Discworld 27 - The Last Hero Read Online Free PDF

a sword.”
“Then I agree with you,” said Lord Vetinari, who knew how to work a
committee. “We must make haste, gentlemen. The flotilla needs to leave
tomorrow. We need a third member of the crew-”
There was a knock at the door. Vetinari signalled to a college porter to
open it.
The wizard known as Rincewind lurched into the room, white-faced, and
stopped in front of the table.
“I do not wish to volunteer for this mission.” he said.
“I beg your pardon?” said Lord Vetinari.
“I do not wish to volunteer, sir.”
“No one was asking you to.”
Rincewind wagged a weary finger. “Oh, but they will, sir. they will.
Someone will say: hey, that Rincewind fella, he's the adventurous sort,
he knows the Horde, Cohen seems to like him, he knows all there is to
know about cruel and unusual geography, he'd be just the job for
something like this.” He sighed. “And then I'll run away, and probably
hide in a crate somewhere that'll be loaded on to the flying machine in
any case.”
“Will you?”
“Probably, sir. Or there'll be a whole string of accidents that end up
causing the same tiling. Trust me. sir, I know how my life works. So I
thought I'd better cut through the whole tedious business and come along
and tell you I don't wish to volunteer.”
     
 
   
“I think you've left out a logical step somewhere,” said the Patrician.
“No, sir. It's very simple. I'm volunteering. I just don't wish to. But,
after all, when did that ever have anything to do with anything?”
“He's got a point, you know,” said Ridcully. “He seems to come back from
all sorts of-”
“You see?” Rincewind gave Lord Vetinari a jaded smile. “I've been living
my life for a long time. I know how it works.”
There were always robbers near the Hub. There were pickings to be had
among the lost valleys and forbidden temples, and also among the less
prepared adventurers. Too many people, when listing all the perils to be
found in the search for lost treasure or ancient wisdom, had forgotten to
put at the top of the list: the man who arrived just before you.
One such party was patrolling its favourite area when it espied, first, a
well-equipped warhorse tethered to a frost-shrivelled tree. Then it saw a
fire, burning in a small hollow out of the wind, with a small pot
bubbling beside it. Finally it saw the woman. She was attractive or, at
least, had been conventionally so perhaps thirty years ago. Now she
looked like the teacher you wished you'd had in your first year at
school, the one with the understanding approach to life's little
accidents, such as a shoe full of wee.
She had a blanket around her to keep out the cold. She was knitting.
Stuck in the snow beside her was the largest sword the robbers had ever
seen.
Intelligent robbers would have started to count up the incongruities
here.
These, however, were the other kind, the kind for whom evolution was
invented.
The woman glanced up, nodded at them, and went on with her knitting.
“Well now, what have we here?” said the leader. “Are you-”
“Hold this, will you?” said the old woman, standing up. “Over your
thumbs, young man. It won't take a moment for me to wind a fresh ball. I
was hoping someone would drop by.”
She held out a skein of wool.
The robber took it uncertainly, aware of the grins on the faces of his
men. But he opened his arms with what he hoped was a suitably evil
little-does-she-suspect look on his face.
“That's right,” said the old woman, standing back. She kicked him
viciously in the groin in an incredibly efficient if unladylike way,
reached down as he toppled, caught up the cauldron, flung it accurately
at the face of the first henchman, and picked up her knitting before he
fell.
The two surviving robbers hadn't had time to move, but then one unfroze
and leapt for the sword. He staggered back under its weight, but the
blade was long and reassuring.
“Aha!” he said, and