Small Gods (Discworld 13)

“Come with us to the prow, Brutha,” said Vorbis. “There are many interesting things to be seen, according to the captain.”

The captain gave the frozen smirk of those caught between a rock and a hard place. Vorbis could always supply both.

Brutha trailed behind the other three, and risked a whisper.

“What's the matter?”

“Him! The bald one! Push him over the side!”

Vorbis half-turned, caught Brutha's embarrassed attention, and smiled.

“We will have our minds broadened, I am sure,” he said. He turned back to the captain, and pointed to a large bird gliding down the face of the waves.

“The Pointless Albatross,” said the captain promptly. "Flies from the Hub to the Ri- he faltered. But Vorbis was gazing with apparent affability at the view.

“He turned me over in the sun! Look at his mind!”

“From one pole of the world to the other, every year,” said the captain. He was sweating slightly.

“Really?” said Vorbis. “Why?”

“No one knows.”

“Excepting the God, of course,” said Vorbis.

The captain's face was a sickly yellow.

“Of course. Certainly,” he said.

“Brutha?” shouted the tortoise. “Are you listening to me?”

“And over there?” said Vorbis.

The sailor followed his extended arm.

“Oh. Flying fish,” he said. “But they don't really fly,” he added quickly. “They just build up speed in the water and glide a little way.”

“One of the God's marvels,” said Vorbis. “Infinite variety, eh?”

“Yes, indeed,” said the captain. Relief was crossing his face now, like a friendly army.

“And the things down there?” said the exquisitor.

“Them? Porpoises,” said the captain. “Sort of a fish.”

“Do they always swim around ships like this?”

“Often. Certainly. Especially in the waters off Ephebe.”

Vorbis leaned over the rail, and said nothing. Simony was staring at the horizon, his face absolutely immobile. This left a gap in the conversation which the captain, very stupidly, sought to fill.

“They'll follow a ship for days,” he said.

“Remarkable.” Another pause, a tar pit of silence ready to snare the mastodons of unthinking comment. Earlier exquisitors had shouted and ranted confessions out of people. Vorbis never did that. He just dug deep silences in front of them.

“They seem to like them,” said the captain. He glanced nervously at Brutha, who was trying to shut the tortoise's voice out of his head. There was no help there.

Vorbis came to his aid instead.