Interesting Times d-17

by Terry Pratchett

  "Now, there is an elderly lady over there selling ducks," said Mr Saveloy. "I think the next stage — Mr Willie, I am not over there, I am sure whatever you are looking at is very interesting, but please pay attention — is to practise our grasp of social intercourse."

  "Hur, hur, hur," said Caleb the Ripper.

  "I mean, Mr Ripper, that you should go and enquire how much it would be for a duck," said Mr Saveloy.

  "Hur, hur, hur — What?"

  "And you are not to rip all her clothes off. That's not civilized."

  Caleb scratched his head. Flakes fell out.

  "Well, what else am I supposed to do?"

  "Er… engage her in conversation."

  "Eh? What's there to talk about with a woman?"

  Mr Saveloy hesitated again. To some extent this was unknown territory to him as well. His experience with women at his last school had been limited to an occasional chat with the housekeeper, and on one occasion the matron had let him put his hand on her knee. He had been forty before he found out that oral sex didn't mean talking about it. Women had always been to him strange and distant and wonderful creatures rather than, as the Horde to a man believed, something to do. He was struggling a little.

  "The weather?" he hazarded. His memory threw in vague recollections of the staple conversation of the maiden aunt who had brought him up. "Her health? The trouble with young people today?"

  "And then I rip her clothes off?"

  "Possibly. Eventually. If she wants you to. I might draw your attention to the discussion we had the other day about taking regular baths" — or even a bath, he added to himself — "and attention to fingernails and hair and changing your clothes more often."

  "This is leather," said Caleb. "You don't have to change it, it don't rot for years."

  Once again Mr Saveloy readjusted his sights. He'd thought that Civilization could be overlaid on the Horde like a veneer. He had been mistaken.

  But the funny thing — he mused, as the Horde watched Caleb's painful attempts at conversation with a representative of half the world's humanity — was that although they were as far away as possible from the kind of people he normally mixed with in staff-rooms, or possibly because they were as far away as possible from the kind of people he normally mixed with in staffrooms, he actually liked them. Every one of them saw a book as either a lavatorial accessory or a set of portable firelighters and thought that hygiene was a greeting. Yet they were honest (from their specialized point of view) and decent (from their specialized point of view) and saw the world as hugely simple. They stole from rich merchants and temples and kings. They didn't steal from poor people; this was not because there was anything virtuous about poor people, it was simply because poor people had no money.

  And although they didn't set out to give the money away to the poor, that was nevertheless what they did (if you accepted that the poor consisted of innkeepers, ladies of negotiable virtue, pickpockets, gamblers and general hangers-on), because although they would go to great lengths to steal money they then had as much control over it as a man trying to herd cats. It was there to be spent and lost. So they kept the money in circulation, always a praiseworthy thing in any society.

  They never worried about what other people thought. Mr Saveloy, who'd spent his whole life worrying about what other people thought and had been passed over for promotion and generally treated as a piece of furniture as a result, found this strangely attractive. And they never agonized about anything, or wondered if they were doing the right thing. And they enjoyed themselves immensely. They had a kind of honour. He liked the Horde. They weren't his kind of people.

  Caleb returned, looking unusually thoughtful.

  "Congratulations, Mr Ripper!" said Mr Saveloy, a great believer in positive reinforcement. "She still appears to be fully clothed."

  "Yeah, what'd she say?" said Boy Willie.

  "She smiled at me," said Caleb. He scratched his crusty beard uneasily. "A bit, anyway," he added.

  "Good," said Mr Saveloy.

  "She, er… she said she'd… she wouldn't mind seein' me… later…"

  "Well done!"

  "Er… Teach? What's a shave?"

  Saveloy explained.

  Caleb listened carefully, grimacing occasionally. He turned round occasionally to look at the duck seller, who gave him a little wave.

  "Cor," he said. "Er. I dunno…" He looked around again. "Never seen a woman who wasn't running away before."

  "Oh, women are like deer," said Cohen loftily. "You can't just charge in, you gotta stalk 'em—"

  "Hur, hur, h — Sorry," said Caleb, catching Mr Saveloy's stern eye.

