Interesting Times d-17 Read online

  "Archchancellor, I really do think—"

  "Oh, you think, do you? Did anyone tell you it's your job to think? Ow! It's got my fingers now, thanks to you!"

  It needed all Ponder's courage to say, "I think… it might perhaps be some kind of firework, sir."

  The wizards turned their attention to the fizzling string.

  "What… coloured lights, stars, that sort of thing?" said Ridcully.

  "Possibly, sir."

  "Must be planning a hell of a display. Apparently they're very keen on firecrackers, over in the Empire." Ridcully spoke in the tone of voice of a man over whom the thought is slowly stealing that he just might have done something very silly.

  "Would you like me to extinguish the string, sir?" said Ponder.

  "Yes, dear boy, why not? Good idea. Good thinking, that man."

  Ponder stepped forward and pinched the string.

  "I do hope we haven't ruined something," he said.

  Rincewind opened his eyes.

  This was not cool sheets. It was white, and it was cold, but it lacked basic sheetness. It made up for this by having vast amounts of snowosity.

  And a groove. A long groove.

  Let's see now… He could remember the sensation of movement. And he vaguely remembered something small but incredibly heavy-looking roaring past in the opposite direction. And then he was here, moving so fast that his feet left this…

  … groove. Yes, groove, he thought, in the easy-going way of the mildly concussed. With people lying around it groaning.

  But they looked like people who, once they'd stopped crawling around groaning, were going to draw the swords they had about their persons and pay detailed attention to serious bits.

  He stood up, a little shakily. There didn't seem to be anywhere to run to. There was just this wide, snowy waste with a border of mountains.

  The soldiers were definitely looking a lot more conscious. Rincewind sighed. A few hours ago he'd been sitting on a warm beach with young women about to offer him potatoes,[13] and here he was on a windswept, chilly plain with some large men about to offer him violence.

  The soles of his shoes, he noticed, were steaming.

  And then someone said, "Hey! Are you… you're not, are you… are you… whatsyername… Rincewind, isn't it?"

  Rincewind turned.

  There was a very old man behind him. Despite the bitter wind he was wearing nothing except a leather lioncloth and a grubby beard so long that the loincloth wasn't really necessary, at least from the point of view of decency. His legs were blue from the cold and his nose was red from the wind, giving him overall quite a patriotic look if you were from the right country. He had a patch over one eye but rather more notable than that were his teeth. They glittered.

  "Don't stand there gawping like a big gawper! Get these damn things off me!"

  There were heavy shackles around his ankles and wrists; a chain led to a group of more or less similarly clad men who were huddling in a crowd and watching Rincewind in terror.

  "Heh! They think you're some kind of demon," cackled the old man. "But I knows a wizard when I sees one! That bastard over there's got the keys. Go and give him a good kicking."

  Rincewind took a few hesitant steps towards a recumbent guard and snatched at his belt.

  "Right," said the old man, "now chuck 'em over here. And then get out of the way."

  "Why?"

  "'Cos you don't want to get blood all over you."

  "But you haven't got a weapon and there's one of you and they've got big swords and there's five of them!"

  "I know," said the old man, wrapping the chain around one of his fists in a businesslike manner. "It's unfair, but I can't wait around all day."

  He grinned.

  Gems glittered in the morning light. Every tooth in the man's head was a diamond. And Rincewind knew of only one man who had the nerve to wear troll teeth.

  "Here? Cohen the Barbarian?"

  "Ssh! Ingconitar! Now get out of the way, I said." The teeth flashed at the guards, who were now vertical. "Come on, boys. There's five of you, after all. An' I'm an old man. Mumble, mumble, oo me leg, ekcetra…"

  To their credit, the guards hesitated. It was probably not, to judge from their faces, because there's something reprehensible about five large, heavily beweaponed men attacking a frail old man. It might have been because there's something odd about a frail old man who keeps on grinning in the face of obvious oblivion.

  "Oh, come on," said Cohen. The men edged closer, each waiting for one of the others to make the first move.

