"Right."
"I mean, odds of 100,000 to one… hah. The difference is just a lot of zeroes, right?"
"Right."
"I mean, stout comrades at our side, a strong right arm… What more could we want?"
Pause.
"A volcano'd be favourite."
Pause.
"We're going to die, aren't we?"
"Yep."
The Horde looked at one another.
"Still, to look on the bright side, I recall I still owe Fafa the dwarf fifty dollars for this sword," said Boy Willie. "Looks as though I could end up ahead of the game."
Mr Saveloy put his head in his hands.
"I'm really sorry," he said.
"Don't worry about it," said Cohen.
The grey light of dawn was just visible in the high windows.
"Look," said Mr Saveloy, "you don't have to die. We could… well, we could sneak out. Back along the pipe, maybe. Perhaps we could carry Hamish. People are coming and going all the time. I'm sure we could get out of… the city… without… any…"
His voice faded away. No voice could keep going under the pressure of those stares. Even Hamish, whose gaze was generally focused on some point about eighty years away, was glaring at him.
"Ain't gonna run," said Hamish.
"It's not running away," he managed. "It's a sensible withdrawal. Tactics. Good grief, it's common sense!"
"Ain't gonna run."
"Look, even barbarians can count! And you've admitted you're going to die!"
"Ain't gonna run."
Cohen leaned forward and patted Mr Saveloy on the hand.
"It's the heroing, see," he said. "Who's ever heard of a hero running away? All them kids you was telling us about… you know, the ones who think we're stories… you reckon they'd believe we ran away? Well, then. No, it's not part of the whole deal, running away. Let someone else do the running."
"Besides," said Truckle, "where'd we get another chance like this? Six against five armies! That's bl — that's fantastic! We're not talking legends here. I reckon we've got a good crack at some mythology as well."
"But… you'll… die."
"Oh, that's part of it, I'll grant you, that's part of it. But what a way to go, eh?"
Mr Saveloy looked at them and realized that they were speaking another language in another world. It was one he had no key to, no map for. You could teach them to wear interesting pants and handle money but something in their soul stayed exactly the same.
"Do teachers go anywhere special when they die?" said Cohen.
"I don't think so," said Mr Saveloy gloomily. He wondered for a moment whether there really was a great Free Period in the sky. It didn't sound very likely. Probably there would be some marking to do.
"Well, whatever happens, when you're dead, if you ever feel like a good quaff, you're welcome to drop in at any time," said Cohen. "It's been fun. That's the important thing. And it's been an education, hasn't it, boys?"
There was a general murmur of assent.
"Amazing, all those long words."
"And learnin' to buy things."
"And social intercourse, hur, hur… sorry."
"Whut?"
"Shame it didn't work out, but I've never been one for plans," said Cohen.
Mr Saveloy stood up.
"I'm going to join you," he said grimly.
"What, to fight?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how to handle a sword?" said Truckle.
"Er. No."
"Then you've wasted all your life."
Mr Saveloy looked offended at this.
"I expect I'll get the hang of it as we go along," he said.
"Get the hang of it? It's a sword!"
"Yes, but… when you're a teacher, you have to pick things up fast." Mr Saveloy smiled nervously. "I once taught practical alchemy for a whole term when Mr Schism was off sick after blowing himself up, and up until then I'd never seen a crucible."
"Here." Boy Willie handed the teacher a spare sword. He hefted it.
"Er. I expect there's a manual, or something?"
"Manual? No. You hold the blunt end and poke the other end at people."
"Ah? Really? Well, that seems quite straightforward. I thought there was rather more to it than that."
"You sure you want to come with us?" said Cohen.
Mr Saveloy looked firm. "Absolutely. I very much doubt if I'll survive if you lose and… well, it seems that you heroes get a better class of Heaven. I must say I rather suspect you get a better class of life, too. And I really don't know where teachers go when they're dead, but I've got a horrible suspicion it'll be full of sports masters."
