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IT WOULD BE A MILLION TO ONE CHANCE, said Death. EXACTLY A MILLION TO ONE CHANCE.
Preeminent among Rincewind’s talents was his skill in running away, which over the years he had elevated to the status of a genuinely pure science; it didn’t matter if you were fleeing from or to, so long as you were fleeing. It was flight alone that counted. I run, therefore I am; more correctly, I run, therefore with any luck I’ll still be.
“Polly want a biscuit,” it managed, adding, sotto voce, “wossnamewossnamewossname.” “A dear little bird of my very own,” said da Quirm. “I shall look after it.” “wossnamewossname.”
Death sat back. He could wait. Whenever they needed him, he’d be there.
He said, as so often happens on these occasions, “Aargh.”
“!” said Rincewind.
“What’re quantum mechanics?” “I don’t know. People who repair quantums, I suppose.”
Rincewind took another bite of the sandwich. He’d looked death in the face many times, or more precisely Death had looked him in the back of his rapidly retreating head many times, and suddenly the prospect of living forever didn’t appeal.
“Wossname!” said the parrot, who was sitting on his shoulder.
He looked down at the broad steps they were climbing. They were something of a novelty; each one was built out of large stone letters. The one he was just stepping on to, for example, read: I Meant It For The Best. The next one was: I Thought You’d Like It. Eric was standing on: For the Sake of the Children. “Weird, isn’t it?” he said. “Why do it like this?” “I think they’re meant to be good intentions,” said Rincewind. This was a road to Hell, and demons were, after all, traditionalists.
And, while they are of course irredeemably evil, they are not always bad. And so Rincewind stepped off We Are Equal Opportunity Employers and through a wall, which healed up behind him, and into the world. It could, he had to admit, have been a lot worse.
