Moving Pictures (Discworld 10)

'What was it?' he quavered.

Gaspode snuffled off into the darkness, and returned.

'Don't worry about it,' he said.

'Oh?'

'It's just a skull.'

'Whose?'

'He dint say,' said Gaspode.

'Shut up!'

Something crunched under Victor's sandal.

'An' that-' Gaspode began.

'I don't want to know!'

'It was a seashell, in fact,' said Gaspode.

Victor peered into the moving square of darkness ahead of them. The makeshift torch flared in the draught and, if he strained his ears, he could hear a rhythmic sound; it was either a beast roaring in the distance, or the sound of the sea moving in some underground tunnel. He opted for the second suggestion.

'Something's been calling her,' he said. 'In dreams. Someone that wants to be let out. I'm afraid she's going to get hurt.'

'She's not worth it,' said Gaspode. 'Messin' around with girls who're in thrall to Creatures from the Void never works out, take my word for it. You'd never know what you were going to wake up next to.'

'Gaspode!'

'You'll see I'm right.'

The torch went out.

Victor waved it desperately and blew on it in a last attempt to rekindle it. A few sparks flared and faded. There simply wasn't enough torch left.

The darkness flowed back. Victor had never known darkness like it. No matter how long you looked into it, your eyes wouldn't grow accustomed to it. There was nothing to become accustomed to. It was darkness and mother of darkness, darkness absolute, the darkness under the earth, darkness so dense as to be almost tangible, like cold velvet.

'It's bloody dark,' volunteered Gaspode.

I've broken out into what they call a cold sweat, thought Victor. So that's what it feels like. I'd always wondered.

He eased himself sideways until he reached the wall.

'We'd better go back,' he said, in what he hoped was a matter-offact voice. 'There could be anything ahead of us. Ravines or anything. We could get more torches and more people and come back.'

There was a flat sound from far down the passage.

Whoomph.

It was followed by a light so harsh that it projected the image of Victor's eyeballs on the back of his skull. It faded after a few seconds, but was still almost painfully bright. Laddie whimpered.

'There you are,' said Gaspode hoarsely. 'You've got some light now, so everything's all right.'

'Yes, but what's making it?'

'I'm supposed to know, am I?'