Gods Must Be Crazy

9781416524939

1416524932

Stag Party One My lord, do you not think..." "Eh? What's that? Speak up, Stewart, you're positively mumbling." Stewart the steward (we have many a good laugh over that) looked pointedly at the stone statue in front of me. "My lord -- " I held up my free hand. "Please, not you, too. It's bad enough having 'Most gracious lord this' and 'Oh worshipful lord that' coming from the druids, but you've known me for...phew, how many years now? Three hundred? Four?" "Five hundred and twelve," the little man answered, wincing as I scratched my belly and sighed with relief. "I've always called you my lord. If not that, what do you wish me to call you?" "Didn't we go through this last year? It's Hearne. Dane Hearne. Know it, use it, love it." "Aye, my...Mr. Hearne. But...eh...is that not a bit sacrilegious?" "Not in the least. It's the name I was born with. Well...in a manner of speaking. People didn't much go in for surnames back then, but that's what it would have been if they had. Nowadays, people hardly ever use my proper name. I almost forgot what it was myself until a few months ago, when I ran across an interesting online article about me." "No, not your name. Er...that." He nodded to the statue in front of us. I looked with dissatisfaction at it. "Sacrilegious because the artist depicted Taranis as standing astride the world in a position of power when we know him to be a cowardly little wimp, you mean?" Stewart closed his eyes a moment. "No, my lo -- sir. I meant the fact that you're urinating on it. Taranis is, after all, your overlord, head of all the Irish gods." "On the contrary, I find it remarkably stress-relieving. It expresses my true inner feelings about that bastard." I punctuated the word I had written on the statue with an exclamation point before zipping up. I stretched and glanced around the yard. "So, what's been happening while I've been gone? Buildings look good. I see you've had the verge mown. The druids seem to be multiplying, though. Did you speak to them, as I asked? And why the blazes did Taranis wait until now to have me summoned?" Stewart was a short man. Proud, and of noble birth -- if on the wrong side of the blanket -- but lacking in the general region of height. He trotted alongside me as I strolled around the grounds, eyeing the large square tower that made up one of two habitable parts of the castle. The tower looked as solid as ever. There was a hint of moss growing on the north side, but other than that, it looked good. Remarkable, really, considering it was older than Stewart. "Er...I have no idea. I was told there was a delay. As for the druids, I tried, Mr. Hearne." "Dane. Surely after all those long centuries of employment, you can call me Dane?" His little round face looked vaguely shocked. "I couldn't do that, sir. It wouldn't be fitting. You are, after all, Cernunnos." "Stewart, Stewart, still living in the twelfth century." I shook my head as I strode past the carriage house where the druids were housed, counting no fewer than three new faces in the group that was dancing around a willow tree. "I was born in the sixteenth, sir -- " "Doesn't matter." I waved a hand at the splotches of yellow that cascaded over the crumbled stones that made up the ruined part of the castle. "Those yellow blobs there, those flowers. Just look at them!" "Daffodils, sir." We marched past the flower-splattered mossy ruins, following the narrow trail down to the rocky beach that dropped abruptly into the sea. "Whatever they are, they're positively bursting with life force! It's spring, man, the time of birth and rejuvenation and life! The time to celebrate being alive, not fussing around with archaic ideas and outmoded methods of speech. Live in the here and now, that's my motto, and it's never let me down. Where's Fidencia?" "Er...she's not her