  "I think perhaps we should end the lesson here," said Mr Saveloy. "We don't want to get you too civilized, do we…? I suggest we take a stroll around the Forbidden City, yes?"

  They'd all seen it. It dominated the centre of Hunghung. Its walls were forty feet high.

  "There's a lot of soldiers guarding the gates," said Cohen.

  "So they should. A great treasure lies within," said Mr Saveloy. He didn't raise his eyes, though. He seemed to be staring intently at the ground, as though searching for something he'd lost.

  "Why don't we just rush up and kill the guards?" Caleb demanded. He was still feeling a bit shaken.

  "Whut?"

  "Don't be daft," said Cohen. "It'd take all day. Anyway," he added, feeling a little proud despite himself, "Teach here is goin' to get us in on an invisible duck, ain't that so, Teach?"

  Mr Saveloy stopped.

  "Ah. Eureka," he said.

  "That's Ephebian, that is," Cohen told the Horde. "It means 'Give me a towel.'"

  "Oh yeah," said Caleb, who had been surreptitiously trying to untangle the knots in his beard. "And when were you ever in Ephebe?"

  "Went bounty hunting there once."

  "Who for?"

  "You, I think."

  "Hah! Did you find me?"

  "Dunno. Nod your head and see if it falls off."

  "Ah. Gentlemen… behold…"

  Mr Saveloy's orthopaedic sandal was prodding an ornamental metal square in the ground.

  "Behold what?" said Truckle.

  "Whut?"

  "We should look for more of these," said Mr Saveloy. "But I think we have it. All we need to do now is wait until dark."

  There was an argument going on. All Rincewind could make out were the voices; another sack had been tied over his head, while he himself was tied to a pillar.

  "Does he even look like a Great Wizard?"

  "That's what it says on his hat in the language of ghosts—"

  "So you say!"

  "What about the testimony of Four Big Sandal, then?"

  "He was overtaxed. He could have imagined it!"

  "I did not! He came out of thin air, flying like a dragon! He knocked over five soldiers. And Three Maximum Luck saw it also. And the others. And then he freed an ancient man and turned him into a mighty fighting warrior!"

  "And he can speak our language, just as it says in the book."

  "All right. Supposing he is the Great Wizard? Then we should kill him now!"

  In the darkness of his sack, Rincewind shook his head furiously.

  "Why?"

  "He will be on the side of the Emperor."

  "But the legend says the Great Wizard led the Red Army!"

  "Yes, for Emperor One Sun Mirror. It crushed the people!"

  "No, it crushed all the bandit chiefs! Then it built the Empire!"

  "So? The Empire is so great? Untimely Demise To The Forces Of Oppression!"

  "But now the Red Army is on the side of the people! Maximum Advancement With The Great Wizard!"

  "The Great Wizard is the Enemy of the People!"

  "I saw him, I tell you! A legion of soldiers collapsed with the wind of his passage!"

  The wind of his passage was beginning to worry Rincewind as well. It always tended to when he was frightened.

  "If he is such a great wizard, why is he still tied up? Why
has he not made his bonds disappear in puffs of green smoke?"

  "Perhaps he is saving his magic for some even mightier deeds. He wouldn't do firecracker tricks for earthworms."

  "Hah!"

  "And he had the Book! He was looking for us! It is his destiny to lead the Red Army!"

  Shake, shake, shake.

  "We can lead ourselves!"

  Nod, nod, nod.

  "We don't need any suspicious Great Wizards from illusionary places!"

  Nod, nod, nod.

  "So we should kill him now!"

  Nod, no — Shakeshakeshake.

  "Hah! He laughs at you with scorn! He waits to make your head explode with snakes of fire!"

  Shake, shake, shake.

  "You do know that while we're arguing Three Yoked Oxen is being tortured?"

  "The People's Army is more than just individuals, Lotus Blossom!"

