Teppic looked miserable. 'Where I come from is Ankh-Morpork. Where I started from is here.' He stared down the track. From here, if you knew what you were looking for, you could just see a faint crack running across the rocks. It climbed the cliffs on either side, a new vertical fault the thickness of a line that just happened to contain a complete river kingdom and 7,000 years of history.
He'd hated every minute of his time there. And now it had shut him out. And now, because he couldn't, he wanted to go back.
He wandered down to it and put his hand over one eye. If you jerked your head just right . . .
It flashed past his vision briefly, and was gone. He tried a few times more, and couldn't see it again.
If I hacked the rocks away? No, he thought, that's silly. It's a line. You can't get into a line. A line has no thickness. Well known fact of geometry.
He heard Ptraci come up behind him, and the next moment her hands were on his neck. For a second he wondered how she knew the Catharti Death Grip, and then her fingers were gently massaging his muscles, stresses melting under their expert caress like fat under a hot knife. He shivered as the tension relaxed.
'That's nice,' he said.
'We're trained for it. Your tendons are knotted up like ping-pong balls on a string,' said Ptraci.
Teppic gratefully subsided on to one of the boulders that littered the base of the cliff and let the rhythm of her fingers unwind the problems of the night.
'I don't know what to do,' he murmured. 'That feels good.'
'It's not all peeling grapes, being a handmaiden,' said Ptraci. 'The first lesson we learn is, when the master has had a long hard day it is not the best time to suggest the Congress of the Fox and the Persimmon. Who says you have to do anything?'
'I feel responsible.' Teppic shifted position like a cat.
'If you know where there is a dulcimer I could play you something soothing,' said Ptraci. 'I've got as far as “Goblins Picnic” in Book I.'
'I mean, a king shouldn't let his kingdom just vanish like that.'
'All the other girls can do chords and everything,' said Ptraci wistfully, massaging his shoulders. 'But the old king always said he'd rather hear me. He said it used to cheer him up.'
'I mean, it'll be called the Lost Kingdom,' said Teppic drowsily. 'How will I feel then, I ask you?'
'He said he liked my singing, too. Everyone else said it sounded like a flock of vultures who've just found a dead donkey.'
'I mean, king of a Lost Kingdom. It'd be dreadful. I've got to get it back.'
You Bastard slowly turned his massive head to follow the flight of an errant blowfly; deep in his brain little columns of red numbers flickered, detailing vectors and speed and elevation. The conversation of human beings seldom interested him, but it crossed his mind that the males and females always got along best when neither actually listened fully to what the other one was saying. It was much simpler with camels.
Sod,' moaned Gern.
Dil struck him across the arm.
'Stop that,' he said. 'And come with me.'
'Oh, master, whatever shall we do?'
Dil looked around at the sleeping city. He hadn't the faintest idea.
'We'll go to the palace,' he said firmly. 'It's probably a trick of the, of the, of the dark. Anyway, the sun will be up presently.'
He strode off, wishing he could change places with Gern and show just a hint of gibbering terror. The apprentice followed him at a sort of galloping creep.
'I can see shadows against the stars, master! Can you see them, master? Around the edge of the world, master!'
'Just mists, boy,' said Dil, resolutely keeping his eyes fixed in front of him and maintaining a dignified posture as appropriate to the Keeper of the Left Hand Door of the Matron Lodge and holder of several medals for needlework.
'There,' he said. 'See, Gern, the sun is coming up!'
They stood and watched it.