  Cohen took a few steps forward, waving his arms wearily. "Oh, no" he said. "It makes me ashamed, honestly it does. This is not how you attack someone, all milling around like a lot of millers; when you attack someone the important thing to remember is the element of… surprise—"

  Ten seconds later he turned to Rincewind.

  "All right, Mister Wizard. You can open your eyes now."

  One guard was upside down in a tree, one was a pair of feet sticking out of a snowdrift, two were slumped against rocks, and one was… generally around the place. Here and there. Certainly hanging out.

  Cohen sucked his wrist thoughtfully.

  "I reckon that last one came within an inch of getting me," he said. "I must be getting old."

  "Why are you h—" Rincewind paused. One packet of curiosity overtook the first one. "How old are you, exactly?"

  "Is this still the Century of the Fruitbat?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh, I dunno. Ninety? Could be ninety. Maybe ninety-five?" Cohen fished the keys out of the snow and ambled over to the group of men, who were cowering even more. He unlocked the first set of manacles and handed the shocked prisoner the keys.

  "Bugger off, the lot of you," he said, not unkindly. "And don't get caught again."

  He strolled back to Rincewind.

  "What brings you into this dump, then?"

  "Well—"

  "Interestin'," said Cohen, and that was that. "But can't stay chatting all day, got work to do. You coming, or what?"

  "What?"

  "Please yourself." Cohen tied the chain around his waist as a makeshift belt and wedged a couple of swords in it.

  "Incidentally," he said, "what did you do with the Barking Dog?"

  "What dog?"

  "I expect it doesn't matter."

  Rincewind scuttled after the retreating figure, It wasn't that he felt safe when Cohen the Barbarian was around. No-one was safe when Cohen the Barbarian was around. Something seemed to have gone wrong with the ageing process there. Cohen had always been a barbarian hero because barbaric heroing was all he knew how to do. And while he got old he seemed to get harder, like oak.

  But he was a known figure, and therefore comforting. He just wasn't in the right place.

  "No future in it, back around the Ramtops," said Cohen, as they trudged through the snow. "Fences and farms, fences and farms everywhere. You kill a dragon these days, people complain. You know what? You know what happened?"

  "No. What happened?"

  "Man came up to me, said my teeth were offensive to trolls. What about that, eh?"

  "Well, they are made of—"

  "I said they never complained to me."

  "Er, did you ever give them a cha—"

  "I said, I see a troll up in the mountains with a necklace o' human skulls, I say good luck to him. Silicon Anti-Defamation League, my bottom. It's the same all over. So I thought I'd try my luck the other side of the icecap."

  "Isn't it dangerous, going around the Hub?" said Rincewind.

  "Used to be," said Cohen, grinning horribly.

  "Until you left, you mean?"

  "'S right. You still got that box on legs?"

  "On and off. It hangs around. You know."

  Cohen chuckled.

  "I'll get the bloody lid off that thing one day, mark my words. Ah. Horses."

  There were five, looking depressed in a small depression.

  Rincewind
looked back at the freed prisoners, who seemed to be milling around aimlessly.

  "We're not taking all five horses, are we?" he said.

  "Sure. We might need 'em."

  "But… one for me, one for you… What's the rest for?"

  "Lunch, dinner and breakfast?"

  "It's a little… unfair, isn't it? Those people look a bit bewildered."

  Cohen sneered the sneer of a man who has never been truly imprisoned even when he's been locked up.

  "I freed 'em," he said. "First time they've ever been free. Comes as a bit of a shock, I expect. They're waiting for someone to tell 'em what to do next."

  "Er…"

  "I could tell 'em to starve to death, if you like."

  "Er…"

  "Oh, all right. You lot! Formee uppee right now toot sweet chop chop!"

  The small crowd hurried over to Cohen and stood expectantly behind his horse.

  "I tell you, I don't regret it. This is the land of opportunity," said Cohen, urging the horse into a trot. The embarrassed free men jogged behind. "Know what? Swords are banned. No-one except the army, the nobles and the Imperial Guard are allowed to own weapons. Couldn't believe it! Gods' own truth, though. Swords are outlawed, so only outlaws have swords. And that," said Cohen, giving the landscape another glittering grin, "suits me fine."

