Chapter 4 - As A Door Nail
***
Gaspode The Wonder Dog limped through the streets of Ankh-Morpork, snuffling and complaining quietly to himself. His nose was unrivalled; it could smell things three miles away, it could sense the presence of a promising clod of dirt at fifty-four paces, it could tell you who was in town, who had fathered who, and whether or not the postman's leg was a promising she-dog or not.
Most often not.
But right now, Gaspode was irritable, because he could smell something that he couldn't recognize. Living death, or something. Huh. Bugger.
His progress was stopped by a boot.
This is not, in fact, very surprising, considering that when you are a mangy old dog on the streets of Ankh-Morpork you could, if you WORE boots, be the best (well, okay, MOST) shod dog in the world.
But this boot was occupied. And it was occupied by the Scent.
Gaspode looked up into brown-blue eyes.
"Why hello there," Mort said, and smiled.
Gaspode proceeded to pee himself.
***
Illa went to bed with white linens. A square was torn out of the underside of her white comforter, where the down was leaking out. Illa hoped her mother wouldn't notice the feathers between her toes every morning.
As she lay between the sheets, she mused about... nothing much. And when she dreamed, she dreamed about long legs and white dresses and long, fluffy brown hair.
***
"Put me down, please," Gaspode squeaked, trembling, all four legs up in the air.
"Hmmm?" murmured Mort, turning left into a street he didn't try to recognize.
"Um, I would, er, really like to, say, y'know, walk on my own, please," Gaspode whimpered.
"Well, that is a lofty goal," murmured Mort, walking past a dark alleyway. Pieces of shadow separated from the whole and began to follow them.
Gaspode whimpered. His life had been going we- it had been doing all ri- it hadn't been too horrendously awful until this... this... -thing- came along. It didn't smell alive, and it it didn't smell dead, and it didn't smell like a zombie or a werewolf or a vampire. Gaspode knew what THEY smelled like. Dust or embalming fluid or shampoo, ("Fore A Flufye Cote"), normally. But this was like... like... a machine charged with life, a golem with a flesh and blood shell.
Bugger. Getting philosophical again. Good Doggie. Thou Shalt Have A Bone. Shut up.
***
In a white world on the edge of the universe, Life stirred her white tea with a white spoon, making a white 'clinkaclinka' sort of noise. She knew what she should do next, of course. All of those poor souls that mere chance had given a horrible life. She could save them, make them perfect, make them... new again.
Life brushed her beautiful brown hair away from a white temple, set down her teacup, and plucked a Lifetimer out of the air.
Even Anthropomorphic Personifications have priorities.
***
Illa woke up.
She swung her feet out from under eiderdown, shivered as her toes touched the wooden floor, tiptoed quickly to the rug in front of her wardrobe. Illa knew that waking up meant morning, and morning meant school, and school meant Jim.
Her hand closed around the small jar.
***
Gaspode The Wonder Dog limped through the streets of Ankh-Morpork, snuffling and complaining quietly to himself. His nose was unrivalled; it could smell things three miles away, it could sense the presence of a promising clod of dirt at fifty-four paces, it could tell you who was in town, who had fathered who, and whether or not the postman's leg was a promising she-dog or not.
Most often not.
But right now, Gaspode was irritable, because he could smell something that he couldn't recognize. Living death, or something. Huh. Bugger.
His progress was stopped by a boot.
This is not, in fact, very surprising, considering that when you are a mangy old dog on the streets of Ankh-Morpork you could, if you WORE boots, be the best (well, okay, MOST) shod dog in the world.
But this boot was occupied. And it was occupied by the Scent.
Gaspode looked up into brown-blue eyes.
"Why hello there," Mort said, and smiled.
Gaspode proceeded to pee himself.
***
Illa went to bed with white linens. A square was torn out of the underside of her white comforter, where the down was leaking out. Illa hoped her mother wouldn't notice the feathers between her toes every morning.
As she lay between the sheets, she mused about... nothing much. And when she dreamed, she dreamed about long legs and white dresses and long, fluffy brown hair.
***
"Put me down, please," Gaspode squeaked, trembling, all four legs up in the air.
"Hmmm?" murmured Mort, turning left into a street he didn't try to recognize.
"Um, I would, er, really like to, say, y'know, walk on my own, please," Gaspode whimpered.
"Well, that is a lofty goal," murmured Mort, walking past a dark alleyway. Pieces of shadow separated from the whole and began to follow them.
Gaspode whimpered. His life had been going we- it had been doing all ri- it hadn't been too horrendously awful until this... this... -thing- came along. It didn't smell alive, and it it didn't smell dead, and it didn't smell like a zombie or a werewolf or a vampire. Gaspode knew what THEY smelled like. Dust or embalming fluid or shampoo, ("Fore A Flufye Cote"), normally. But this was like... like... a machine charged with life, a golem with a flesh and blood shell.
Bugger. Getting philosophical again. Good Doggie. Thou Shalt Have A Bone. Shut up.
***
In a white world on the edge of the universe, Life stirred her white tea with a white spoon, making a white 'clinkaclinka' sort of noise. She knew what she should do next, of course. All of those poor souls that mere chance had given a horrible life. She could save them, make them perfect, make them... new again.
Life brushed her beautiful brown hair away from a white temple, set down her teacup, and plucked a Lifetimer out of the air.
Even Anthropomorphic Personifications have priorities.
***
Illa woke up.
She swung her feet out from under eiderdown, shivered as her toes touched the wooden floor, tiptoed quickly to the rug in front of her wardrobe. Illa knew that waking up meant morning, and morning meant school, and school meant Jim.
Her hand closed around the small jar.