Mort (Discworld 4)

Murmur, murmur.

The High Priest scowled at Cutwell, or at least where he believed Cutwell to be.

'Oh, all right. Mm, prepare the incense and fragrances for the Shriving of the Fourfold-Path.'

Murmur, murmur.

The High Priest's face darkened.

'I suppose, mm, a short prayer, mm, is totally out of the question?' he said acidly.

'If some people don't get a move on,' said Keli demurely, 'there is going to be trouble.'

Murmur.

'I don't know, I'm sure,' said the High Priest. 'People might as well not bother with a religious, mm, ceremony at all. Fetch the bloody elephant, then.'

The acolyte gave Cutwell a frantic look and waved at the guards. As they urged their gently-swaying charge forward with shouts and pointed sticks the young priest sidled towards Cutwell and pushed something into his hand.

He looked down. It was a waterproof hat.

'Is this necessary?'

'He's very devout,' said the acolyte. 'We may need a snorkel.'

The elephant reached the altar and was forced, without too much difficulty, to kneel. It hiccupped.

'Well, where is it, then?' snapped the High Priest. 'Let's get this, mm, farce over with!'

Murmur went the acolyte. The High Priest listened, nodded gravely, picked up his white-handled sacrificial knife and raised it double-handed over his head. The whole hall watched, holding its breath. Then he lowered it again.

'Where in front of me?'

Murmur.

'I certainly don't need your help, my lad! I've been sacrificing man and boy – and, mm, women and animals – for seventy years, and when I can't use the, mm, knife you can put me to bed with a shovel!'

And he brought the blade down in a wild sweep which, by sheer luck, gave the elephant a mild flesh wound on the trunk.

The creature awoke from its pleasant reflective stupor and squealed. The acolyte turned in horror to look at two tiny bloodshot eyes squinting down the length of an enraged trunk, and cleared the altar in one standing jump.

The elephant was enraged. Vague confusing recollections flooded its aching head, of fires and shouts and men with nets and cages and spears and too many years hauling heavy tree trunks. It brought its trunk down across the altar stone and somewhat to its own surprise smashed it in two, levered the two parts into the air with its tusks, tried unsuccessfully to uproot a stone pillar and then, feeling the sudden need for a breath of fresh air, started to charge arthritically down the length of the hall.

It hit the door at a dead run, its blood loud with the call of the herd and fizzing with alcohol, and took it off at the hinges. Still wearing the frame on its shoulders it careened across the courtyard, smashed the outer gates, burped, thundered through the sleeping city and was still slowly accelerating when it sniffed the distant dark continent of Klatch on the night breeze and, tail raised, followed the ancient call of home.

Back in the hall there was dust and shouts and confusion. Cutwell pushed his hat out of his eyes and got to his hands and knees.

'Thank you,' said Keli, who had been lying underneath him. 'And why did you jump on top of me?'

'My first instinct was to protect you, your Majesty.'

'Yes, instinct it may have been, but —' She started to say that maybe the elephant would have weighed less, but the sight of his big, serious and rather flushed face stopped her.

'We will talk about this later,' she said, sitting up and brushing the dust off her. 'In the meantime, I think we will dispense with the sacrifice. I'm not your Majesty yet, just your Highness, and now if someone will fetch the crown —'

There was the snick of a safety catch behind them.

The wizard will put his hands where I can see them,' said the duke.