"Yeah, 's what I thought…"
"And yet there is no visible aqueduct, you notice."
"No aqueduct, right," said Cohen. "Prob'ly flown to the Rim for the summer. Some birds do that."
"Which rather leads me to doubt the saying that not even a mouse can get into the Forbidden City," said Mr Saveloy, with just a trace of smugness. "I suspect a mouse could get into the Forbidden City if it could hold its breath."
"Or ride on one of them invisible ducks," said Cohen.
"Indeed."
The cart stopped. The sack came off. Instead of the cheesegrater Rincewind was secretly expecting, the view consisted of a couple of young, concerned faces. One of them was female, but Rincewind was relieved to see that she wasn't Pretty Butterfly. This one looked younger, and made Rincewind think a little of potatoes.[20]
"How are you?" she said, in fractured but recognizable Morporkian. "We are very sorry. All better now? We speak you in language of celestial city of Ankh-More-Pork. Language of freedom and progress. Language of One Man, One Vote!"
"Yes," said Rincewind. A vision of Ankh-Morpork's Patrician floated across his memory. One man, one vote. Yes. "I've met him. He's definitely got the vote. But—"
"Extra Luck To The People's Endeavour!" said the boy. "Advance Judiciously!" He looked as though he'd been built with bricks.
"Excuse me," said Rincewind, "but why did you… a paper lantern for ceremonial purposes… bale of cotton… rescue me? Uh, that is, when I say rescue, I suppose I mean: why did you hit me on the head, tie me up, and bring me to wherever this is? Because the worst that could have happened to me in the inn was a ding around the ear for not paying for lunch—"
"The worst that would have happened was an agonizing death over several years," said the voice of Butterfly. She appeared around the cart and smiled grimly at Rincewind. Her hands were tucked demurely in her kimono, presumably to hide the knives.
"Oh. Hello," he said.
"Great Wizard," said Butterfly, bowing. "I you already know, but these two are Lotus Blossom and Three Yoked Oxen, other members of our cadre. We had to bring you here like this. There are spies everywhere."
"Timely Demise To All Enemies!" said the boy, beaming.
"Good, yes, right," said Rincewind. "All enemies, yes."
The cart was in a courtyard. The general noise level on the other side of the very high walls suggested a large city. Nasty certainty crystallized.
"And you've brought me to Hunghung, haven't you?" he said.
Lotus Blossom's eyes widened.
"Then it are true," she said, in Rincewind's own language. "You are the Great Wizard!"
"Oh, you'd be amazed at the things I can foresee," said Rincewind despondently.
"You two, go and stable the horses," said Butterfly, not taking her eyes off Rincewind. When they'd hurried away, with several backward glances, she walked up to him.
"They believe," she said. "Personally, I have my doubts. But Ly Tin Wheedle says an ass may do the work of an ox in a time of no horses. One of his less convincing aphorisms, I've always thought."
"Thank you. What is a cadre?"
"Have you heard of the Red Army?"
"No. Well… I heard someone shout something…"
"According to legend, an unknown person known only as the Great Wizard led the first Red Army to an impossible victory. Of course, that was thousands of years ago. But the people believe that he — that is, you — will return to do it again. So… there should be a Red Army ready and waiting."
"Well, of course, a man can get a little stiff after several thousand years—"
Her face was suddenly level with his own.
"Personally I suspect there has been a misunderstanding," she hissed. "But now you're here you'll be a Great Wizard. If I have to prod you every step of the way!"
The other two returned. Butterfly went from snarling tiger to demure doe in an instant.
"And now you must come and meet the Red Army," she said.
"Won't they be a little smelly—" Rincewind began, and stopped when he saw her expression.
