Interesting Times (19 page)

“Just about there, Great Wizard,” he sneered. “Do not exert yourself unduly. A small hole should be sufficient.”

“But there’s hundreds of people around!”

“Is that a problem to such a great wizard? Perhaps you can’t do it with people watching?”

“I have no doubt that the Great Wizard will astonish us,” said Butterfly.

“When the people see the power of the Great Wizard they will speak of it for ever!” said Lotus Blossom.

“Probably,” muttered Rincewind.

The cadre stopped talking, although it was only possible to notice this by watching their closed mouths. The hole left by their silence was soon filled by the babble of the market.

Rincewind rolled up his sleeves.

He wasn’t even certain about a spell for blowing things up…

He waved a hand vaguely.

“I should stand well back, everyone,” said Herb, grinning unpleasantly.

“Quanti canicula illa in fenestre?” said Rincewind. “Er…”

He stared desperately at the wall and, with that heightened perception that comes to those on the edge of terror, noticed a cauldron half hidden in the timber. There seemed to be a little glowing string attached to it.

“Er,” he said, “there seems to be—”

“Having problems?” said Herb, nastily.

Rincewind squared his shoulders.

“—” he said.

There was a sound like a marshmallow gently landing on a plate, and everything in front of him went white.

Then the white turned red, streaked with black, and the terrible noise clapped its hands across his ears.

A crescent-shaped piece of something glowing scythed the top off his hat and embedded itself in the nearest house, which caught fire.

There was a strong smell of burning eyebrows.

When the debris settled Rincewind saw quite a large hole in the wall. Around its edge the brickwork, now a red-hot ceramic, started to cool with a noise like
glinka-glinka
.

He looked down at his soot-blackened hands.

“Gosh,” he said.

And then he said, “All
right!
”

And then he turned and began to say, “How about that, then?” but his voice faded when it became apparent that everyone was lying flat on the ground.

A duck watched him suspiciously from its cage. Owing to the slight protection afforded by the bars, its feathers were patterned alternately natural and crispy.

He’d always
wanted
to do magic like that. He’d always been able to visualize it perfectly. He’d just never been able to do it…

A number of guards appeared in the gap. One, whose ferocity of helmet suggested that he was an officer, glared at the charred hole and then at Rincewind.

“Did you do this?” he demanded.

“Stand back!” shouted Rincewind, drunk with power. “I’m the Great Wizard, I am! You see this finger? Don’t make me use it!”

The officer nodded to a couple of his men.

“Get him.”

Rincewind took a step back.

“I warn you! Anyone lays a hand on me, he’ll be eating flies and hopping for the rest of his life!”

The guards advanced with the determination of those who were prepared to risk the uncertainty of magic against the definite prospect of punishment for disobeying orders.

“Stand back! This could go off! All right, then, since you force—”

He waved his hand. He snapped his fingers a few times.

“Er—”

The guards, after checking that they were still the same shape, each grabbed an arm.

“It may be delayed action,” he ventured, as they gripped harder.

“Alternatively, would you be interested in hearing a famous quotation?” he said. His feet were lifted off the ground. “Or perhaps not?”

Rincewind, running absent-mindedly in mid-air, was brought in front of the officer.

“On your knees, rebel!” said the officer.

“I’d like to, but—”

“I saw what you did to Captain Four White Fox!”

“What? Who’s he?”

“Take…him…to…the…Emperor.”

As he was dragged off Rincewind saw, for one brief moment, the guards closing on the Red Army, swords flashing…

A metal plate shuddered for a moment, and then dropped on the floor.

“Careful!”

“I ain’t used to being careful! Bruce the Hoon wasn’t care—”

“Shut up about Bruce the Hoon!”

“Well, dang you, too!”

“Whut?”

“Anyone out there?”

Cohen stuck his head out of the pipe. The room was dark, damp and full of pipes and runnels. Water went off in every direction to feed fountains and cisterns.

“No,” he said, in a disappointed voice.

“Very well. Everyone out of the pipe.”

There was some echoey swearing and the scrape of metal as Hamish’s wheelchair was manoeuvred into the long, low cellar.

Mr. Saveloy lit a match as the Horde spread out and examined their surroundings.

“Congratulations, gentlemen,” he said. “I believe we are in the palace.”

“Yeah,” said Truckle. “We’ve conquered a f—a
lovemaking
pipe. What good is that?”

“We could rape it,” said Caleb hopefully.

“Hey, this wheel thing turns…”

“What’s a lovemaking pipe?”

“What does this lever do?”

“Whut?”

“How about we find a door, rush out, and kill everyone?”

Mr. Saveloy closed his eyes. There was something familiar about this situation, and now he realized what it was. He’d once taken an entire class on a school trip to the city armory. His right leg still hurt him on wet days.

“No, no,
no!
” he said. “What good would that do? Boy Willie, please don’t pull that lever.”

“Well,
I’d
feel better, for one,” said Cohen. “Ain’t killed anyone all day except a guard, and they hardly count.”

“Remember that we’re here for theft, not murder,” said Mr. Saveloy. “Now, please, out of all that wet leather and into your nice new clothes.”

“I don’t like this part,” said Cohen, pulling on a shirt. “I like people to know who I was.”

“Yeah,” said Boy Willie. “Without our leather and mail people’ll just think we’re a load of old men.”

