Terry Pratchett - Discworld 21 Jingo

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stern of his boat, they started to become curious about the way in which

various

of their number suddenly vanished skywards with a splash.

Some of them even became curious – very briefly curious about the sharp

barbed

thing that was coming very quickly towards them.

The Curious Squid were extremely curious. Unfortunately, they weren't very

good

at making connections.

It was a very long way to this fishing ground, but for Solid the trip was

usually well worth it. The Curious Squid were very small, harmless, difficult

find and reckoned by connoisseurs to have the foulest taste of any creature

the world. This made them very much in demand in a certain kind of

restaurant

where highly skilled chefs made, with great care, dishes containing no trace

the squid whatsoever.

Solid Jackson's problem was that tonight, a moonless night in the spawning

season, when the squid were especially curious about everything, the chef

seemed

to have been at work on the sea itself.

There was not a single interested eyeball to be seen. There weren't any

other

fish either, and usually there were a few attracted to the light. He'd caught

sight of one. It had been making through the water extremely fast in a

straight

line.

He laid down his trident and walked to the other end of the boat, where his

son

Les was also gazing intently at the torchlit sea.

'Not a thing in half an hour,' said Solid.

It felt as if there was going to be a storm. But the stars twinkled softly and

there was not a cloud in the sky.

The stars twinkled on the surface of the water, too. Now that was

something you

didn't often see.

'I reckon we ought to be getting out of here,' Solid said.

Les pointed at the slack sail. 'What're we going to use for wind, Dad?'

It was then that they heard the splash of oars,

Solid, squinting hard, could just make out the shape

of another boat, heading towards him. He grabbed his boathook.

'I knows that's you, you thieving foreign bastard!'

The oars stopped. A voice sang over the water.

'May you be consumed by a thousand devils, you damned person!'

The other boat glided closer. It looked foreign, with eyes painted on the

prow,

'Fished 'ern all out, have you? I'll take my trident to you, you bottom–feedin'

scum that y'are!'

'My curvy sword at your neck, you unclean son of a dog of the female

persuasion!'

Les looked over the side. Little bubbles fizzed on the surface of the sea.

'Dad?' he said.

'That's Greasy Arif out there!' snapped his father, 'You take a good look at

him! He's been coming out here for years, stealing our squid, the evil lying

little devil!'

'Dad, there's–'

'You get on them oars and I'll knock his black teeth out!'

Les could hear a voice saying from the other boat, '–see, my son, how the

underhanded fish thief–'

'Row!' his father shouted.

'To the oars!' shouted someone in the other boat.

'Whose squid are they, Dad?' said Les.

'Ours!'

'What, even before we've caught them?'

Solid scrambled to the rear of the boat.

It was a chicken, made of iron. Seaweed and shells covered it and water

dripped

off it as it rose against the stars.

It stood on a cross–shaped perch.

There seemed to be a letter on each of the four ends of the cross.

Solid held the torch closer.

'What the–'

Then he pulled the oar free and sat down beside his son.

'Row like the blazes, Les!'

'What's happening, Dad?'

'Shut up and row! Get us away from it!'

'Is it a monster, –Dad?'

'It's worse than a monster, son!' shouted Solid, as the oars bit into the

water.

The thing was quite high now, standing on some kind of tower...

'What is it, Dad! What is it?'

'It's a damned weathercock!'

There was not, on the whole, a lot of geological excitement. The sinking of

continents is usually accompanied by volcanoes, earthquakes and

armadas of

little boats containing old men anxious to build pyramids and mystic stone

circles in sonic new land where

being the possessor of genuine ancient occult wisdom might be expected

attract girls. But the rising of this one caused barely a ripple in the purely

physical scheme of things. It more or less sidled back, like a cat who's been

away for a few days and knows you've been worrying.

Around the shores of the Circle Sea a large wave, only five or six feet high

the time it reached them, caused some comment. And in some of the very

low–lying

Father and son fought to keep some way on the boat as it was dragged

along. And,

since lesson one in the art of rowing is that you do it while looking the

wrong

way, they didn't see the other boat...

'You lunatic!'

'Foolish man!'

'Don't you touch that building! This country belongs to Ankh–Morpork!'

The two boats spun in a temporary whirlpool.

'I claim this land in the name of the Seriph of Al–Khali!'

'We saw it first! Les, you tell him we saw it first!'

'We saw it first before you saw it first!'

'Les, you saw him, he tried to hit me with that oar!'

'But Dad, you're waving that trident–'

'See the untrustworthy way he attacks us, Akhan!'

There was a grinding noise from under the keel of both boats and they

began to

tip as they settled into the sea–bottom ooze.

'Look, Father, there is an interesting statue–'

'He has set his foot on Klatchian soil! The squid thief!'

'Get those filthy sandals off Ankh–Morporkian territory!'

'Oh, Dad–'

The two fishermen stopped screaming at each other, mainly in order to get

their

breath back. Crabs scuttled away. Water drained between the patches of

weed,

carving runnels in the grey silt.

'Father, look, there's still coloured tiles on the––'

'Mine!'

Les caught Akhan's eye. They exchanged a very brief glance which was

nevertheless modulated with a considerable amount of information,

beginning with

been doorways, and glassless apertures that could have been windows,

but

all was darkness within. Now and again, Les fancied he could hear

something

slithering.

Solid Jackson coughed. 'The lad's right,' he muttered. 'Daft to argue. just

the

four of us.'

'Indeed,' said Arif.

They backed away, each man carefully watching the other. Then, so

closely that

it was a chorus, they both yelled: 'Grab the boat!'

There was a confused couple of moments and then each pair, boat carried

over

their heads, ran and slithered along the muddy streets.

They had to stop and come back, with mutual cries of 'A kidnapper as well,

eh?',

to get the right sons.

As every student of exploration knows, the prize goes not to the explorer

who

first sets foot upon the virgin soil but to the one who gets that foot home

first. If it is still attached to his leg, this is a bonus.

The weathercocks of Ankh–Morpork creaked around in the wind.

Very few of them were in fact representations of Avis domestica. There

were

various dragons, fish and miscellaneous animals. On the roof of the

Assassins'

Guild a silhouette of one of the members squeaked into a new position,

cloak and

dagger at the ready. On the Beggars' Guild a tin beggar's hand asked the

wind

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摘要：

sternofhisboat,theystartedtobecomecuriousaboutthewayinwhichvariousoftheirnumbersuddenlyvanishedskywardswithasplash.Someofthemevenbecamecurious–verybrieflycuriousaboutthesharpbarbedthingthatwascomingveryquicklytowardsthem.TheCuriousSquidwereextremelycurious.Unfortunately,theyweren'tverygoodatmakingco...

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Terry Pratchett - Discworld 21 Jingo

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