Eric (Discworld 9)

Rincewind looked at him. “He's my ancestor?” he said. “Who knows?” said Eric. “Oh. Gosh.” Rincewind thought about this. "Well, I whish I'd told him to avoid getting

married. Or visiting Ankh-Morpork.“ ”It probably isn't even built yet..." Rincewind tried snapping his fingers. This time it worked.

Astfgl sat back. He wondered what did happen to Lavaeolus.

Gods and demons, being creatures outside of time, don't move in it like bubbles in the stream. Everything happens at the same time for them. This should mean they know everything that is going to happen because, in a sense, it already has. The reason they don't is that reality is a big place with a lot of interesting things going on, and keeping track of all of them is like trying to use a very big video recorder with no freeze button or tape counter. It's usually easier just to wait and see.

One day he'd have to go and look.

Right here and now, insofar as the words can be employed about an outside of space and time, matters were not progressing well. Eric seemed marginally more likeable, which wasn't acceptable. He also appeared to have changed the course of history, although this is impossible since the only thing you can do to the course of history is facilitate it.

What was needed was something climactic. Something really soul-destroying.

The Demon King realised he was twirling his moustaches.

The trouble with snapping your fingers is that you never knew what it would lead to...

Everything around Rincewind was black. It wasn't simply an absence of colour. It was a

darkness that flatly denied any possibility that colour might ever have existed. His feet weren't touching anything, and he appeared to be floating. There was something else missing. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

“Are you there, Eric?” he ventured. A clear voice nearby said: “Yes. Are you there, demon?” “Ye-ess.” “Where are we? Are we falling?” “I don't think so,” said Rincewind, speaking from experience. "There's no rushing wind.

You get a rushing wind when you're falling. Also your past life flashes before your eyes, and I haven't seen anything I recognise yet.“ ”Rincewind?“ ”Yes?"

“When I open my mouth no sounds come out.” “Don't be - ” Rincewind hesitated. He wasn't making any sound either. He knew what he was saying, it just wasn't reaching the outside world. But he could hear Eric. Perhaps the words just gave up on his ears and went straight to his brains.

“It's probably some kind of magic, or something,” he said. “There's no air. That's why there no sound. All the little bits of air sort of knock together, like marbles. That's how you get sound, you know.”

“Is it? Gosh.” “So we're surrounded by absolutely nothing,” said Rincewind. “Total nothing.” He

hesitated. “There's a word for it,” he said. “It's what you get when there's nothing left and everything's been used up.” “Yes. I think it's called the bill,” said Eric.

Rincewind gave this some thought. It sounded about right. “Okay,” he said. “The bill. That's where we are. Floating in absolute bill. Total, complete, rock-hard bill.”

Astfgl was going frantic now. He had spells that could find anyone anywhere, anywhen, and they weren't anywhere. One minute he was watching them on the beach, the next... nothing.

That left only two other places.

Fortunately he chose the wrong one first.

“Even some stars would be nice,” said Eric. “There's something very odd about all this,” said Rincewind. “I mean, do you feel cold?” “No.” “Well do you feel warm?” “No. I don't feel anything much, really.” “No hot, no cold, no light, no heat, no air,” said Rincewind. "Just bill. How long have we

been here?“ ”Don't know. Seems like ages, but...“ ”Aha. I'm not sure there's any time, either. Not what you'd call proper time. Just the kind

of time people make up as they go along.“ ”Well, I didn't expect to see anybody else here," said a voice by Rincewind's ear. It was a slightly put-upon voice, a voice made for complaining in, but at least there was

no hint of menace. Rincewind let himself float around. A little rat-faced man was sitting cross-legged, watching him with vague suspicion. He had a pencil behind one ear.

“Ah. Hallo,” said Rincewind. “And where is here, exactly?”

“Nowhere. S'whole point, innit?”

“Nowhere at all?” “Not yet.” “All right,” said Eric. “When is it going to be somewhere?” “Hard to say,” said the little man. "Looking at the pair of you, and taking one thing with

another, metabolic rates and that, I'd say that this place is due to become somewhere in, well, give or take a bit, in about five hundred seconds. “He began to unwrap the pack in his lap. ”Fancy a sandwich while we're waiting?"

“What? Would I - ” At this point Rincewind's stomach, aware that if his brain was allowed to make the running it was in danger of losing the initiative, cut in and prompted him to say, “What sort?”