"Very old-established family."
Rincewind nodded gloomily. It was probably like breeding horses. If you have a system where treacherous murderers tend to win, you end up breeding really treacherous murderers. You end up with a situation where it's dangerous to lean over a cradle…
There was another scream.
Rincewind started kicking at the stones.
A key turned in the lock.
"Oh," said Twoflower.
But the door didn't open.
Finally Rincewind walked over and tried the big iron ring.
The door swung outwards, but not too far because the recumbent body of a guard makes an unusual but efficient doorstop.
There was a whole ring of keys hanging from the one in the door…
An inexperienced prisoner would simply have run for it. But Rincewind was a post-graduate student in the art of staying alive, and knew that in circumstances like these much the best thing to do was let out every single prisoner, pat each one hurriedly on the back and say, "Quick! They're coming for you!" and then go and sit somewhere nice and quiet until the pursuit has disappeared in the distance.
He opened the door to Twoflower's cell first.
The little man was skinnier and grubbier than he remembered, and had a wispy beard, but in one very significant way he had the feature that Rincewind remembered so well — the big, beaming, trusting smiled that suggested that anything bad currently happening to him was just some sort of laughable mistake and would be bound to be sorted out by reasonable people.
"Rincewind! It is you! I certainly never thought I'd see you again!" he said.
"Yes, I thought something on those lines," said Rincewind.
Twoflower looked past Rincewind at the fallen guard.
"Is he dead?" he said, speaking of a man with a sword half buried in his back.
"Extremely likely."
"Did you do that?"
"I was inside the cell!"
"Amazing! Good trick!"
Despite several years of exposure to the facts of the matter, Rincewind remembered, Twoflower had never really wanted to grasp the fact that his companion had the magical abilities of the common house fly. It was useless to try to dissuade him. It just meant that modesty was added to the list of non-existent virtues.
He tried some of the keys in other cell doors. Various raggedy people emerged, blinking in the slightly better light. One of them, turning his body slightly in order to get it through the door, was Three Yoked Oxen. From the look of him he'd been beaten up, but this might just have been someone's attempt to attract his attention.
"This is Rincewind," said Twoflower proudly. "The Great Wizard. Did you know he killed the guard from inside the cell?"
They politely inspected the corpse.
"I didn't, really," said Rincewind.
"And he's modest, too!"
"Long Life To The People's Endeavour!" said Three Yoked Oxen through rather swollen lips.
"'Mine's A Pint!'" said Rincewind. "Here's bigfella keys belong door, you go lettee people outee chop-chop."
One of the freed prisoners limped to the end of the passage.
"There's a dead guard here," he said.
"It wasn't me," said Rincewind plaintively. "I mean, perhaps I wished they were dead, but—"
People edged away. You didn't want to be too close to anyone who could wish like that.
If this had been Ankh-Morpork someone would have said, "Oh, yeah, sure, he magically stabbed them in the back?" But that was because people in Ankh-Morpork knew Rincewind, and they knew that if a wizard really wanted you dead you'd have no back left to stab.
Three Yoked Oxen had been able to master the technical business of opening doors. More swung open…
"Lotus Blossom?" said Rincewind.
She clung to Oxen's arm and smiled at Rincewind. Other members of the cadre trooped out behind her.
Then, to Rincewind's amazement, she looked at Twoflower, screamed, and threw her arms around his neck.
"Extended Continuation To Filial Affection!" chanted Three Yoked Oxen.
"'Close Cover Before Striking!'" said Rincewind. "Er. What exactly is happening?"
A very small Red soldier tugged at his robe.
"He is her daddy," it said.
"You never said you had children!"
"I'm sure I did. Often," said Twoflower, disentangling himself. "Anyway… it is allowed."
"You're married!"
"I was, yes. I'm sure I must have said."
"We were probably running away from something at the time. So there's a Mrs Twoflower, is there?"
"There was for a while," said Twoflower, and for a moment an expression almost of anger distorted his preternaturally benign countenance. "Not, alas, any more."