"It's just that I don't know if you could really go properly berserk," said Cohen. "Have you ever had the red mist come down and woke up to find you'd bitten twenty people to death?"
"I used to be reckoned a pretty ratty man if people made too much noise in class," said Mr Saveloy. "And something of a dead shot with a piece of chalk, too."
"How about you, taxman?"
Six Beneficent Winds backed away hurriedly.
"I… I think I'm probably more cut out for undermining the system from within," he said.
"Fair enough." Cohen looked at the others. "I've never done this official sort of warring before," he said. "How's it supposed to go?"
"I think you just line up in front of one another and then charge," said Mr Saveloy.
"Seems straightforward enough. All right, let's go."
They strode, or in one case wheeled and in another case moved at Mr Saveloy's gentle trot, down the hall, The taxman trailed after them.
"Mr Saveloy!" he shouted. "You know what's going to happen! Have you lost your senses?"
"Yes," said the teacher, "but I may have found some better ones."
He grinned to himself. The whole of his life, so far, had been complicated. There had been timetables and lists and a whole basket of things he must do and things he shouldn't do, and the life of Mr Saveloy had been this little wriggly thing trying to survive in the middle of it all. But now it had suddenly all become very simple. You held one end and you poked the other into people. A man could live his whole life by a maxim like that. And, afterwards, get a very interesting afterlife—
"Here, you'll need this too," said Caleb, poking something round at him as they stepped into the grey light. "It's a shield."
"Ah. It's to protect myself, yes?"
"If you really need to, bite the edge."
"Oh, I know about that," said Mr Saveloy. "That's when you go berserk, right?"
"Could be, could be," said Caleb. "That's why a lot of fighters do it. But personally I do it 'cos it's made of chocolate."
"Chocolate?"
"You can never get a proper meal in these battles."
And this is me, thought Mr Saveloy, marching down the street with heroes. They are the great fi—
"And when in doubt, take all your clothes off," said Caleb.
"What for?"
"Sign of a good berserk, taking all your clothes off. Frightens the hell out of the enemy. If anyone starts laughing, stab 'em one."
There was a movement among the blankets in the wheelchair.
"Whut?"
"I said, STAB 'EM ONE, Hamish."
Hamish waved an arm that looked like bone with skin on it, and apparently far too thin to hold the axe it was in fact holding.
"That's right! Right in the nadgers!"
Mr Saveloy nudged Caleb.
"I ought to be writing this down," he said. "Where exactly are the nadgers?"
"Small range of mountains near the Hub."
"Fascinating."
The citizens of Hunghung were ranged along the city walls. It was not every day you saw a fight like this.
Rincewind elbowed and kicked his way through the people until he reached the cadre, who'd managed to occupy a prime position over the main gate.
"What're you hanging around here for?" he said. "You could be miles aw
ay!"
"We want to see what happens, of course," said Twoflower, his spectacles gleaming.
"I know what happens! The Horde will be instantly slaughtered!" said Rincewind. "What did you expect to happen?"
"Ah, but you're forgetting the invisible vampire ghosts," said Twoflower.
Rincewind looked at him.
"What?"
"Their secret army. I heard that we've got some, too. Should be interesting to watch."
"Twoflower, there are no invisible vampire ghosts."
"Ah, yes, everyone's going round denying it," said Lotus Blossom. "So there must be some truth in it."
"But I made it up!"
"Ah, you may think you made it up," said Twoflower. "But perhaps you are a pawn of Fate."
"Listen, there's no—"
"Same old Rincewind," said Twoflower, in a jolly way. "You always were so pessimistic about everything, but it always worked out all right in the end."
"There are no ghosts, there are no magic armies," said Rincewind. "There's just—"
"When seven men go out to fight an army 100,000 times bigger there's only one way it can end," said Twoflower.
"Right. I'm glad you see sense."
"They'll win," said Twoflower. "They've got to. Otherwise the world's just not working properly."