"The original Red Army was clearly only a legend," she said, in fast and faultless Ankh-Morporkian. "But legends have their uses. You'd better know the legend… Great Wizard. When One Sun Mirror was fighting all the armies of the world the Great Wizard came to his aid and the earth itself rose up and fought for the new Empire. And lightning was involved. The army was made from the earth but in some way driven by the lightning. Now, lightning may kill but I suspect it lacks discipline. And earth cannot fight. But no doubt our army of the earth and sky was nothing more nor less than an uprising of the peasants themselves. Well, now we have a new army, and a name that fires the imagination. And a Great Wizard. I don't believe in legends. But I believe that other people believe."
The younger girl, who had been trying to follow this, stepped forward and gripped his arm.
"You come seeing Red Army now," she said.
"Forward Motion With Masses!" said the boy, taking Rincewind's other arm.
"Does he always talk like that?" said Rincewind, as he was propelled gently towards a door.
"Three Yoked Oxen does not study," said the girl.
"Extra Success Attend Our Leaders!"
"'Tuppence A Bucket, Well Stamped Down!'" said Rincewind encouragingly.
"Much Ownership Of Means Of Production!"
"'How's Your Granny Off For Soap?'"
Three Yoked Oxen beamed.
Butterfly opened the door. That left Rincewind outside with the other two.
"Very useful slogans," he said, moving sideways just a little. "But I would draw your attention to the famous saying of the Great Wizard Rincewind."
"Indeed, I am all ear," said Lotus Blossom politely.
"Rincewind, he say… Goodbyeeeeeeeee—"
His sandals skidded on the cobbles but he was already travelling fast when he hit the doors, which turned out to be made of bamboo and smashed apart easily.
There was a street market on the other side. That was something Rincewind remembered later about Hunghung; as soon as there was a space, any kind of space, even the space created by the passage of a cart or a mule, people flowed into it, usually arguing with one another at the tops of their voices over the price of a duck which was being held upside down and quacking.
His foot went through a wicker cage containing several chickens, but he pressed on, scattering people and produce. In an Ankh-Morpork street market something like this would have caused some comment, but since everyone around him already seemed to be screaming into other people's faces Rincewind was merely a momentary and unremarked nuisance as he half ran, half limped with one squawking foot past the stalls.
Behind him, the people flowed back. There may have been some cries of pursuit, but they were lost in the hubbub.
He didn't stop until he found an overlooked alcove between a stall selling songbirds and another purveying something that bubbled in bowls. His foot crowed.
He smashed it against cobbles until the cage broke; the cockerel, maddened by the heady air of freedom, pecked him on the knee and fluttered away.
There were no sounds of pursuit. However, a battalion of trolls in tin boots would have had trouble making themselves heard above a normal Hunghung street market.
He let himself get his breath back.
Well, he was his own man again. So much for the Red Army. Admittedly he was in the capital city, where he didn't want to be, and it was only a matter of time before something else unpleasant happened to him, but it wasn't actually happening at the moment. Let him find his bearings and five minutes' start and they could watch his dust. Or mud. There was a lot of both, here.
So… this was Hunghung…
There didn't seem to be streets in the sense Rincewind understood the term. Alleys opened on to alleys, all of them narrow and made narrower by the stalls that lined them. There was a large animal population in the marketplace. Most of the stalls had their share of caged chickens, d
ucks in sacks and strange wriggling things in bowls. From one stall a tortoise on top of a struggling heap of other tortoises under a sign saying: 3r, each, good for Ying gave Rincewind a slow, 'You think you've got troubles?' look.
But it was hard to tell where the stalls ended and the buildings began in any case. Dried-up things hanging on a string might be merchandise or someone's washing or quite possibly next week's dinner.
The Hunghungese were an outdoor kind of people; from the look of it, they conducted most of their lives on the street and at the top of their voice.
Progress was made by viciously elbowing and shoving people until they got out of the way. Standing still and saying, 'Er, excuse me' was a recipe for immobility.
The crowds did part, though, at the banging of a gong and a succession of loud 'pops'. A group of people in white robes danced past, throwing fireworks around and banging on gongs, saucepans and odd bits of metal. The din contrived to be louder than the street noise, but only by very great effort.
Rincewind had been getting the occasional puzzled glance from people who stopped screaming long enough to notice him. Perhaps it was time to act like a native.