Rincewind looked away, because that was better than looking at Twoflower's face.
Butterfly had also emerged. She stood just outside the cell door, with her hands clasped in front of her, looking down demurely at her feet.
Twoflower rushed over to her.
"Butterfly!"
Rincewind looked down at the rabbit clutcher.
"She another daughter, Pearl?"
"Yeth."
The little man came towards Rincewind, dragging the girls.
"Have you met my daughters?" he said. This is Rincewind, who—"
"We have had the pleasure," said Butterfly, gravely.
"How did you all get here?" said Rincewind.
"We fought as hard as we could," said Butterfly. "But there were simply too many of them."
"I hope you didn't try to grab their weapons," said Rincewind, as sarcastically as he dared.
Butterfly glared at him.
"Sorry," said Rincewind.
"Herb says it is the system that is to blame," said Lotus Blossom.
"I bet he's got a better system all worked out." Rincewind looked at the throng of prisoners. "They usually have. Where is he, by the way?"
The girls looked around.
"I don't see him here," said Lotus Blossom. "But I think that when the guards attacked us he laid down his life for the cause."
"Why?"
"Because that's what he said we should do. I am ashamed that I did not. But they seemed to want to capture us, not kill us."
"I did not see him," said Butterfly. She and Rincewind exchanged a glance. "I think perhaps… he was not there."
"You mean he had been caught already?" said Lotus Blossom.
Butterfly looked at Rincewind again. It occurred to him that whereas Lotus Blossom had inherited a Twoflower view of the world, Butterfly must have taken after her mother. She thought more like Rincewind, i.e., the worst of everyone.
"Perhaps," she said.
"Make Considerable Sacrifice For The Common Good," said Three Yoked Oxen.
"'There's One Born Every Minute,'" said Rincewind, absently.
Butterfly seemed to get a grip on herself.
"However," she said, "we must make the most of this opportunity."
Rincewind, who had been heading for the stairs, froze.
"Exactly what do you mean?" he said.
"Don't you see? We are at large in the Forbidden City!"
"Not me!" said Rincewind. "I've never been at large. I've always been at hunched."
"The enemy brought us in here and now we are free—"
"Thanks to the Great Wizard," said Lotus Blossom.
"—and we must seize the day!"
She picked up a sword from a stricken guard and waved it dramatically.
"We must storm the palace, just as Herb suggested!"
"There's only thirty of you!" said Rincewind. "You're not a storm! You're a shower!"
"There are hardly any guards within the city itself," said Butterfly. "If we can overcome those around the Emperor's apartments—"
"You'll be killed!" said Rincewind.
She turned on him. "Then at least we shall have died for something!"
"Cleanse The State With The Blood Of M
artyrs," rumbled Three Yoked Oxen.
Rincewind spun around and waved a finger under Three Yoked Oxen's nose, which was as high as he could reach.
"I'll bloody well thump you if you trot out something like that one more time!" he shouted, and then grimaced at the realization that he had just threatened a man three times heavier than he was.
"Listen to me, will you?" he said, settling down a little. "I know about people who talk about suffering for the common good. It's never bloody them! When you hear a man shouting "Forward, brave comrades!" you'll see he's the one behind the bloody big rock and wearing the only really arrow-proof helmet! Understand?"
He stopped. The cadre were looking at him as if he was mad. He stared at their young, keen faces, and felt very, very old.
"But there are causes worth dying for," said Butterfly.
"No, there aren't! Because you've only got one life but you can pick up another five causes on any street corner!"
"Good grief, how can you live with a philosophy like that?"
Rincewind took a deep breath. "Continuously!"
Six Beneficent Winds had thought it was a pretty good plan.. The horrible old men were lost in the Forbidden City. Although they had a wiry look, rather like natural bonsai trees that had managed to flourish on a wind-swept cliff, they were nevertheless very old and not at all heavily armed.
So he led them in the direction of the gymnasium.
