The Last Hero

small volume of poetry."
    "Are you saying that we cannot get there in time?"
    "Well... yes. Exactly. Of course. They're already near the base of the mountain."
    "And they're heroes ," said Mr Betteridge of the Guild of Historians.
    "And that means, exactly?" said the Patrician, sighing.
    "They're good at doing what they want to do."
    "But they are also, as I understand it, very old men."
    "Very old heroes ," the historian corrected him. "That just means they've had a lot of experience in doing what they want to do."
    Lord Vetinari sighed again. He did not like to live in a world of heroes. You had civilisation, such as it was, and you had heroes.
    "What exactly has Cohen the Barbarian done that is heroic ?" he said. "I seek only to understand."
    "Well... you know... heroic deeds..."
    "And they are... ?"
    "Fighting monsters, defeating tyrants, stealing rare treasures, rescuing maidens... that sort of thing," said Mr Betteridge vaguely. "You know... heroic things."
    "And who, precisely, defines the monstrousness of the monsters and the tyranny of the tyrants?" said Lord Vetinari, his voice suddenly like a scalpel — not vicious like a sword, but probing its edge into vulnerable places.
    Mr Betteridge shifted uneasily. "Well... the hero, I suppose."
    "Ah. And the theft of these rare items... I think the word that interests me here is the term "theft", an activity frowned on by most of the world's major religions, is it not? The feeling stealing over me is that all these terms are defined by the hero. You could say: I am a hero, so when I kill you that makes you, de facto , the kind of person suitable to be killed by a hero. You could say that a hero, in short, is someone who indulges every whim that, within the rule of law, would have him behind bars or swiftly dancing what I believe is known as the hemp fandango. The words we might use are: murder, pillage, theft and rape. Have I understood the situation?"
    "Not rape, I believe," said Mr Betteridge, finding a rock on which he could stand. "Not in the case of Cohen the Barbarian. Ravishing, possibly."
    "There is a difference?"
    "It's more a matter of approach, I understand," said the historian. "I don't believe there were ever any actual complaints."
    "Speaking as a lawyer," said Mr Slant of the Guild of Lawyers, "it is clear that the first ever recorded heroic deed to which the message refers was an act of theft from the rightful owners. The legends of many different cultures testify to this."
    "Was it something you could actually steal ?" said Ridcully.
    "Manifestly yes ," said the lawyer. "Theft is central to the legend. Fire was stolen from the gods."
    "This is not currently the issue," said Lord Vetinari. "The issue, gentlemen, is that Cohen the Barbarian is climbing the mountain on which the gods live. And we cannot stop him. And he intends to return fire to the gods. Fire, in this case, in the shape of... let me see —"
    Ponder Stibbons looked up from his notebooks, where he had been scribbling. "A fifty-pound keg of Agatean Thunder Clay," he said. "I'm amazed their wizards let him have it."
    "He was... indeed. I assume he still is the Emperor," said Lord Vetinari. "So I would imagine that when the supreme ruler of your continent asks you for something, it is not the time for a prudent man to ask for a docket signed by Mr Jenkins of Requisitions."
    "Thunder Clay is terribly powerful stuff," said Ridcully. "But it needs a special detonator. You have to smash a jar of acid inside the mixture. The acid soaks into it, and then — kablooie, I believe the term is."
    "Unfortunately the prudent man also saw fit to give one of these to Cohen," said Lord Vetinari. "And if the resulting kablooie takes place atop the mountain, which is the hub of the world's magic field, it will, as I understand it, result in the field collapsing for... remind me, Mister Stibbons?"
    "About two years," he said.
    "Really? Well, we can do without magic for a couple of years, can't we?" said Mr Slant, managing to suggest that this would be a jolly good thing, too.
    "With respect," said Ponder, without respect, "we cannot. The seas will run dry. The sun will burn out and crash. The elephants and the turtle may cease to exist altogether."
    "That'll happen in just two years?"
    "Oh, no. That'll happen within a few minutes, sir. You see, magic isn't just coloured lights and balls. Magic holds the world together."
    In the sudden silence, Lord Vetinari's voice sounded crisp and clear.
    "Is there