Mort (Discworld 4)

'Well?'

'What are you going to do when we get there?'

'I don't know,' he said. 'I was sort of hoping something would suggest itself at the time.'

'Has it?'

'No. But it isn't time yet. Albert's spell may help. And I—'

The dome of reality squatted over the palace like a collapsing jellyfish. Mort's voice trailed into horrified silence. Then Ysabell said, 'Well, I think it's nearly time. What are we going to do?'

'Hold tight!'

Binky glided through the smashed gates of the outer courtyard, slid across the cobbles in a trail of sparks and leapt through the ravaged doorway of the hall. The pearly wall of the interface loomed up and passed like a shock of cold spray.

Mort had a confused vision of Keli and Cutwell and a group of large men diving for their lives. He recognised the features of the duke and drew his sword, vaulting from the saddle as soon as the steaming horse skidded to a halt.

'Don't you lay a finger on her!' he screamed. 'I'll have your head off!'

'This is certainly most impressive,' said the duke, drawing his own sword. 'And also very foolish. I —'

He stopped. His eyes glazed over. He toppled forward. Cutwell put down the big silver candlestick he'd wielded and gave Mort an apologetic smile.

Mort turned towards the guards, the blue flame of Death's sword humming through the air.

'Anyone else want some?' he snarled. They backed away, and then turned and ran. As they passed through the interface they vanished. There were no guests outside there, either. In the real reality the hall was dark and empty.

The four of them were left in a hemisphere that was rapidly growing smaller.

Mort sidled over to Cutwell.

'Any ideas?' he said. 'I've got a magic spell here somewhere —'

'Forget it. If I try any magic in here now it'll blow our heads off. This little reality is too small to contain it.'

Mort sagged against the remains of the altar. He felt empty, drained. For a moment he watched the sizzling wall of the interface drifting nearer. He'd survive it, he hoped, and so would Ysabell. Cutwell wouldn't, but a Cutwell would. Only Keli —

'Am I going to be crowned or not?' she said icily. 'I've got to die a queen! It'd be terrible to be dead and common!'

Mort gave her an unfocused look, trying to remember what on earth she was talking about. Ysabell fished around in the wreckage behind the altar, and came up with a rather battered gold circlet set with small diamonds.

'Is this it?' she said.

That's the crown,' said Keli, nearly in tears. 'But there's no priest or anything.'

Mort sighed deeply.

'Cutwell, if this is our own reality we can rearrange it the way we want, can't we?'

igh Priest held up his hands for silence. Cutwell sidled towards him as the old man turned towards the Hub and in a cracked voice began the invocation to the gods.

Cutwell let his eyes slip back towards the duke.

'Hear me, mm, O gods —'

Was Sto Helit looking up into the bat-haunted darkness of the rafters?

'— hear me, O Blind Io of the Hundred Eyes; hear me, O Great Offler of the Bird-Haunted Mouth: hear me, O Merciful Fate; hear me, O Cold, mm. Destiny; hear me, O Seven-handed Sek; hear me, O Hoki of the Woods; hear me, O —'