‘But it isn’t time for the Apocralypse,’ said Conina desperately. ‘I mean, a dreadful ruler has to arise, there must be a terrible war, the four dreadful horsemen have to ride, and then the Dungeon Dimensions will break into the world-’She stopped, her face nearly as white as the snow.
‘Being buried under a thousand-foot ice sheet sounds awfully like it, anyway,’ said the genie. He reached forward and snatched his lamp out of Nijel’s hands.
‘Mucho apologies,’ he said, ‘but it’s time to liquidise my assets in this reality. See you around. Or something.’ He vanished up to the waist, and then with a faint last cry of ‘Shame about lunch’, disappeared entirely.
The three riders peered through the veils of driving snow towards the Hub.
‘It may be my imagination,’ said Creosote, ‘but can either of you hear a sort of creaking and groaning?’
‘Shut up,’ said Conina distractedly.
Creosote leaned over and patted her hand.
‘Cheer up,’ he said, ‘it’s not the end of the world.’ He thought about this statement for a bit, and then added, ‘Sorry. Just a figure of speech.’
‘What are we going to do?’ she wailed.
Nijel drew himself up.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘that we should go and explain.’
They turned towards him with the kind of expression normally reserved for messiahs or extreme idiots.
‘Yes,’ he said, with a shade more confidence. ‘We should explain.’
‘Explain to the Ice Giants?’ said Conina.
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry,’ said Conina, ‘have I got this right? You think we should go and find the terrifying Ice Giants and sort of tell them that there are a lot of warm people out here who would rather they didn’t sweep across the world crushing everyone under mountains of ice, and could they sort of reconsider things? Is that what you think we should do?’ >Coin sagged to his knees, shaking.
‘I don’t like killing people,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it can’t be right.’
‘Hold on to that thought,’ said Rincewind fervently.
‘What happens to people after they’re dead?’ said Coin.
Rincewind glanced up at Death.
‘I think this one’s for you,’ he said.
HE CANNOT SEE OR HEAR ME, said Death, UNTIL HE WANTS TO. There was a little clinking noise. The staff was rolling back towards Coin, who looked down at it in horror.
Pick me up.
‘You don’t have to,’ said Rincewind again.
You cannot resist me. You cannot defeat yourself, said the staff.
Coin reached out very slowly, and picked it up.
Rincewind glanced at his sock. It was a stub of burnt wool, its brief career as a weapon of war having sent it beyond the help of any darning needle.
Now kill him.
Rincewind held his breath. The watching wizards held their breath. Even Death, who had nothing to hold but his scythe, held it tensely.
‘No,’ said Coin.