She　could　sense　the　earthworms；　which　had　migrated　below　the　frost　line。　She　could　even　sense　a　few　people；　who　were　hardest　of　all　…　human　minds　were　thinking　so　many　thoughts　all　at　the　same　time　that　they　were　nearly　impossible　to　locate；　it　was　like　trying　to　nail　fog　to　the　wall。
　Nothing　there。　Nothing　there。　The　feeling　was　all　around　her；　and　there　was　nothing　to　cause　it。　She'd　gone　down　about　as　far　as　she　could；　to　the　smallest　creature　in　the　kingdom；　and　there　was　nothing　there。
　Granny　Weatherwax　sat　up　in　bed；　lit　a　candle　and　reached　for　an　apple。　She　glared　at　her　bedroom　wall。
　She　didn't　like　being　beaten。　There　was　something　out　there；　something　drinking　in　magic；　something　growing；　something　dial　seemed　so　alive　it　was　all　around　the　house；　and　she　couldn't　find　it。
　She　reduced　the　apple　to　its　core　and　placed　it　carefully　in　the　tray　of　the　candlestick。　Then　she　blew　out　the　candle。
　The　cold　velvet　of　the　night　slid　back　into　the　room。
　Granny　had　one　last　try。　Perhaps　she　was　looking　in　the　wrong　way　。　。　。
　A　moment　later　she　was　lying　on　the　floor　with　the　pillow　clasped　around　her　head。
　And　to　think　she　had　expected　it　to　be　small　。　。　。
　
　Lancre　Castle　shook。　It　wasn't　a　violent　shaking；　but　it　didn't　need　to　be；　the　construction　of　the　castle　being　such　that　it　swayed　slightly　even　in　a　gentle　breeze。　A　small　turret　toppled　slowly　into　the　depths　of　the　misty　canyon。
　The　Fool　lay　on　his　flagstones　and　shivered　in　his　sleep。　He　appreciated　the　honour；　if　it　was　an　honour；　but　sleeping　in　the　corridor　always　made　him　dream　of　the　Fools'　Guild；　behind　whose　severe　grey　walls　he　had　trembled　his　way　through