  In the foetid sack Rincewind grimaced. He was already beginning to take a dislike to the first speaker, as one naturally does with people urging that you be put to death without delay. But when that sort of person started talking about things being more important than people, you knew you were in big trouble.

  "I'm sure the Great Wizard could rescue Three Yoked Oxen," said a voice by his ear. It was Butterfly.

  "Yes, he could easily rescue Three Yoked Oxen!" said Lotus Blossom.

  "Hah! You say? He could get into the Forbidden City? Impossible! It's certain death!"

  Nod, nod, nod.

  "Not to the Great Wizard," said the voice of Butterfly.

  "Shut up!" hissed Rincewind.

  "Would you like to know how big the meat cleaver is that Two Fire Herb is holding in his hand?" whispered Butterfly.

  "No!"

  "It's very big."

  "He said that going into the Forbidden City is certain death!"

  "No. It's only probable death. I assure you, if you run away from me again that is certain death."

  The sack was pulled away.

  The face immediately in front of him was that of Lotus Blossom, and a man could see a lot worse things with his daylight than her face, which made him think of cream and masses of butter and just the right amount of salt.[21]

  One of the things he might see, for example, was the face of Two Fire Herb. This was not a nice face. It was podgy and had tiny little pupils in its eyes, and looked like a living example of the fact that although the people could be oppressed by kings and emperors and mandarins, the job could often be done just as well by the man next door.

  "Great Wizard? Hah!" Two Fire Herb said now.

  "He can do it!" said Lotus Blossom (and cream cheese, thought Rincewind, and maybe coleslaw on the side). "He is the Great Wizard come back to us! Did he not guide the Master through the lands of ghosts and blood-sucking vampires?"

  "Oh, I wouldn't say—" Rincewind began.

  "Such a great wizard allowed you to bring him here in a sack?" said Two Fire Herb, sneering. "Let us see him do some conjuring…"

  "A truly great wizard would not stoop to doing party tricks!" said Lotus Blossom.

  "That's right," said Rincewind. "Not stoop."

  "Shame on Herb to suggest such a thing!"

  "Shame," Rincewind agreed.

  "Besides, he will need all of his power to enter the Forbidden City," said Butterfly. Rincewind found himself hating the sound of her voice.

  "Forbidden City," he murmured.

  "Everyone knows there are terrible snares and traps and many, many guards."

  "Snares, traps…"

  "Why, if his magic should fail him because he did tricks for Herb, he would find himself in the deepest dungeon, dying by inches."

  "Inches… er… which particular inch—"

  "So much shame to Two Fire Herb!"

  Rincewind gave her a sickly grin.

  "Actually," he said, "I'm not that great. I'm a bit great," he added quickly, as Butterfly began to frown, "but not very great—"

  "The writings of the Master say that you defeated many powerful enchanters and resolutely succeeded in dangerous situations."

  Rincewind nodded glumly. It was more or less true. But most of the time he hadn't intended to. Whereas the Forbidden City had looked… well… forbidden. It didn't look inviting. It didn't look as though it sold postcards. The only souvenir they were likely to give you would be, perhaps, your teeth. In a bag.

  "Er… I expect this Oxen lad is in some deep dungeon, yes?"

  "The deepest," said Two Fire Herb.

  "And… you've never seen anyone again? Who's been taken prisoner, I mean."

  "We have seen bits of them," said Lotus Blossom.

  "Usually their heads," said Two Fire Herb. "On spikes over the gates."

  "But not Three Yoked Oxen," said Lotus Blossom firmly. "The Great Wizard has spoken!"

  "Actually, I'm not sure I actually said—"

  "You have spoken," said Butterfly firmly.

  As Rincewind got accustomed to the gloom he realized that he was in some storeroom or cellar; the noise of the city came, rather muffled, from grilles near the ceiling. It was half full of barrels and bundles, and every one of them was a perch for someone. The room was crowded.

  The people were watching him with expressions of rapt attention, but that wasn't the only thing they had in common.

  Rincewind turned right around.

  "Who are all these children?" he said.

  "This," said Lotus Blossom, "is the Hunghung cadre of the Red Army."

