The Last Hero

It's always left up to us Dark Lords to have the plans. This is the home of the gods , lads! You think they won't notice a bunch of humans wandering around?"
    "We are intendin' to have a magnificent death," said Cohen.
    "Right, right. Afterwards. Oh, deary me. Look, I'd be thrown out of the secret society of evil madmen if I let you go at it mob-handed." Evil Harry shook his head. "There's hundreds of gods, right? Everyone knows that. And new gods turning up all the time, right? Well? Doesn't a plan suggest itself? Anyone?"
    Truckle raised a hand. "We rush in?" he said.
    "Yes, we're all real heroes here, aren't we?" said Evil Harry. "No. That wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Lads, it's lucky for you that you've got me..."
    It was the Chair of Indefinite Studies who saw the light on the moon. He was leaning on the ship's rail at the time, having a quiet afternoon smoke.
    He was not an ambitious wizard, and generally just concentrated on keeping out of trouble and not doing anything very much. The nice thing about Indefinite Studies was that no one could describe exactly what they were. This gave him quite a lot of free time.
    He watched the moon's pale ghost for a while, and then went and found the Archchancellor, who was fishing.
    "Mustrum, should the moon be doing that?" he said. Ridcully looked up. "Good grief! Stibbons! Where's the man got to?"
    Ponder was located in the bunk where he had flopped asleep fully dressed. He was hustled up the ladder half-asleep, but he awoke quickly when he saw the sky.
    "Should it be doing that?" Ridcully demanded, pointing at the moon.
    "No, sir! It certainly shouldn't!"
    "It's a definite problem, is it?" said the Chair, hopefully.
    "It certainly is! Where's the omniscope? Has anyone tried to talk to them?"
    "Ah, well, not my field then," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, backing away. "Sorry. Would help if I could. Can see you're busy. Sorry."
    All the dragons must have fired by now. Rincewind felt his eyeballs being pressed into the back of his head.
    Leonard was unconscious in the next seat. Carrot was presumably lying in the debris that had been rammed to the other end of the cabin.
    By the ominous creaking, and the smell, an orangutan was hanging on to the back of Rincewind's seat.
    Oh, and when he managed to turn his head to see out of the window, one of the dragon pods was on fire. It was no wonder — the flame coming from the dragons was almost pure white.
    Leonard had mentioned one of these levers... Rincewind stared at them through a red mist. "If we have to drop all the dragons," Leonard had said, "we —" What? Which lever?
    Actually, at a time like this the choice was plain.
    Rincewind, his vision blurred, his ears insulted by the sound of a ship in pain, pulled the only one he could reach.
    I can't put this in a saga, the minstrel thought. No one will ever believe it. I mean, they just won't ever believe it ...
    "Trust me, right?" said Evil Harry, inspecting the Horde. "I mean, yes , obviously I am untrustworthy, point taken, but it's a matter of pride here, you understand? Trust me. This will work . I bet even the gods don't know all the gods, right?"
    "I feel a right twerp with these wings," Caleb complained.
    "Mrs McGarry did a very good job on'em, so don't complain," snapped Evil Harry. "You make a very good God of Love. What kind of love, I wouldn't like to say. And you are... ?"
    "God of Fish, Harry," said Cohen, who had stuck scales on his skin and made himself a sort of fish-head helmet from one of their late adversaries.
    Evil Harry tried to breathe. "Good, good, a very old fish god, yes. And you, Truckle, are... ?"
    "The God of bloody Swearing," said Truckle the Uncivil firmly.
    "Er, that could actually work," said the minstrel, as Evil Harry frowned. "After all, there are Muses of dance and song, and there's even a Muse of erotic poetry —"
    "Oh, I can do that ," said Truckle dismissively. "'There was a young lady from Quirm, Whose grip was — '"
    "All right, all right. And you, Hamish?"
    "God o' Stuff," said Hamish.
    "What stuff?"
    Hamish shrugged. He hadn't survived all this time by being unnecessarily imaginative.
    "Just... things, y'ken," he said. "Lost things, mebbe. Things lyin' aroound?"
    The Silver Horde turned to the minstrel, who nodded after some thought.
    "Could work," he said, at last.
    Evil Harry moved on to Boy Willie.
    "Willie, why have you got a tomato on your head and a carrot in your ear?"
    Boy Willie grinned proudly. "You'll