It was said that they had many ways of killing in the darkness and even had ways of moving from darkness to darkness without being apprehended by the intervening light. Oh, so much was said of them, although generally it was whispered. And he had done so many bad things, like eating beef and buying his wife colourful earrings and, worst of all, he had become friends with Rocky Debris who was, horror of horrors, a troll, and also quite a decent bloke, who he quite often sat next to when they were going to work and who, like him, was a supporter of Dolly Sisters United and generally went with him when there was a match on, and surely anyone who cheered for your side was a friend, wasn’t he?
And yes, he was, but down in the base of his brain was the bogeyman of his childhood, and subtle whisperings, curdled fragments of old songs sung on special occasions, little observances made holy by repetition with the right people sitting at the same fireside, in those cosy days when you were not really old enough to understand and didn’t have your wretched brain stuffed full of ideas that part of you thought you shouldn’t ever obey, like not shaking hands with a troll and now he had been seen and now they had him and now they stood between him and his chances of a new life after death. They held the keys to the next world and, on a whim, could have him floating in the ultimate darkness of the Ginnungagap where there were … things, tormentors, creatures of indefinite invention and patience.
He shifted because of the cramp in his legs, and said, ‘Please, I know I’ve got into bad ways and I’ve strayed from the path and indeed may be unworthy to call myself a dwarf, but if you allow me I can make recompense. Please, I’m begging you, remove my shackles and I promise to do whatever you ask.’
The silence in the room grew thicker, more dense, as if it was pulling itself together. How long had he been in here now? It might as well have been years, or merely seconds … That was the difficulty about darkness; it encompassed everything, turning it into an amorphous substance in which everything got twisted, and remembered and then lost.
‘Very well,’ said the voice. ‘We have looked into your wretched soul and are minded to give you one last chance. Be aware there will be no other.’ The voice softened a little and said, ‘Tak is watching you. Now you can eat your meal, which is right in front of you, and go from this place and be assured that Tak will be with you. Remember, for those who turn away there is no redemption. And when Tak needs you, you will be contacted again.’
After a rare, well-earned evening with his wife, Moist set off the next day on the golem horse with Of the Twilight the Darkness clinging on behind him.
As they galloped along, there was something about the golem horse that was troubling Moist von Lipwig. A golem horse was incredibly useful if you needed to get somewhere fast, that is if you liked a ride where you spent a lot of the time finding that stirrups just didn’t do the job. You merely hung on until you got there, it was as simple as that. No need to steer, NagNav did the trick: if you told it where you wanted to go it took you there. The creature made no sound, required no water or oats and simply stood patiently when it wasn’t in use.
And then it dawned on Moist what the problem was. It was all give and no take. Generally speaking, he didn’t have much to do with the concept of karma, but he had heard of it and felt that a ton of it was dropping on him right now. The horse was all give and he was all take … But that was nuts, he told himself. A spoon doesn’t want you to say please and thank you, does it? Ah yes, he thought, but a spoon is a piece of metal and the golem horse is a horse. He hesitated, pondering. And thought, I wonder …
Shortly before the border crossing they reached the head of the finished railway track. He and the goblin thankfully slid off the horse and a sudden impulse prompted Moist to ask the creature a question.
‘Can you speak?’ he asked, feeling more than faintly ridiculous.
And the answer came back out of the air rather than from the horse’s mouth, as it were.
‘Yes, if we want to.’
The goblin sniggered. Moist ignored him and pressed on with his line of inquiry.
‘Ah, we’re getting somewhere. Would you like to run around in meadows and generally cavort in pastures and so on?’
Out of nowhere came, ‘Yes, if you wish.’
Moist said, ‘But what do you wish?’
‘I don’t understand the concept.’
Moist breathed in and said, ‘I saw a little stream not far back, and some green pastures and, for the sake of my soul, I would like you to go over there and gallop in the meadows and enjoy yourself.’
‘Yes, enjoy myself, if you want me to.’
‘For heavens’ sake, this is manumission we’re talking about here!’
‘That would be horseumission, sir. And I must point out that I don’t need to enjoy myself.’
‘Well, do so for my sake, will you, please? Roll around on the flowers and neigh a bit and gallop about and have some kind of fun. If not for your own pleasure, then for my sanity, please.’
He watched the horse disappear into the meadow.
Behind him Of the Twilight the Darkness cackled. ‘What a piece of work you are, Mister Slightly Damp, freeing the slaves and all. What you think his lordship will say about that?’
Moist shrugged. ‘He might be acerbic, but a little acerbic isn’t all that bad. He’s quite a one for freedom is Vetinari, though not necessarily mine.’
Turning his attention to the railway, Moist was pleased to see that the work gangs, under the tutelage of Mr Simnel’s young men, were evidently making steady progress laying down the next stage of track towards Quirm.
To travel onwards, Moist and Of the Twilight the Darkness hitched a ride on a handcar operated with gusto by two young railway workers, a curiously amusing contraption whose wheels ran along the newly laid rails still waiting to be fully bedded in.
They passed the border with only a brief stop to deal with the formalities which were, in fact, nothing more than nodding at the guards and saying, ‘Is it okay if we cross, lads?’ Whereupon they briefly stopped digging their respective allotments and waved him through.
Where the handcar ran out of track, they found an old man with a horse and cart waiting, as arranged, to take them the rest of the distance to the chateau. He was clearly very sniffy about having a goblin in his nice clean vehicle, even though it was only a cart.
The Marquis was waiting for them at the chateau and beamed at Moist. His nose wrinkled at the sight of Moist’s companion.
‘Who is this?’ he asked in a tone a society lady might take upon finding half of something bristling in her soup.
‘This is Of the Twilight the Darkness.’
Of the Twilight the Darkness gave the Marquis a smart salute. ‘Of the Twilight the Darkness, Mister Mar-keee. Nice place you got here. Veeery nice. Don’t worry about smell. I’ll get used to it.’
After an awkward silence, the Marquis said, ‘Mon Dieu.’
‘Not a god, Mister Mar-keee,’ said Of the Twilight the Darkness, ‘just goblin, best there is, oh yes. Very useful, you know.’ The goblin continued in ringing sarcasm, ‘And not only that, Mister Mar-keee, I’m real. If you cut me, do I not bleed? And if you do, I bleeding well cuts you too, no offence meant.’
The Marquis’s laughter bounced off the scenery. There was no doubt about it. The goblin knew how to break the ice. Even an iceberg.
The Marquis held out a hand and said, ‘Enchanté, Monsieur Of the Twilight the Darkness. Do you drink wine?’
The goblin hesitated. ‘Are there snails in it?’
As they climbed the wide stone steps up to the terrace, the Marquis said, ‘Regrettably we don’t include snail. I know your people like snail wine but I’m afraid I ’ave none to offer you.’