  "But… you were in chains…" Rincewind ventured.

  "Glad you reminded me," said Cohen. "Yeah. We'll find the rest of the lads, then I'd better try and find who did it and talk to them about that."

  The tone of his voice suggested very clearly that all they were likely to say would be, 'Highly enjoyable! Your wife is a big hippo!'

  "Lads?"

  "No future in one-man barbarianing," said Cohen. "Got myself a… Well, you'll see."

  Rincewind turned to look at the trailing party, and at the snow, and at Cohen.

  "Er. Do you know where Hunghung is?"

  "Yeah. It's the boss city. We're on our way. Sort of. It's under siege right now."

  "Siege? You mean like… lots of armies outside, everyone inside eating rats, that sort of thing?"

  "Yeah, but this is the Counterweight Continent, see, so it's a polite siege. Well, I call it a siege… The old Emperor's dying, so the big families are all waiting to move in. That's how it goes in these parts. There's five different top nobs and they're all watching one another, and no-one's going to be the first to move. You've got to think sideways to understand anything in this place."

  "Cohen?"

  "Yes, lad?"

  "What the hell's going on?"

  Lord Hong was watching the tea ceremony. It took three hours, but you couldn't hurry a good cuppa.

  He was also playing chess, against himself. It was the only way he could find an opponent of his calibre but, currently, things were stalemated because both sides were adopting a defensive strategy which was, admittedly, brilliant.

  Lord Hong sometimes wished he could have an enemy as clever as himself. Or, because Lord Hong was indeed very clever, he sometimes wished for an enemy almost as clever as himself, one perhaps given to flights of strategic genius with nevertheless the occasional fatal flaw. As it was, people were so stupid. They seldom thought more than a dozen moves ahead.

  Assassination was meat and drink to the Hunghung court; in fact, meat and drink were often the means. It was a game that everyone played. It was just another kind of move. It was not considered good manners to assassinate the Emperor, of course. The correct move was to put the Emperor in a position where you had control. But moves at this level were very dangerous; happy as the warlords were to squabble amongst themselves, they could be relied upon to unite against any who looked in danger of rising above the herd. And Lord Hong had risen like bread, by making everyone else believe that, while they were the obvious candidate for the Emperorship, Lord Hong would be better than any of the alternatives.

  It amused him to know that they thought he was plotting for the Imperial pearl…

  He glanced up from the board and caught the eye of the young woman who was busy at the tea table. She blushed and looked away.

  The door slid back. One of his men entered, on his knees.

  "Yes?" said Lord Hong.

  "Er… O lord…"

  Lord Hong sighed. People seldom began like this when the news was good.

  "What happened?" he said.

  "The one they call the Great Wizard arrived, o lord. Up in the mountains. Riding on a dragon of wind. Or so they say," the messenger added quickly, aware of Lord Hong's views about superstition.

  "Good. But? I assume there is a but."

  "Er… one of the Barking Dogs has been lost. The new batch? That you commanded should be tested? We don't quite… that is to say… we think Captain Three High Trees was ambushed, perhaps… our information is somewhat confused… the, um, the informant says the Great Wizard magicked it away…" The messenger crouched lower.

  Lord Hong merely sighed again. Magic. It had fallen out of favour in the Empire, except for the most mundane purposes. It was uncultured. It put power in the hands of people who couldn't write a decent poem to save their lives, and sometimes hadn't.

  He believed in coincidence a lot more than he did in magic.

  "This is most vexing," said Lord Hong.

  He stood up and took his sword off the rack. It was long and curved and had been made by the finest sword-maker in the Empire, who was Lord Hong. He'd heard it took twenty years to learn the art, so he had stretched himself a little. It had taken him three weeks. People never concentrated, that was their trouble…

  The messenger grovelled.

  "The officer concerned has been executed?" he said.

  The messenger tried to scrabble through the floor and decided to let truth stand in for honesty.

  "Yes!" he piped.