"You look educated," said Rincewind to Butterfly. "Explain to him why he's wrong. It's because of a little thing we have in our country. I don't know if you've ever heard of it — it's called mathematics."
The girl smiled at him.
"You don't believe me, do you?" said Rincewind flatly. "You're just like him. What d'you think this is, homeopathic warfare? The smaller your side the more likely you are to win? Well, it's not like that. I wish it was like that, but it isn't. Nothing is. There are no amazing strokes of luck, no magic solutions, and the good people don't win because they're small and plucky!" He waved his hand irritably at something.
"You always survived," said Twoflower. "We had amazing adventures and you always survived."
"That was just coincidence."
"You kept on surviving."
"And you got us safely out of prison," said Lotus Blossom.
"There were just a lot of coinci— Will you go away!"
A butterfly skittered away from his flailing hand.
"Damn things," he mumbled. And added: "Well, that's it. I'm off. I can't watch. I've got things to do. Besides, afterwards I think nasty people are going to be looking for me."
And then he realized there were tears in Lotus Blossom's eyes.
"We… we thought you would do something," she said.
"Me? I can't do anything! Especially not magic! I'm famous for it! Don't go around believing that Great Wizards solve all your problems, because there aren't any and they don't and I should know because I'm not one!"
He backed away. This is always happening to me! I'm just minding my own business and everything goes wrong and suddenly everyone's relying on me and saying, "Oh, Rincewind, what are you going to do about it?" Well, what Mrs Rincewind's little boy, if she was a Mrs Rincewind of course, what he's going to do about it is nothing, right? You have to sort it all out yourselves! No mysterious magical armies are going to — Will you stop looking at me like that? I don't see why it's my fault! I've got other things to do! It's not my business!"
And then he turned and ran.
The crowds didn't take much notice of him.
The streets were deserted by Hunghung standards, which meant you could quite often see the cobbles. Rincewind pushed and shoved his way along the alleys nearest the Wall, looking for another gateway with guards too busy to ask questions.
There were footsteps behind him.
"Look," he said, spinning round, "I told you, you can all—"
It was the Luggage. It contrived to look a little ashamed of itself.
"Oh, turned up at last, have we?" said Rincewind savagely. "What happened to the following-master-everywhere thing?"
The Luggage shuffled its feet. From out of an alleyway came a slightly larger and far more ornate version of itself. Its lid was inset with decorative wood and, it seemed to Rincewind, its feet were rather more dainty than the horny-nailed, calloused ones of the Luggage. Besides, the toenails had been painted.
"Oh," he said. "Well. Good grief. Fair enough, I suppose. Really? I mean… yes. Well. Come on, then."
He reached the end of the alley and turned round. The Luggage was gently bumping the larger chest, urging it to follow him.
Rincewind's own sexual experiences were not excessive although he had seen diagrams. He hadn't the faintest idea about how it applied to travel accessories. Did they say things like 'What a chest!' or 'Get a load of the hinges on that one!'?
If it came to that, he had no real reason for considering that the Luggage was male. Admittedly it had a homicidal nature, but so had a lot of the women that Rincewind had met, and they had often become a little more homicidal as a result of meeting him. Capacity for violence, Rincewind had heard, was unisexual. He wasn't certain what unisex was, but expected that it was what he normally experienced.
There was a small gate ahead. It seemed to be unguarded.
Despite his fear he walked through it, and refrained from running. Authority always noticed a running man. The time to start running was around about the 'e' in 'Hey, you!"
No-one paid him any attention. The attention of the people along the Wall was all on the armies.
"Look at them," he said bitterly, to the generality of the universe. "Stupid. If it was seven against seventy, every one'd know who'd lose. Just because it's seven again 700,000, everyone's not sure. As though suddenly numbers don't mean anything any more. Huh! Why should I do anything? It's not as if I even know the guy all that well. Admittedly he saved my life a couple of times, but that's no reason to die horribly just because he can't count. So you can stop looking at me like that!"
