tribute: Thud!

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@@ -4109,26 +4109,31 @@ is theft, except mine.
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%title Thud! (2)
%title Thud! (7)
# p. 39 (Harper Torch edition; passage starts mid-paragraph; speaker is Nobby)
%passage 1
Why bother with a cunning plan when a simple one will do?
"Why mess about with a cunning plan when a simple one will do?"
[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
%e passage
# pp. 334-336 (originally transcribed from some other edition)
%passage 2
#submitted by Boudewijn
He wanted to sleep. He'd never felt this tired before.
Vimes slumped to his knees, and then fell sideways on to the sand.
When he forced open his eyes he saw pale stars above him, and had once
again the sensation that there was someone else present.
He turned his head, wincing at the stab of pain, and saw a small but
brightly lit folding chair on the sand. A robed figure was reclining
in it, reading a book. A scythe was stuck in the sand beside it.
A white skeletal hand turned a page.
He wanted to sleep. He'd never felt this tired before. Vimes slumped to
his knees, and then fell sideways on to the sand.
When he forced his eyes open, he saw pale stars above him, and had, once
again, the sensation that there was someone else present.
He turned his head, wincing at the stab of pain, and saw a small but
brightly lit folding chair on the sand. A robed figure was reclining in
it, reading a book. A scythe was stuck in the sand beside it.
A white, skeletal hand turned a page.
'You'll be Death, then?' said Vimes, after a while.
AH. MISTER VIMES, ASTUTE AS EVER. GOT IT IN ONE, said Death, shutting
the book on his finger to keep the place.
AH, MISTER VIMES, ASTUTE AS EVER. GOT IT IN ONE, said Death, shutting the
book on his finger to keep the place.
'I've seen you before.'
@@ -4136,42 +4141,122 @@ I HAVE WALKED WITH YOU MANY TIMES, MISTER VIMES.
'And this is /it/, is it?'
HAS IT NEVER STRUCK YOU THAT THE CONCEPT OF A WRITTEN NARRATIVE IS
SOMEWHAT STRANGE? said Death.
HAS IT NEVER STRUCK YOU THAT THE CONCEPT OF A WRITTEN NARRATIVE IS SOMEWHAT
STRANGE? said Death.
Vimes could tell when people were trying to avoid something they really
didn't want to say, and it was happening here.
'Is it?' he insisted. 'Is this it? This time I die?'
'Is it?' he insisted. 'Is this it? This time I die?'
COULD BE.
'Could be? What sort of answer is that?' said Vimes.
'Could be? What sort of answer is that?' said Vimes.
A VERY ACCURATE ONE. YOU SEE, YOU ARE HAVING A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE,
WHICH INESCAPABLY MEANS THAT I MUST UNDERGO A NEAR VIMES EXPERIENCE.
DON'T MIND ME. CARRY ON WHATEVER YOU WERE DOING. I HAVE A BOOK.
A VERY ACCURATE ONE. YOU SEE, YOU ARE HAVING A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE,
WHICH INESCAPABLY MEANS THAT I MUST UNDERGO A NEAR-/VIMES/ EXPERIENCE.
DON'T MIND ME. CARRY ON WITH WHATEVER YOU WERE DOING. I HAVE A BOOK.
Vimes rolled over on to his stomach, gritted his teeth, and pushed himself
on to his hands and knees again. He managed a few yards before slumping
back down.
He heard the sound of a chair being moved.
Vimes rolled over on to his stomach, gritted his teeth and pushed
himself on to his hands and knees again. He managed a few yards before
slumping back down. He heard the sound of a chair being moved.
'Shouldn't you be somewhere else?' he said.
I AM, said Death, sitting down again.
'But you're here!'
AS WELL. Death turned a page and, for a person without breath, managed
a pretty good sigh. IT APPEARS THAT THE BUTLER DID IT.
AS WELL. Death turned a page and, for a person without breath, managed a
pretty good sigh. IT APPEARS THAT THE BUTLER DID IT.
