Moving Pictures (Discworld 10)

'Oh, I don't know. It's probably not worth naming,' said Silverfish.

'Ankhmorporkery? Silverfishium? Notleadium?' said Peavie.

'Uselessium, more like,' said Silverfish. 'I'm giving up on it and going back to something more sensible.'

Peavie peered into the furnace.

'It doesn't go boom, does it?' he said.

Silverfish gave him a withering look.

'This stuff?' he said. 'Whatever gave you that idea?'

Click . . .

It was pitch dark under the rubble.

It had been pitch dark for a long time.

Gaspode could feel the tons of stone above this little space. You didn't need any special doggy senses for that.

He dragged himself over to where a pillar had smashed down into the cellar.

Laddie raised his head with difficulty, licked Gaspode's face, and managed the faintest of barks.

'Good boy Laddie . . . Good boy Gaspode . . . '

'Good boy Laddie,' Gaspode whispered.

Laddie's tail thumped once or twice on the stones. Then he whimpered for a while, with longer and longer pauses between the sounds.

Then there was a faint noise. Just like bone on stone.

Gaspode's ears twitched. He looked up at the advancing figure, visible even in utter darkness because it Would forever be darker than mere blackness alone could manage.

He pulled himself upright, the hairs rising along his back, and growled.

'Another step and I'll have your leg off and bury it,' he said.

A skeletal hand reached out and tickled him behind the ears.

There was a faint barking from the darkness.

'Good boy Laddie!'

Gaspode, tears pouring down his face, gave Death an apologetic grin.

'Pathetic, isn't it?' he said hoarsely.

I WOULDN'T KNOW. I'VE NEVER BEEN THAT MUCH OF A DOG PERSON, said Death.

'Oh? Come to that, I've never liked the idea of dyin',' said Gaspode. 'We are dyin', ain't we?'

YES.

'Not surprised, really. Story of my life, dyin',' said Gaspode. 'It's just that I fought', he added, hopefully, 'that there was a special Death for dogs. A big black dog, maybe' .

No, said Death.