"He's in shock," said Rincewind. Captain Carrot had gone quiet with anger, as the sky does just before a thunderstorm. "Tell me," said Blind Io. "Is there a god of policemen?"
"No, sir." said Carrot. "Coppers would be far too suspicious of anyone calling themselves a god of policemen to believe in one."
"But you are a gods-fearing man?"
"What I've seen of them certainly frightens the life out of me. sir. And my commander always says, when we go about our business in the city, that when you look at the state of mankind you are forced to accept the reality of the gods."
The gods smiled their approval of this, which was indeed an accurate quotation. Gods have little use for irony. "Very good." said Blind Io. "And you have a request?"
"Sir?"
"Everyone wants something from the gods."
"No, sir. I offer you an opportunity."
"Yon will give something to us?"
"Yes, sir. A wonderful opportunity to show justice and mercy. I ask you, sir, to grant me a boon." There was silence. Then Blind Io said. Is that one of those ... wooden objects, wasn't it? ... with a handle, and ... mmm ... beads on one side, and a sort of... thing, with hooks on ..." He paused. "Did you mean one of those rubber things?"
"No. sir. That would be a balloon, sir. A boon is a request."
"Is that all? Oh. Well?"
"Allow the Kite to be repaired so that we can go home-"
"Impossible!" said Fate, "It sounds reasonable to me." said Blind Io, glaring at Fate. "It must be its last flight."
"It will be the last flight of the Kite, won't it?" said Carrot to Leonard. "Hmm? What? Oh, yes. Oh, certainly. I can see I designed a lot of it wrong. The next one - mmph."
"What happened there?" said Fate suspiciously. "Where?" said Rincewind. "Where you clamped your hand over his mouth?"
"Did I?"
"You're still doing it!"
"Nerves," said Rincewind, releasing his grip on Leonard. "I've been a bit shaken up."
"And do you want a boon too?" said Leonard. "What? Oh. Er ... I'd prefer a balloon, as a matter of fact. A blue balloon." Rincewind gave Carrot a defiant look. "It's all to do with when I was six, all right? There was this big unpleasant girl... and a pin. I don't want to talk about it." He looked up at the watching gods. "I don't know what everyone's staring at, I'm sure."
"Ook." said the Librarian. "Does your pet want a balloon as well?" said Blind Io. "We do have a monkey god if he wants some mangoes and so on ..." In the sudden chill, Rincewind said. "In fact he said he wants three thousand file cards, a new stamp and five gallons of ink."
"Eek!" said the Librarian, urgently. "Oh, all right. And a red balloon too, please, if they're free." The repairing of the Kite was simple enough. Although gods, on the whole, do not feel at home around mechanical things, every pantheon everywhere in the universe finds it necessary to have some minor deity - Vulcan. Wayland, Dennis. Hephaistos - who knows how bits fit together and that sort of thing. Most large organisations, to their regret and expense, have to have someone like that. Evil Harry surfaced from the snowdrift, and gasped for breath. Then he was plunged back down again by a firm hand. "So it's a deal, then, is it?" said the minstrel, who was kneeling on his back and holding on to his hair. Evil Harry rose again. "Deal!" he roared, spitting snow. "And if you tell me later that I shouldn't have listened to you because everyone knows Dark Lords can't be trusted. I'll garotte you with a lyre string!"
"You got no respect!"
"Well? You are an evil treacherous Dark Lord, right?" said the minstrel, pushing the spluttering head back into the snow. "Well, yeah, of course ... obviously. But respect costs nothi nnnn n n nn"."
;Yes?"
"You meant I shouldn't've?" The keg was sizzling. "You pressed it?" said Cohen. "Welles! You said?"
"Can we stop it?"
"No," said Rincewind. "Can we outrun it?"
"Only if you can think of a way to run ten miles really, really fast," said Rincewind. "Gather round, lads! Not you, minstrel boy, this is sword stuff..." Cohen beckoned the other heroes, and they went into a hurried huddle. It didn't seem to take long. "Right," said Cohen, as they straightened up. "You got all our names down right, Mr Bard?"
"Of course-"