'Did what?'
IT IS A MADE-UP STORY. VERY STRANGE. ALL ONE NEEDS TO DO IS TURN TO THE
LAST PAGE AND THE ANSWER IS THERE. WHAT, THEREFORE, IS THE POINT OF
IT IS A MADE-UP STORY. VERY STRANGE. ALL ONE NEEDS TO DO IS TURN TO THE
LAST PAGE AND THE ANSWER IS THERE. WHAT, THEREFORE, IS THE POINT OF
DELIBERATEDLY NOT KNOWING?
It sounded like gibberish to Vimes, so he ignored it. Some of the aches
had gone, although his head still hammered. There was an empty feeling,
everywhere. He just wanted to sleep.
It sounded like gibberish to Vimes, so he ignored it. Some of the aches
had gone, although his head still hammered. There was an empty feeling
everywhere. He just wanted to sleep.
[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
%e passage
# pp. 225-226
%passage 3
And I'm going home, Vimes repeated to himself. Everyone wants something
from Vimes, even though I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Hell,
I'm probably a spoon. Well I'm going to be Vimes, and Vimes reads
/Where's My Cow?/ to Young Sam at six o'clock. With the noises done right.
[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
%e passage
# pp. 261-262
%passage 4
Fred Colon peered through the bars. He was, on the whole, a pretty good
jailer; he always had a pot of tea on the go, he was, as a general rule,
amiably disposed to most people, he was too slow to be easily fooled, and
he kept the cell keys in a box in the bottom drawer of his desk, a long
way out of reach of any stick, hand, dog, cunningly thrown belt, or
trained Klatchian monkey spider.(1)
(1) Making Fred Colon possibly unique in the annals of jail history.
[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
%e passage
# p. 287 (American spelling of 'theater' is accurate [Harper Torch edition])
%passage 5
Brushing aside cobwebs with one hand and holding up a lantern with the
other, Sybil led the way past boxes of MEN'S BOOTS, VARIOUS; RISIBLE
PUPPETS, STRING & GLOVE; MODEL THEATER AND SCENERY. Maybe that was the
reason for their wealth: they bought things that were built to last, and
now they seldom had to buy anything at all. Except food, of course, and
even then Vimes would not have been surprised to see boxes labeled APPLE
CORES, VARIOUS, or LEFTOVERS, NEED EATING UP.(1)
(1) That was a phrase of Sybil's that got to him. She'd announce at lunch,
"we must have the pork tonight, it needs eating up." Vimes never had an
actual problem with this, because he'd been raised to eat what was put in
front of him, and do it quickly, too, before someone else snatched it away.
He was just puzzled at the suggestion that he was there to do the food a
favor.
[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
%e passage
# pp. 296-297
%passage 6
"Tell me Drumknott, are you a betting man at all?"
"I have been know to have the occasional 'little flutter,' sir."
"Given, then, a contest between an invisible and very powerful quasidemonic
/thing/ of pure vengence on the one hand, and the commander on the other,
where would you wager, say... one dollar?"
"I wouldn't, sir. That looks like one that would go to the judges."
"Yes," said Vetinari, staring thoughtfully at the closed door. "Yes,
/indeed/."
[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
%e passage
# p. 351 ('teeth-aching' probably ought to have been 'teeth-achingly')
%passage 7
Vimes reached up and took a mug of water from Angua. It was teeth-aching
cold and the best drink he'd ever tasted. And his mind worked fast, flying
in emergency supplies of common sense, as human minds do, to construct a
huge anchor in sanity and prove that what happened hadn't really happened
and, if it had happened, hadn't happened very much.
It was all mystic, that's what it was. Oh, it /might/ all be true, but how
could you ever tell? You had to stick to the things you can see. And you
had to keep reminding yourself of that, too.
Yeah, that was it. What had really happened, eh? A few signs? Well,
anything can look like you want it to, if you're worried and confused
enough, yes? A sheep can look like a cow, right? Ha!
[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
%e passage