He turned to the nearest person and screamed. "Pretty good, eh?"
The person, a little old lady in a straw hat, stared at him in distaste.
"It's Mr Whu's funeral," she snapped, and walked off.
There were a couple of soldiers nearby. If this had been Ankh-Morpork, then they'd have been sharing a cigarette and trying not to see anything that might upset them. But these had an alert look.
Rincewind backed into another alley. An untutored visitor could clearly find himself in big trouble here.
This alley was quieter and, at the far end, opened into something much wider and empty looking. On the basis that people also meant trouble, Rincewind headed in that direction.
Here, at last, was an open space. It was very open indeed. It was a paved square, big enough to hold a couple of armies. It had cherry trees growing along the verges. And, given the heaving mob everywhere else, a surprising absence of anyone…
"You!"
… apart from the soldiers.
They appeared abruptly from behind every tree and statue.
Rincewind tried to back away, but that proved unfortunate since there was a guard behind him.
A terrifying armoured mask confronted him.
"Peasant! Do you not know this is the Imperial Square?"
"Was that a capital S on Square, please?" said Rincewind.
"You do not ask questions!"
"Ah. I'll take that as a 'yes'. So it's important, then. Sorry. I'll just sort of go away, then…"
"You stay!"
But what struck Rincewind as amazingly odd was that none of them actually took hold of him. And then he realized that this must be because they hardly ever needed to. People did what they were told.
There's something worse than whips in the Empire, Cohen had said.
At this point, he realized, he should be on his knees. He crouched down, hands placed lightly in front of him.
"I wonder," he said brightly, rising into the starting position, "if this is the time to draw your attention to a famous saying?"
Cohen was familiar with city gates. He'd broken down a number in his time, by battering ram, siege gun and on one occasion with his head.
But the gates of Hunghung were pretty damn good gates. They weren't like the gates of Ankh-Morpork, which were usually wide open to attract the spending customer and whose concession to defence was the sign 'Thank You For Not Attacking Our City. Bonum Diem'. These things were big and made of metal and there was a guardhouse and a squad of unhelpful men in black armour.
"Teach?"
"Yes, Cohen?"
"Why're we doing this? I thought we were going to use the invisible duck the mice use."
Mr Saveloy waggled a finger.
"That's for the Forbidden City itself. I hope we'll find that inside. Now, remember your lessons," he said. "It's important that you all learn how to behave in cities."
"I know how to bloody well behave in cities," said Truckle the Uncivil. "Pillage, ravish, loot, set fire to the damn place on your way out. Just like towns only it takes longer."
"That's all very well if you're just passing through," said Mr Saveloy, "but what if you want to come back next day?"
"It ain't bloody well there next day, mister."
"Gentlemen! Bear with me. You will have to learn the ways of civilization!"
People couldn't just walk through. There was a line. And the guards gathered rather offensively around each cowering visitor to examine their papers.
And then it was Cohen's turn.
"Papers, old man?"
Cohen nodded happily, and handed the guard captain a piece of paper on which was written, in Mr Saveloy's best handwriting:
WE ARE WANDERING MADMEN WHO HAVE NO PAPERS. SORRY.
The guard's gaze lifted from the paper and met Cohen's cheerful grin.
"Indeed," he said nastily. "Can't you speak, grandfather?"
Cohen, still grinning, looked questioningly at Mr Saveloy. They hadn't rehearsed this part.
"Foolish dummy," said the guard.
Mr Saveloy looked outraged.
"I thought you were supposed to show special consideration for the insane!" he said.
"You cannot be insane without papers to say you're insane," said the guard.
"Oh, I'm fed up with this," said Cohen. "I said it wouldn't work if we came across a thick guard."
"Insolent peasant!"
"I'm not as insolent as my friends here," said Cohen.
The Horde nodded.
"That's us, flatfoot."
"Bum to you."
"Whut?"
"Extremely foolish soldier."
"Whut?"
