‘What happened to the well known Ecksian reputation for good-hearted friendliness, eh?’ shouted Rincewind to empty air.
He heard shouts and the cracking of whips from the trees on the high slopes as he wound into the hills. At one point the wild horses burst out on to the track again, not even noticing him in their flight, and this time Snowy ambled off the track and followed the trail of broken bushes.
Rincewind had learned that hauling on the reins only had the effect of making his arms ache. The only way to stop the little horse when he didn’t want to be stopped was probably to get off, run ahead, and dig a trench in front of him.
Once again the riders came up behind Rincewind and thudded past, foam streaming from the horses’ mouths.
‘Excuse me. Am I on the right road for—?’
And they were gone.
He caught up with them ten minutes later in a thicket of mountain ash, milling around uncertainly while their leader shouted at them.
‘I say, can anyone tell me—’ he ventured.
Then he saw why they had stopped. They’d run out of forwards. The ground fell away into a canyon, a few patches of grass and a handful of bushes clinging to the very nearly sheer drop.
Snowy’s nostrils flared and, without even pausing, he continued down the slope.
He should have skidded, Rincewind saw. In fact he should have dropped. The slope was almost vertical. Even mountain goats would only try it roped together. Stones bounced around him and a few of the larger ones managed to hit him on the back of the neck, but Snowy trotted downwards at the same deceptive speed that he used on the flat. Rincewind settled for hanging on and screaming.
Halfway down, he saw the wild herd gallop along the canyon, skid around a rock and disappear between the cliffs.
Snowy reached the bottom in a shower of pebbles and paused for a moment.
Rincewind risked opening an eye. The little horse’s nostrils flared again as it looked down the narrow canyon. It stamped a hoof uncertainly. Then it looked at the vertiginous far wall, only a few metres away.
‘Oh, no,’ moaned Rincewind. ‘Please, no . . .’ He tried to untangle his legs but they had met right under the horse’s stomach and twisted their ankles together.
He must be able to do something to gravity, he told himself, as Snowy trotted up the cliff as though it wasn’t a wall but merely a sort of vertical floor. The corks on his hat brim banged against his nose.
And ahead . . . above . . . was an overhang . . .
‘No, please, no, please don’t . . .’
He shut his eyes. He felt Snowy draw to a halt. and breathed a sigh of relief. He risked a look down, and the huge hooves were indeed standing on solid, flat rock.
There were no corks hanging in front of Rincewind’s hat.
In dread and slowly mounting terror, he turned his eyes to what they’d always thought of as upwards.
There was solid rock above him, as well. Only it was a long way up, or down. And the corks were all hanging upwards, or downwards.
Snowy was standing on the underside of the overhang, apparently enjoying the view. He flared his nostrils again, and shook his mane.
He’ll fall off, Rincewind thought. Any minute now he’ll realize he’s upside down and he’ll fall off and from this height a horse’ll splat. On top of me.
Snowy appeared to reach a decision, and set off again, around the curve of the overhang.
The corks swung back and hit Rincewind in the face but, hey, all the trees had the green bits pointing up, except that they were the grey bits.
Rincewind looked across the chasm at the horsemen.
‘G’day!’ he said, waving his hat in the air as Snowy set off again. ‘I think I’m about to have a technicolour snake!’ he added, and threw up.
‘ ‘ere, mistah?’ someone shouted back.
‘Yes?’
‘That was a chunder!’
‘Right! No worries!’
It turned out that this piece of land was only a narrow spur between canyons. Another sheer drop loomed up, or down. But to Rincewind’s relief the horse turned aside at the brink and trotted along the edge.
‘Oh, no, please . . .’
A tree had fallen down and bridged the gulf. It was very narrow, but Snowy wheeled on to it without slowing.
Both ends of the tree drummed up and down on the lip of the cliff. Pebbles began to fall away. Snowy bounced across the gap like a small ball and stepped off on the far side just before the treetrunk teetered and dropped on to the rocks.
‘Please, no . . .’