  Two Fire Herb snorted.

  "Why did you tell him that?" he said. "Now we may have to kill him."

  "But they're all so young!"

  "They may be underprivileged in years," said Two Fire Herb, "but they are ancient in courage and honour."

  "And experienced in fighting?" said Rincewind hotly. "The guards I've seen do not look like nice people. I mean, do you even have any weapons?"

  "We will wrest the weapons we need from our enemies!" said Two Fire Herb. A cheer went up.

  "Really? How do you actually make them let go?" said Rincewind. He pointed to a very small girl, who leaned away from his digit as though it were loaded. She looked about seven and was holding a toy rabbit.

  "What's your name?"

  "One Favourite Pearl, Great Wizard!"

  "And what do you do in the Red Army?"

  "I have earned a medal for putting up of wall posters, Great Wizard.''

  "What… like "Slightly Bad Things Please Happen To Our Enemies"? That sort of thing?"

  "Er…" said the girl, looking imploringly at Butterfly.

  "Rebellion is not easy for us," said the older girl. "We don't have… experience."

  "Well, I'm here to tell you that you don't do it by singing songs and putting up posters and fighting bare-handed," said Rincewind. "Not when you're up against real people with real weapons. You…" His voice trailed away as he realized that a hundred pairs of eyes were watching him intently, and two hundred ears were carefully listening.

  He played back his own words in the echo chamber of his head. He'd said, "I'm here to tell you…"

  He spread out his hands and waved them frantically.

  "… that is, it's not up to me to tell you anything," he said.

  "That is correct," said Two Fire Herb. "We will overcome because history is on our side."

  "We will overcome because the Great Wizard is on our side," said Butterfly sharply.

  "I'll tell you this!" shouted Rincewind. "I'd rather trust me than history! Oh, shit, did I just say that?"

  "So you will help Three Yoked Oxen," said Butterfly.

  "Please!" said Lotus Blossom.

  Rincewind looked at her, and the tears in the corners of her eyes, and the bunch of awed teenagers who really thought that you could beat an army by singing rousing songs.

  There was only one thing he could do, if he really thought about it.

  He could play along for now and then get the hell out of it at the very first opportunity. Butterfly's anger wa
s bad, but a spike was a spike. Of course, he'd feel a bit of a heel for a while, but that was the point. He'd feel a heel, but he wouldn't feel a spike.

  The world had too many heroes and didn't need another one. Whereas the world had only one Rincewind and he owed it to the world to keep this one alive for as long as possible.

  There was an inn. There was a courtyard. There was a corral, for the Luggages.

  There were large travelling trunks, big enough to carry the needs of an entire household for a fortnight. There were merchants' sample cases, mere square boxes on crude legs. There were sleek overnight bags.

  They shuffled aimlessly in their pen. Occasionally there was the rattle of a handle or the creak of a hinge, and once or twice the snap of a lid and the bonk-bonk-bonk of boxes trying to get out of the way.

  Three of them were big and covered with studded leather. They looked the kind of travelling accessories that hang around outside cheap hotels and make suggestive remarks to handbags.

  The object of their attention was a rather smaller trunk with an inlaid lid and dainty feet. It had already backed into a corner as far as it could go.

  A large spiked lid creaked open a couple of times as the largest of the boxes edged closer.

  The smaller box had retreated so far its back legs were trying to climb the corral fence.

  There was the sound of running feet on the other side of the courtyard wall. They got closer, and then stopped abruptly.

  Then there was a twang such as would be made by an object landing on the taut roof of a cart.

  For a moment, against the rising moon, there was the shape of something somersaulting slowly through the evening air.

  It landed heavily in front of the three big chests, bounced upright and charged.

  Eventually various travellers spilled out into the night but by then items of clothing were strewn and trampled around the courtyard. Three black chests, battered and scarred, were discovered on the roof, each one scrabbling on the tiles and butting the others in an effort to be the highest. Others had panicked and broken down the wall and headed out across the country.

  Eventually, all but one of them were found.