  Lord Hong swung. There was a hiss like the fall of silk, a thump and clatter as of a coconut hitting the ground, and the tinkle of crockery.

  The messenger opened his eyes. He concentrated on his neck region, fearful that the slightest movement might leave him a good deal shorter. There were dire stories about Lord Hong's swords.

  "Oh, do get up," said Lord Hong. He wiped the blade carefully and replaced the sword. Then he reached across and pulled a small black bottle from the robe of the tea girl.

  Uncorked, it produced a few drops that hissed when they hit the floor.

  "Really," said Lord Hong. "I wonder why people bother." He looked up. "Lord Tang or Lord McSweeney has probably stolen the Dog to vex me. Did the Wizard escape?"

  "So it seems, o lord."

  "Good. See that harm almost comes to him. And send me another tea girl. One with a head."

  There was this to be said about Cohen. If there was no reason for him to kill you, such as you having any large amount of treasure or being between him and somewhere he wanted to get to, then he was good company. Rincewind had met him a few times before, generally while running away from something.

  Cohen didn't bother overmuch with questions. As far as Cohen was concerned, people appeared, people disappeared. After a five-year gap he'd just say, "Oh, it's you." He never added, "And how are you?" You were alive, you were upright, and beyond that he didn't give a damn.

  It was a lot warmer beyond the mountains. To Rincewind's relief a spare horse didn't have to be eaten because a leopardly sort of creature dropped off a tree branch and tried to disembowel Cohen.

  It had a rather strong flavour.

  Rincewind had eaten horse. Over the years he'd nerved himself to eat anything that couldn't actually wriggle off his fork. But he was feeling shaken enough without eating something you could call Dobbin.

  "How did they catch you?" he said, when they were riding again.

  "I was busy."

  "Cohen the Barbarian? Too busy to fight?"

  "I didn't want to upset the young lady. Couldn't help meself. Went down to a village to pick up some news, one thing led to another, next thing a load of soldiers were all over th
e place like cheap armour, and I can't fight that well with my arms shackled behind my back. Real nasty bugger in charge, face I won't forget in a hurry. Half a dozen of us were rounded up, made to push the Barking Dog thing all the way out here, then we were chained to that tree and someone lit the bit of string and they all legged it behind a snowdrift. Except you came along and vanished it."

  "I didn't vanish it. Not exactly, anyway."

  Cohen leaned across towards Rincewind. "I reckon I know what it was," he said, and sat back looking pleased with himself.

  "Yes?"

  "I reckon it was some kind of firework. They're very big on fireworks here."

  "You mean the sort of things where you light the blue touch paper and stick it up your nose?"[14]

  "They use 'em to drive evil spirits away. There's a lot of evil spirits, see. Because of all the slaughtering."

  "Slaughtering?"

  Rincewind had always understood that the Agatean Empire was a peaceful place. It was civilized. They invented things. In fact, he recalled, he'd been instrumental in introducing a few of their devices to Ankh-Morpork. Simple, innocent things, like clocks worked by demons, and boxes that painted pictures, and extra glass eyes you could wear over the top of your own eyes to help you see better, even if it did mean you made a spectacle of yourself.

  It was supposed to be dull.

  "Oh, yeah. Slaughtering," said Cohen. "Like, supposing the population is being a bit behind with its taxes. You pick some city where people are being troublesome and kill everyone and set fire to it and pull down the walls and plough up the ashes. That way you get rid of the trouble and all the other cities are suddenly really well behaved and polite and all your back taxes turn up in a big rush, which is handy for governments, I understand. Then if they ever give trouble you just have to say 'Remember Nangnang?' or whatever, and they say 'Where's Nangnang?' and you say, 'My point exactly.'"

  "Good grief! If that sort of thing was tried back home—"

  "Ah, but this place has been going a long time. People think that's how a country is supposed to run. They do what they're told. The people here are treated like slaves."

  Cohen scowled. "Now, I've got nothing against slaves, you know, as slaves. Owned a few in my time. Been a slave once or twice. But where there's slaves, what'll you expect to find?"