‘Oook,’ said the Librarian, in a philosophic manner.
‘I thought he’d come out. You know, just at the last minute.’
‘Oook?’
Coin looked closely at the cobbles, as if by mere concentration he could change what he saw. ‘Is he dead?’
‘Gook,’ observed the Librarian, contriving to imply that Rincewind was in a region where even things like time and space were a bit iffy, and that it was probably not very useful to speculate as to his exact state at this point in time, if indeed he was at any point in time at all, and that, all in all, he might even turn up tomorrow or, for that matter, yesterday, and finally that if there was any chance at all of surviving then Rincewind almost certainly would.
‘Oh,’ said Coin.
He watched the Librarian shuffle around and head back for the Tower of Art, and a desperate loneliness overcame him.
‘I say!’ he yelled.
‘Gook?’
‘What should I do now?’
‘Gook?’
Coin waved vaguely at the desolation.
‘You know, perhaps I could do something about all this?’, he said in a voice tilting on the edge of terror. ‘Do you think that would be a good idea? I mean, I could help people. I’m sure you’d like to be human again, wouldn’t you?’
The Librarian’s everlasting smile hoisted itself a little further up his face, just enough to reveal his teeth.
‘Okay, perhaps not,’ said Coin hurriedly, ‘but there’s other things I could do, isn’t there?’
The Librarian gazed at him for some time, then dropped his eyes to the boy’s hand. Coin gave a guilty start, and opened his fingers.
The ape caught the little silver ball neatly before it hit the ground and held it up to one eye. He sniffed it, shook it gently, and listened to it for a while.
Then he wound up his arm and flung it away as hard as possible.
‘What-’ Coin began, and landed full length in the snow when the Librarian pushed him over and dived on top of him.
The ball curved over at the top of its arc and tumbled down, its perfect path interrupted suddenly by the ground. There was a sound like a harp string breaking, a brief babble of incomprehensible voices, a rush of hot wind, and the gods of the Disc were free.
They were very angry.
‘There is nothing we can do, is there?’ said Creosote.
‘No,’ said Conina.
‘The ice is going to win, isn’t it?’ said Creosote.
‘Yes,’ said Conina.
>He cleared his throat.
‘Erm,’ he said, ‘excuse me?’
Ahead of the boiling surf of earth, snow and smashed timber a herd of caribou was running in blind panic, their rear hooves a few feet from the tumbling mess.
Nijel tried again.
‘I say?’ he shouted.