Small Gods

Old Ur-Gilash? Perhaps he was hanging on as a lizard somewhere, with some old hermit as his only believer. More likely he had been blown out into the desert. A small god was lucky to get one chance.

There was something wrong. Om couldn’t quite put his finger on it, and not only because he didn’t have a finger. Gods rose and fell like bits of onion in a boiling soup, but this time was different. There was something wrong this time …

He’d forced out Ur-Gilash. Fair enough. Law of the jungle. But no-one was challenging him …

Where was Brutha?

‘Brutha!’

Brutha was counting the flashes of light off the desert.

‘It’s a good thing I had a mirror, yes?’ said the captain hopefully. ‘I expect his lordship won’t mind about the mirror because it turned out to be useful?’

‘I don’t think he thinks like that,’ said Brutha, still counting.

‘No. I don’t think he does either,’ said the captain gloomily.

‘Seven, and then four.’

‘It’ll be the Quisition for me,’ said the captain.

Brutha was about to say, ‘Then rejoice that your soul shall be purified.’ But he didn’t. And he didn’t know why he didn’t.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said.

A veneer of surprise overlaid the captain’s grief.

‘You people usually say something about how the Quisition is good for the soul,’ he said.

‘I’m sure it is,’ said Brutha.

The captain was watching his face intently.

‘It’s flat, you know,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve sailed out into the Rim Ocean. It’s flat, and I’ve seen the Edge, and it moves. Not the Edge. I mean … what’s down there. They can cut my head off but it will still move.’

‘But it will stop moving for you,’ said Brutha. ‘So I should be careful to whom you speak, captain.’

The captain leaned closer.

‘The Turtle Moves!’ he hissed, and darted away.

‘Brutha!’

Guilt jerked Brutha upright like a hooked fish. He turned around, and sagged with relief. It wasn’t Vorbis, it was only God.

He padded over to the place in front of the mast. Om glared up at him.

‘Yes?’ said Brutha.

‘You never come and see me,’ said the tortoise. ‘I know you’re busy,’ it added sarcastically, ‘but a quick prayer would be nice, even.’

‘I checked you first thing this morning,’ said Brutha.

‘And I’m hungry.’

‘You had a whole melon rind last night.’

‘And who had the melon, eh?’

‘No, he didn’t,’ said Brutha. ‘He eats stale bread and water.’

‘Why doesn’t he eat fresh bread?’

‘He waits for it to get stale.’

‘Yes. I expect he does,’ said the tortoise.

‘Om?’

‘What?’

‘The captain just said something odd. He said the world is flat and has an edge.’

‘Yes? So what?’

‘But, I mean, we know the world is a ball, because …’

The tortoise blinked.

‘No, it’s not,’ he said. ‘Who said it’s a ball?’

‘You did,’ said Brutha. Then he added: ‘According to Book One of the Septateuch, anyway.’^{30}

I’ve never thought like this before, he thought. I’d never have said ‘anyway’.

‘Why’d the captain tell me something like that?’ he said. ‘It’s not normal conversation.’

‘I told you, I never made the world,’ said Om. ‘Why should I make the world? It was here already. And if I did make a world, I wouldn’t make it a ball. People’d fall off. All the sea’d run off the bottom.’

‘Not if you told it to stay on.’

‘Hah! Will you hark at the man!’

‘Besides, the sphere is a perfect shape,’ said Brutha. ‘Because in the Book of—’

‘Nothing amazing about a sphere,’ said the tortoise. ‘Come to that, a turtle is a perfect shape.’

‘A perfect shape for what?’

‘Well, the perfect shape for a turtle, to start with,’ said Om. ‘If it was shaped like a ball, it’d be bobbing to the surface the whole time.’

‘But it’s a heresy to say the world is flat,’ said Brutha.

‘Maybe, but it’s true.’

‘And it’s really on the back of a giant turtle?’

‘That’s right.’

‘In that case,’ said Brutha triumphantly, ‘what does the turtle stand on?’

The tortoise gave him a blank stare.

‘It doesn’t stand on anything,’ it said. ‘It’s a turtle, for heaven’s sake. It swims. That’s what turtles are for.’

‘I … er … I think I’d better go and report to Vorbis,’ said Brutha. ‘He goes very calm if he’s kept waiting. What did you want me for? I’ll try and bring you some more food after supper.’

‘How are you feeling?’ said the tortoise.

‘I’m feeling all right, thank you.’

‘Eating properly, that sort of thing?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Pleased to hear it. Run along now. I mean, I’m only your God.’ Om raised its voice as Brutha hurried off. ‘And you might visit more often!’

‘And pray louder, I’m fed up with straining!’ he shouted.

Vorbis was still sitting in his cabin when Brutha puffed along the passage and knocked on the door. There was no reply. After a while, Brutha pushed the door open.

Vorbis did not appear to read. Obviously he wrote, because of the famous Letters, but no one ever saw him do it. When he was alone he spent a lot of time staring at the wall, or prostrate in prayer. Vorbis could humble himself in prayer in a way that made the posturings of power-mad emperors look subservient.

‘Um,’ said Brutha, and tried to pull the door shut again.

Vorbis waved one hand irritably. Then he stood up. He did not dust off his robe.