And when they were inside he screamed for help at top of his voice. To his amazement, they didn't turn and run.
"Can we kill him now?" said Truckle.
A couple of dozen muscular men had stopped pounding logs of wood and piles of bricks and were regarding them suspiciously.
"Got any ideas?" said Cohen to Mr Saveloy.
"Oh, dear. They're so very tough looking, aren't they?"
"You can't think of anything civilized?"
"No. It's over to you, I'm afraid."
"Hah! Hah! I bin waiting for this," said Caleb, pushing forward. "Bin practising every day, 'n I? With my big lump o' teak."
"These are ninjas," said Six Beneficent Winds proudly, as a couple of the men wandered towards the door and pulled it shut. "The finest fighters in the world! Yield now!"
"That's interesting," said Cohen. "Here, you, in the black pyjamas.. Just got out of bed, have you? Who's the best out of all of you?"
One of the men stared fixedly at Cohen and thrust out a hand at the nearest wall. It left a dent.
Then he nodded at the tax gatherer. "What are these old fools you've brought us?"
"I think they're barbarian invaders," said the taxman.
"How'd you — How'd he know that?" said Boy Willie. "We're wearin' itchy trousers and eatin' with forks and everythin'—'
The leading ninja sneered. "Heroic eunuchs?" he said. "Old men?"
"Who're you calling a eunuch?" Cohen demanded.
"Can I just show him what I've been practising with my lump o' teak?" said Caleb, hopping arthritically from one foot to the other.
The ninja eyed the slab of timber.
"You could not make a dent on that, old man," he said.
"You watch," said Caleb. He held out the wood at arm's length. Then he raised his other hand, grunting a little as it got past shoulder height.
"You watching this hand? You watching this hand?" he demanded.
"I am watching," said the laugh.
"Good," said Caleb. He kicked the man squarely in the groin and then, as he doubled up, hit him over the head with the teak."
"'Cos you should've been watchin' this foot."
And that would have been all there was to it if there had only been one ninja. But there was a clatter of rice flails and an unsheathing of long, curved swords.
The Horde drew closer together. Hamish pushed back his rug to reveal their armoury, although the collection of notched blades looked positively homely compared with the shiny toys ranged against them.
"Teach, why don't you take Mr Taxman over to the corner out of harm's way?" said Ghenghiz.
"This is madness!" said Six Beneficent Winds. "They're the finest fighters in the world and you're just old men! Give in now and I'll see if I can get you a rebate!"
"Calm down, calm down," said Mr Saveloy. "No-one's going to get hurt. Metaphorically, at least."
Ghenghiz Cohen waved his sword a few times.
"OK, you lads," he said. "Give us your best ninje."
Six Beneficent Winds looked on in horror as the Horde squared up.
"But it will be terrible slaughter!" he said.
"I'm afraid so," said Mr Saveloy. He fished in his pockets for a bag of peppermints.
"Who are these mad old men? What do they do?"
"Barbarian heroing, generally," said Mr Saveloy, "Rescuing princesses, robbing temples, fighting monsters, exploring ancient and terror-filled ruins… that sort of thing."
"But they look old enough to be dead! Why do they do it?"
Saveloy shrugged. "That's all they've ever done."
A ninja somersaulted down the room, screaming, a sword in either hand; Cohen waited in an attitude rather similar to that of a baseball batter.
"I wonder," said Mr Saveloy, "if you have ever heard of the term 'evolution'?"
The two met. The air blurred.
"Or 'survival of the fittest'?" said Mr Saveloy.
The scream continued, but rather more urgently.
"I didn't even see his sword move!" whispered Six Beneficent Winds.
"Yes. People often don't," said Mr Saveloy.
"But… they're so old!"
"Indeed," said the teacher, raising his voice above the screams, "and of course this is true. They are very old barbarian heroes."
The taxman stared.
"Would you like a peppermint?" said Mr Saveloy, as Hamish's wheelchair thundered past in pursuit of a man with a broken sword and a pressing desire to stay alive. "You may find it helps, if you are around the Horde for any length of time."
