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"Even better. Good for the old songs," said Cohen. "I have been thinking about the ... the saga." the minstrel admitted. "Good lad, good lad. Plenty of spakes?"
"Um. yes. But I thought I'd start off with the legend of how Mazeda stole fire for mankind in the first place."
"Nice," said Cohen. "And then a few verses about what the gods did to him," the minstrel went on, tightening a string. "Did to him? Did to him?" said Cohen. "They made him immortal!"
"Er ... yes. In a way, I suppose."
"What do you mean, "in a way"?"
"It's classical mythology. Cohen," said the minstrel. "I thought everyone knew. He was chained to a rock for eternity and every day an eagle comes and pecks out his liver."
"Is that true?"
"It's mentioned in many of the classic texts. "I'm not much of a reader," said Cohen. "Chained to a rock? For a first offence? He's still there?"
"Eternity isn't finished yet. Cohen."
"He must've had a big liver!"
"It grows again every night, according to the legend," said the minstrel. "I wish my kidneys did." said Cohen. He stared at the distant clouds that hid the snowy top of the mountain. "He brought fire to everyone, and the gods did that to him, eh? Well... we'll have to see about that." The omniscope showed a snowstorm. "Bad weather down there, then," said Ridcully. "No, it's thaumic interference," said Ponder. "They're passing under the elephants. We'll get a lot more of it, I'm afraid."
"Did they really say "Ankh-Morpork, we have an orangutan"?" said the Dean. "The Librarian must have got on board somehow," said Ponder. "You know what he's like for finding odd comers to sleep in. And that. I'm afraid, explains about the weight and the air. Er ... I have to tell you that I'm not sure that they have enough time or power to get back on to the Disc now."
"What do you mean, you're not sure?" said Lord Vetinari. "Er ... I mean I am sure but, er, no one likes bad news all at once, sir." Lord Vetinari looked at the big spell that dominated the cabin. It floated in the air: the whole world, sketched in glowing lines and. dropping from one glittering edge, a small curving line. As he watched it lengthened slightly. "They can't just turn around and come back?" he said. "No, sir. It doesn't work like that."
"Can they throw the Librarian out?" The wizards looked shocked. "No, sir," said Ponder. "That would be murder, sir."
"Yes, but they may save the world. One ape dies, one world lives. You do not need to be a rocket wizard to work that out, surely?"
"You can't ask them to make a decision like that, sir!"
"Really? I make decisions like that every day," said Lord Vetinari. "Oh. very well. What are they short of?"
"Air and dragon power, sir."
"If they chop up the orangutan and feed him to the dragons, won't that kill two birds with one stone?" The sudden iciness told Lord Vetinari that once again he hadn't taken his audience with him. He sighed. "They need dragon flame to ... ?" he said. "To bring their ringpath over the Disc, sir. They have to fire the dragons at the right time." Vetinari looked at the magical orrery again. "And now ... ?"
"I'm not quite sure. sir. They may crash into the Disc, or they may shoot straight out into endless space."
"And they need air ..."
"Yes, sir." Vetinari's arm moved through the outline of the world and a long forefinger pointed. "Is there any air here?" he said. That meal," said Cohen, "was heroic. No other word for it."
"That's right, Mrs McGarry." said Evil Harry. "Even rat doesn't taste this much like chicken."
"Yes, the tentacles hardly spoiled it at all!" said Caleb enthusiastically. They sat and watched the view. What had once been the world below was now a world in front, rising like an endless wall. "What're they, right up there?" said Cohen, pointing. "Thanks, friend." said Evil Harry, looking away. "I'd like the ... chicken to stay down, if it's all the same to you."
"They're the Virgin Islands." said the minstrel. "So called because there's so many of them."
"Or maybe they're hard to find." said Truckle the Uncivil, burping. "Hur, hur, hur."
"Ye can see the stars from up here," said Mad Hamish, "e'en though 'tis day." Cohen grinned at him. It wasn't often Mad Hamish volunteered anything. "They say every one of 'em's a world," said Evil Harry. "Yeah," said Cohen, "How many, bard?"
"I don't know. Thousands. Millions," said the minstrel. "Millions of worlds, and we get... what? How old are you, Hamish?"
"Whut? I were born the day the old thane died." said Hamish. "When was that? Which old thane?" said Cohen patiently. "Whut? I ain't a scholar! I canna remember that kinda stuff!"
"A hundred years, maybe," said Cohen. "One hundred years. And there's millions o' worlds." He took a pull of his cigarette and rubbed his forehead with the back of his thumb. "It's a bugger." He nodded at the minstrel. "What did your mate Carelinus do after he'd blown his nose?"