There wasn’t a cliff here, just a long slope of loose rocks. Snowy landed among them, and flared his nostrils as the entire slope of scree began to move.
Rincewind saw the herd gallop past in the narrow canyon bottom, far below.
Large rocks bounded alongside him as the horse continued down in his own personal landslide. One or two jumped and bounced ahead, smashing on to the canyon floor just behind the last of the herd.
Numb with fear and the shaking, Rincewind looked further along the canyon. It was blind. The end was another cliff . . .
Stone piled into stone, building a rough wall across the canyon floor. As the last boulder slammed into place Snowy landed on top of it, almost daintily.
He looked down at the penned herd, milling in confusion, and flared his nostrils. Rincewind was pretty sure horses couldn’t snigger, but this one radiated an air of sniggerruity.
It was ten minutes later that the horsemen rode up. By then the herd was almost docile.
They looked at the horses. They looked at Rincewind, who grinned horribly and said, ‘No worries.’
Very slowly, he didn’t fall off Snowy. He simply swivelled sideways, with his feet still twisted together, until his head banged gently on the ground.
That was bloody great riding, mate!’
‘Could someone separate my ankles, please? I fear they may have fused together.’
A couple of the riders dismounted and, after some effort, pulled him free.
The leader looked down at him. ‘Name your price for that little battler, mate!’ said Remorse.
‘Er . . . three . . . er . . . squids?’ said Rincewind, muzzily.
‘What? For a wiry little devil like that? He’s got to be worth a coupla hundred at least!’
‘Three squids is all I’ve got . . .’
‘I reckon a few of them rocks hit him on the head,’ said one of the stockmen who were holding Rincewind up.
‘I mean I’ll buy him off’f you, mister,’ said Remorse, patiently. ‘Tell you what – two hundred squids, a bag of tucker and we’ll set you right on the road to . . . Where was it he wanted to go, Clancy?’
‘Bugarup,’ murmured Rincewind.
‘Oh, you don’t wanna go to Bugarup,’ said Remorse. ‘Nothing in Bugarup but a bunch of wowsers and pooftahs.’
‘ ‘s okay, I like parrots,’ mumbled Rincewind, who was just hoping that they would let him go so that he could hold on to the ground again. ‘Er . . . what’s Ecksian for going mad with terrified fatigue and collapsing in a boneless heap?’
The men looked at one another.
‘Isn’t that “snagged as a wombat’s tonker”?’
‘No, no, no, that’s when you chuck a twister, isn’t it?’ said Clancy.
‘What? Strewth, no. Chucking a twister’s when . . . when you . . . yeah, it’s when you . . . yeah, it’s when your nose . . . Hang on, that’s “bend a smartie” . . .’
‘Er—’ said Rincewind, clutching his head.
‘What? “Bend a smartie” is when your ears get blocked underwater.’ Clancy looked uncertain, and then seemed to reach a decision. ‘Yeah, that’s right!’
‘Nah, that’s “gonging like a possum’s armpit”, mate.’
‘Excuse me—’ said Rincewind.
‘That ain’t right. “Gonging like a possum’s armpit” is when you crack a crusty. When your ears are stuffed like a Mudjee’s kettle after a week of Fridays, that’s “stuck up like Morgan’s mule”.’
‘No, you’re referrin’ to “happier than Morgan’s mule in a choccy patch”—’
‘You mean “as fast as Morgan’s mule after it ate Ma’s crow pie”.’
‘How fast was that? Exactly?’ said Rincewind.
They all stared at him.
Taster’n an eel in a snakepit, mate!’ said Clancy. ‘Don’t you understand plain language?’
‘Yeah,’ said one of the men, ‘he might be a fancy rider but I reckon he’s dumber than a—’
‘Don’t anyone say anything!’ shouted Rincewind. ‘I’m feeling a lot better, all right? Just . . . all right, all right?’ He straightened his ragged robe and adjusted his hat. ‘Now, if you could just set me on the right road to Bugarup, I will not trespass further on your time. You may keep Snowy. He can bed down on a ceiling somewhere.’