The Luggage backed away a little. The other Luggage…
… Rincewind supposed it just looked female. Women had bigger luggage than men, didn't they? Because of the — he moved into unknown territory — extra frills and stuff. It was just one of those things, like the fact that they had smaller handkerchiefs than men even though their noses were generally the same size. The Luggage had always been the Luggage. Rincewind wasn't mentally prepared for there to be more than one. There was the Luggage and… the other Luggage.
"Come on, both of you," he said. "We're getting out of here. I've done what I can. I just don't care any more. It's nothing to do with me. I don't see why everyone depends on me. I'm not dependable. Even I don't depend on me, and I'm me."
Cohen looked at the horizon. Grey-blue clouds were piling up.
"There's a storm coming," he said.
"It's a mercy that we won't be alive to get wet, then," said Boy Willie, cheerfully.
"Funny thing, though. It looks like it's coming from every direction at once."
"Filthy foreign weather. You can't trust it."
Cohen turned his attention to the armies of the five warlords.
There seemed to have been some agreement.
They'd arranged themselves around the position that Cohen had taken up. The tactic seemed quite clear. It was simply to advance. The Horde could see the commanders riding up and down in front of their legions.
"How's it supposed to start?" said Cohen, the rising wind whipping at what remained of his hair. "Does someone blow a whistle or something? Or do we just scream and charge?"
"Commencement is generally by agreement," said Mr Saveloy.
"Oh."
Cohen looked at the forest of lances and pennants. Hundreds of thousands of men looked like quite a lot of men when you saw them close to.
"I suppose," he said, slowly, "that none of you has got some amazing plan you've been keeping quiet about?"
"We thought you had one," said Truckle.
Several riders had now left each army and approached the Horde in a group. They stopped a litt
le more than a spear's throw away, and sat and watched.
"All right, then," said Cohen. "I hate to say this, but perhaps we should talk about surrender."
"No!" said Mr Saveloy, and then stopped in embarrassment at the loudness of his own voice. "No," he repeated, a little more quietly. "You won't live if you surrender. You just won't die immediately."
Cohen scratched his nose. "What's that flag… you know… when you want to talk to them without them killing you?"
"It's got to be red," said Mr Saveloy. "But look, it's no good you—"
"I don't know, red for surrender, white for funerals…" muttered Cohen. "All right. Anyone got something red?"
"I've got a handkerchief," said Mr Saveloy, "but it's white and anyway—"
"Give it here."
The barbarian teacher very reluctantly handed it over.
Cohen pulled a small, worn knife from his belt.
"I don't believe this!" said Mr Saveloy. He was nearly in tears. "Cohen the Barbarian talking surrender with people like that!"
"Influence of civilization," said Cohen. "'S probably made me go soft in the head."
He pulled the knife over his arm, and then clamped the handkerchief over the cut.
"There we are," he said. "Soon have a nice red flag."
The Horde nodded approvingly. It was an amazingly symbolic, dramatic and above all stupid gesture, in the finest traditions of barbarian heroing. It didn't seem to be lost on some of the nearer soldiers, either.
"Now," Cohen went on, "I reckon you, Teach, and you, Truckle… you two come with me and we'll go and talk to these people."
They'll drag you off to their dungeons!" said Mr Saveloy. "They've got torturers that can keep you alive for years!"
"Whut? Whutzeesay?"
"He said THEY CAN KEEP YOU ALIVE FOR YEARS IN THEIR DUNGEONS, Hamish."
"Good! Fine by me!"
"Oh, dear," said Mr Saveloy.
He trailed after the other two towards the warlords.
Lord Hong raised his visor and stared down his nose at them as they approached.
"Red flag, look," said Cohen, waving the rather I damp object on the end of his sword.
"Yes," said Lord Hong. "We saw that little show. It may impress the common soldiers but it does not impress me, barbarian."
"Please yourself," said Cohen. "We've come to talk about surrender."
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