The captain was taken aback. Deeply ingrained in the Agatean psyche was the habit of obedience. But even stronger was a veneration of one's ancestors and a respect for the elderly, and the captain had never seen anyone so elderly while still vertical. They practically were ancestors. The one in the wheelchair certainly smelled like one.
"Take them to the guardhouse!" he shouted.
The Horde let themselves be manhandled, and did it quite well. Mr Saveloy had spent hours training them in this, since he knew he was dealing with men whose response to a tap on the shoulder was to turn around and hack off someone's arm.
It was crowded in the guardhouse, with the Horde and the guards and with Mad Hamish's wheelchair. One of the guards looked down at Hamish, glowering under his blanket.
"What do you have there, grandfather?"
A sword came up through the cloth and stabbed the guard in the thigh.
"Whut? Whut? Whutzeesay?"
"He said, 'Aargh!', Hamish," said Cohen, a knife appearing in his hand. With one movement his skinny arms had the captain in a lock, the knife at his throat.
"Whut?"
"He said, 'Aargh!'"
"Whut? I ain't even married!"
Cohen put a little more pressure on the captain's neck.
"Now then, friend," he said. "You can have it the easy way, see, or the hard way. It's up to you."
"Blood-sucking pig! You call this the easy way?"
"Well, I ain't sweatin'."
"May you live in interesting times! I would rather die than betray my Emperor!"
"Fair enough."
It took the captain only a fraction of a second to realize that Cohen, being a man of his word, assumed that other people were too. He might, if he had time, have reflected that the purpose of civilization is to make violence the final resort, while to a barbarian it is the first, preferred, only and above all most enjoyable option. But by then it was too late. He slumped forward.
"I always lives in interestin' times," said Cohen, in the satisfied voice of someone who did a lot to keep them interesting.
He pointed his knife at the other guards. Mr Saveloy's mouth was wide open in horror.
"
By rights I should be cleanin' this," said Cohen. "But I ain't goin' to bother if it's only goin' to get dirty again. Now, person'ly, I'd as soon kill you as look at you but Teach here says I've got to stop doin' that and become respectable."
One of the guards looked sideways at his fellows and then fell on his knees.
"What is your wish, o master?" he said.
"Ah, officer material," said Cohen. "What's your name, lad?"
"Nine Orange Trees, master."
Cohen looked at Mr Saveloy.
"What do I do now?"
"Take them prisoner, please."
"How do I do that?"
"Well… I suppose you tie them up, that sort of thing."
"Ah. And then cut their throats?"
"No! No. You see, once you've got them at your mercy, you're not allowed to kill them."
The Silver Horde, to a man, stared at the ex-teacher.
"I'm afraid that's civilization for you," he added.
"But you said the sods haven't got any bloody weapons!" said Truckle.
"Yes," said Mr Saveloy, shuddering a little. "That's why you're not allowed to kill them."
"Are you mad? Got mad papers, have you?"
Cohen scratched his stubbly chin. The remainder of the guard watched him in trepidation. They were used to cruel and unusual punishment, but they were unaccustomed to argument first.
"You haven't had a lot of military experience, have you, Teach?" he said.
"Apart from Form Four? Not a lot. But I'm afraid this is the way it has to be done. I'm sorry. You did say you wanted me—"
"Well, I vote we just cuts their throats right now," said Boy Willie. "I can't be having with this prisoner business either. I mean, who's gonna feed them?"
"I'm afraid you have to."
"Who me? Not likely! I vote we make them eat their own eyeballs. Hands up all in favour."
There was a chorus of assent from the Horde and, among the raised hands, Cohen noticed one belonging to Nine Orange Trees.
"What you voting for, lad?" he said.
"Please, sir, I would like to go to the lavatory."
"You listen to me, you lot," said Cohen. "This slaughtering and butchering business isn't how you do it these days, right? That's what Mr Saveloy says and he knows how to spell words like 'marmalad' which is more than you do. Now, we know why we're here, and we'd better start as we mean to go on."
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