The aroma from the proffered paper bag hit Six Beneficent Winds like a flamethrower.
"How can you smell anything after eating those?"
"You can't," said Mr Saveloy happily.
The taxman continued to stare. The fighting was a fast and furious affair but, somehow, only on one side. The Horde fought like you'd expect old men to fight — slowly, and with care. All the activity was on the part of the ninjas, but no matter how well flung the throwing star or speedy the kick, the target was always, without any obvious effort, not there.
"Since we have this moment to chat," said Mr Saveloy, as something with a lot of blades hit the wall just above the taxman's head, "I wonder: could you tell me about the big hill just outside the city? It is quite a remarkable feature."
"What?" said Six Beneficent Winds distractedly.
"The big hill."
"You want to know about that? Now?"
"Geography is a little hobby of mine."
Someone's ear hit Six Beneficent Winds on the ear.
"Er. What? We call it the Big Hill… Hey, look at what he's doing with his—"
"It seems remarkably regular. Is it a natural feature?"
"What? Eh? Oh… I don't know, they say it turned up thousands of years ago. During a terrible storm. When the first Emperor died. He… he's going to be killed! He's going to be killed! He's going to be — How did he do that?"
Six Beneficent Winds suddenly remembered, as a child, playing Shibo Yangcong-san with his grandfather. The old man always won. No matter how carefully he'd assembled his strategy, he'd find Grandfather would place a tile quite innocently right in the crucial place just before he could make his big move. The ancestor had spent his whole life playing shibo. The fight was just like that.
"Oh, my," he said.
"That's right," said Mr Saveloy. "They've had a lifetime's experience of not dying. They've become very good at it."
"But… why here? Why come here?"
"We're going to undertake a robbery," said Mr Saveloy.<
br />
Six Beneficent Winds nodded sagely. The wealth of the Forbidden City was legendary. Probably even blood-sucking ghosts had heard of it.
"The Talking Vase of Emperor P'gi Su?" he said.
"No."
"The Jade Head of Sung Ts'uit Li?"
"No. Wrong track entirely, I'm afraid."
"Not the secret of how silk is made?"
"Good grief. Silkworms' bottoms. Everyone knows that. No. Something rather more precious than that."
Despite himself, Six Beneficent Winds was impressed. Apart from anything else, only seven ninjas were still standing and Cohen was fencing with one of them while rolling a cigarette in the other hand.
And Mr Saveloy could see it dawning in the fat man's eyes.
The same thing had happened to him.
Cohen came into people's lives like a rogue planet into a peaceful solar system, and you felt yourself being dragged along simply because nothing like that would ever happen to you again.
He himself had been peacefully hunting for fossils during the school holidays when he had, more or less, stumbled into the camp of those particular fossils called the Horde. They'd been quite friendly, because he had neither weapons nor money. And they'd taken to him, because he knew things they didn't. And that had been it.
He'd decided there and then. It must have been something in the air. His past life had suddenly unrolled behind him and he couldn't remember a single day of it that had been any fun. And it had dawned on him that he could join the Horde or go back to school and, pretty soon, a limp handshake, a round of applause and his pension.
It was something about Cohen. Maybe it was what they called charisma. It overpowered even his normal smell of a goat that had just eaten curried asparagus. He did everything wrong. He cursed people and used what Mr Saveloy considered very offensive language to foreigners. He shouted terms that would have earned anyone else a free slit throat from a variety of interesting ethnic weapons — and he got away with it, partly because it was clear that there was no actual malice there but mainly because he was, well, Cohen, a sort of basic natural force on legs.
It worked on everything. When he wasn't actually fighting them, he got on a lot better with trolls than did people who merely thought that trolls had rights just like everyone else. Even the Horde, bloody-minded individualists to a man, fell for it.
But Mr Saveloy had also seen the aimlessness in their lives and, one night, he'd brought the conversation round to the opportunities offered in the Aurient…
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