Free Truckers by Terry Pratchett Page A

understand!” he said. “You can see me! Ten minutes ago you said I didn’t even exist, and now you’re talking to me!”
    â€œThere is nothing strange about it,” said the Abbot. “Ten minutes ago it was official. Goodness me, I can’t go around letting people believe that I’ve been wrong all along, can I? The Abbots have been denying there is anything Outside for generations. I can’t suddenly say they were all wrong. People would think I’ve gone mad.”
    â€œWould they?” said Masklin.
    â€œOh, yes. Politics, you see. Abbots can’t go changing their minds all the time. You’ll find this out. The important thing about being a leader is not being right or wrong, but being certain . Otherwise people wouldn’t know what to think. Of course, it helps to be right as well,” the Abbot conceded. He leaned back.
    â€œThere were terrible wars in the Store once,” he said. “Terrible wars. A terrible time. Nome against nome. Decades ago, of course. It seemed that there was always some nome who thought his family should rule the Store. The Battle of the Freight Elevator, the Goods Inward Campaign, the dreadful Mezzanine Wars . . . But that’s past, now. And do you know why?”
    â€œNo,” said Masklin.
    â€œWe stopped it. The Stationeri. By cunning and common sense and diplomacy. We made them see that Arnold Bros (est. 1905) expects nomes to be at peace with one another. Now then. Supposing that I, in there, had said I believed you. People would have thought, The old boy has gone off his head.” The Abbot chuckled. “And then they’d have said, Have the Stationeri been wrong all this time? They would have panicked. Well, of course, that would never do. We must hold the nomes together. You know how they bicker at every opportunity.”
    â€œThat’s true,” said Masklin. “And they always blame you for everything and say, What’re you going to do about it?”
    â€œYou’ve noticed, have you?” said the Abbot, smiling. “It seems to me that you have exactly the right qualification for being a leader.”
    â€œI don’t think so!”
    â€œThat’s what I mean. You don’t want to be one. I didn’t want to be Abbot.” He drummed his fingers on his walking stick and then looked sharply at Masklin.
    â€œPeople are always a lot more complicated than you think,” he said. “It’s very important to remember that.”
    â€œI will,” said Masklin, not knowing what else to say.
    â€œYou don’t believe in Arnold Bros (est. 1905), do you?” said the Abbot. It was more a statement than a question.
    â€œWell, er—”
    â€œI’ve seen him, you know. When I was a boy. I climbed all the way up to Consumer Accounts, by myself, and hid, and I saw him at his desk writing.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œHe had a beard.”
    â€œOh.”
    The Abbot drummed his fingers on his stick. He seemed to be making up his mind about something. Then he said, “Hmm. Where was your home?”
    Masklin told him. Funnily, it seemed a lot better now that he looked back on it. More summers than winters, more nuts than rat. No bananas or electric or carpets, but plenty of fresh air. And in memory there didn’t seem to be as much drizzle and frost. The Stationeri listened politely.
    â€œIt was a lot better when we had more people,” Masklin finished. He glanced at his feet. “You could come and stay. When the Store is demo-thinged.”
    The Abbot laughed. “I’m not sure I’d fit in,” he said. “I’m not sure I want to believe in your Outside . It sounds cold and dangerous. Anyway, I shall be going on a rather more mysterious journey. And now, please excuse me, I must rest.” He thumped on the floor with his stick. Gurder appeared as if by magic.
    â€œTake Masklin away and educate him a little,” said the