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“Search me. What sort would you like it to be?” “Sorry?” “Don't mess about. Just say what sort you'd like it to be.” “Oh?” Rincewind stared at him. “Well, if you've got egg and cress -” “Let there be egg and cress, sort of thing,” said the little man. He reached into the
package, and proffered a white triangle to Rincewind. “Gosh,” said Rincewind. “What a coincidence.” “It should be starting any minute now,” said the little man. "Over - not that they've got
any proper directions sorted out yet, of course, not them - there.“ ”All I can see is darkness,“ said Eric. ”No you can't,“ said the little man, triumphantly. ”You're just seeing what there is before
the darkness has been installed, sort of thing.“ He gave the not-yet-darkness a dirty look. ”Come on,“ he said. ”Why are we waiting, why-eye are we waiting?"
“Waiting for what?” said Rincewind. “Everything.” “Everything what?” said Rincewind. “Everything. Not everything what. Everything, sort of thing.”
Astfgl peered through the swirling gas clouds. At least he was in the right place. The whole point about the end of the universe was that you couldn't go past it accidentally.
The last few embers winked out. Time and space collided silently, and collapsed. Astfgl coughed. It can get so very lonely, when you're twenty million light years from home.
“Anyone there?” he said. YES. The voice was right by his ear. Even demon kings can shiver. “Apart from you, I mean,” he said. “Have you seen anybody?” YES. “Who?” EVERYONE. Astfgl sighed. “I mean anyone recently.” IT'S BEEN VERY QUIET, said Death. “Damn.” WERE YOU EXPECTING SOMEONE ELSE?
“I thought there might be someone called Rincewind, but -” Astfgl began.
Death's eyesockets flared red. THE WIZARD? he said.
“No, he's a dem -” Astfgl stopped. For what would have been several seconds, had time still existed, he floated in a state of horrible suspicion. “A human?” he growled. IT IS STRETCHING THE TERM A LITTLE, BUT YOU ARE BROADLY CORRECT. “Well I'll be damned!” Astfgl said.
I BELIEVE YOU ALREADY ARE. The Demon King extended a shaking hand. His mounting fury was over-ridding his sense of style; his red silk gloves ripped as the talons unfolded.
And then, because it's never a good idea to get on the wrong side of anyone with a scythe, Astfgl said, “Sorry you've been troubled,” and vanished. Only when he judged himself out of Death's extremely acute hearing did he scream his rage.
Nothingness uncoiled its interminable length through the draughty spaces at the end of
time. Death waited. After a while his skeletal fingers began to drum on the handle of his scythe.
Darkness lapped around him. There wasn't even any infinity any more.
He attempted to whistle a few snatches of unpopular songs between his teeth, but the sound was simply sucked into nothingness. Forever was over. All the sands had fallen. The great race between entropy and energy
had been run, and the favourite had been the winner after all. Perhaps he ought to sharpen the blade again? No.
Not much point, really.
Great roils of absolutely nothing stretched into what would have been called the distance, if there had been a space-time reference frame to give words like “distance” any sensible meaning any more.
There didn't seem to be much to do.
PERHAPS IT'S TIME TO CALL IT A DAY. He thought.
Death turned to go but, just as he did so, he heard the faintest of noises. It was to sound what one photon is to light, so weak and feeble that it would have passed entirely unheard in the din of an operating universe.
It was a tiny piece of matter, popping into existence.
Death stalked over to the point of arrival and watched carefully.
It was a paperclip*. (*Many people think it should have been a hydrogen molecule, but this is against the observed facts. Everyone who has found a hitherto unknown egg-whisk jamming an innocent kitchen drawer knows that raw matter is continually flowing into the universe in fairly developed forms, popping into existence normally in ashtrays, vases and glove compartments. It chooses its shape to allay suspicion, and common manifestations are paperclips, the pins out of shirt packaging, the little keys for central heating radiators, marbles, bits of crayon, mysterious sections of herb-chopping devices and old Kate Bush albums. Why matter does this is unclear, but it is evident that matter has Plans.
It is also apparent that creators sometimes favour the Big Bang method of universe construction, and at other times use the more gentle methods of Continual Creation. This follows studies by cosmotherapists which have revealed that the violence of the Big Bang can give a universe serious psychological problems when it gets older.)
Well, it was a start.
There was another pop, which left a small white shirt-button spinning gently in the vacuum.
Death relaxed a little. Of course, it was going to take some time. There was going to be an interlude before all this got complicated enough to produce gas clouds, galaxies, planets and continents, let alone tiny corkscrew-shaped things wiggling around in slimy pools and wondering whether evolution was worth all the bother of growing fins and legs and things. But it indicated the start of an unstoppable trend.