“Exactly,” said Mr. Saveloy. “That is part of the subterfuge.”

“Is that like tactics?” said Cohen.

“Yes.”

“All right, but
I
don’t like it,” said Old Vincent. “S’posing we win? What kind of song will the minstrels sing about people who invaded through a pipe?”

“An echoey one,” said Boy Willie.

“They won’t sing anything like that,” said Cohen firmly. “You pay a minstrel enough, he’ll sing whatever you want.”

A flight of damp steps led to a door. Mr. Saveloy was already at the top, listening.

“That’s right,” said Caleb. “They say that whoever pays the piper calls the tune.”

“But, gentlemen,” said Mr. Saveloy, his eyes bright, “whoever holds a knife to the piper’s throat writes the symphony.”

The assassin moved slowly through Lord Hong’s chambers.

He was one of the best in Hunghung’s small but very select guild, and he certainly was not a rebel. He disliked rebels. They were invariably poor people, and therefore unlikely to be customers.

His mode of movement was unusual and cautious. It avoided the floor; Lord Hong was known to tune his floorboards. It made considerable use of furniture and decorative screens, and occasionally of the ceiling as well.

And the assassin was very good at it. When a messenger entered the room through a distant door he froze for an instant, and then moved in perfect rhythm towards his quarry, letting the newcomer’s clumsy footsteps mask his own.

Lord Hong was making another sword. The folding of the metal and all the tedious yet essential bouts of heating and hammering were, he found, conducive to clear thinking. Too much pure cerebration was bad for the mind. Lord Hong liked to use his hands sometimes.

He plunged the sword back into the furnace and pumped the bellows a few times.

“Yes?” he said. The messenger looked up from his prone position near the floor.

“Good news, o lord. We have captured the Red Army!”

“Well, that
is
good news,” said Lord Hong, watching the blade carefully for the change of color. “Including the one they call the Great Wizard?”

“Indeed! But he is not that great, o lord!” said the messenger.

His cheerfulness faded when Lord Hong raised an eyebrow.

“Really? On the contrary, I suspect him of being in possession of huge and dangerous powers.”

“Yes, o lord! I did not mean—”

“See that they are all locked up. And send a message to Captain Five Hong Man to undertake the orders I gave him today.”

“Yes, o lord!”

“And now, stand up!”

The messenger stood up, trembling. Lord Hong pulled on a thick glove and reached for the sword handle. The furnace roared.

“Chin up, man!”

“My lord!”

“Now open your eyes wide!”

There was no need for that order. Lord Hong peered into the mask of terror, noted the flicker of movement, nodded, and then in one almost balletic movement pulled the spitting blade from the furnace, turned, thrust…

There was a very brief scream, and a rather longer hiss.

Lord Hong let the assassin sag. Then he tugged the sword free and inspected the steaming blade.

“Hmm,” he said. “Interesting…”

He caught sight of the messenger.

“Are you still here?”

“No, my lord!”

“See to it.”

Lord Hong turned the sword so that the light caught it, and examined the edge.

“And, er, shall I send some servants to clear away the, er, body?”

“What?” said Lord Hong, lost in thought.

“The body, Lord Hong?”

“What body? Oh. Yes. See to it.”

The walls were beautifully decorated. Even Rincewind noticed this, though they went past in a blur. Some had marvellous birds painted on them, or mountain scenes, or sprays of foliage, every leaf and bud done in exquisite detail with just a couple of brush-strokes.

Ceramic lions reared on marble pedestals. Vases bigger than Rincewind lined the corridors.

Lacquered doors opened ahead of the guards. Rincewind was briefly aware of huge, ornate and empty rooms stretching away on either side.

Finally they passed through yet another set of doors and he was flung down on a wooden floor.

In these circumstances, he always found, it was best not to look up.

Eventually an officious voice said, “What do you have to say for yourself, miserable louse?”

“Well, I—”

“Silence!”

Ah. So it was going to be
that
kind of interview.

A different voice, a cracked, breathless and elderly voice, said, “Where is the Grand…Vizier?”

“He has retired to his rooms, o Great One. He said he had a headache.”

“Summon him at…once.”

“Certainly, o Great One.”

Rincewind, his nose pressed firmly to the floor, made some further assumptions. Grand Vizier was always a bad sign; it generally meant that people were going to suggest wild horses and red-hot chains. And when people were called things like “o Great One,” it was pretty certain that there was no appeal.

“This is a…rebel, is it?” The sentence was wheezed rather than spoken.

“Indeed, o Great One.”

“I think I would like a clo…ser look.”

There was a general murmur, suggesting that a number of people had been greatly surprised, and then the sound of furniture being moved.

Rincewind thought he saw a blanket on the edge of his vision. Someone was wheeling a bed across the floor…

“Make it…stand up.” The gurgle in the pause was like the last bathwater going down the plughole. It sucked as wetly as an outgoing wave.

Once again a foot kicked Rincewind in the kidneys, making its usual explicit request in the Esperanto of brutality. He got up.

It
was
a bed, and quite the biggest Rincewind had ever seen. In it, swathed in brocades and almost lost in pillows, was an old man. Rincewind had never seen anyone look so ill. The face was pale, with a greenish pallor; veins showed up under the skin of his hands like worms in a jar.

The Emperor had all the qualifications for a corpse except, as it were, the most vital one.

“So…this is the new Great Wizard of…whom we have read so much, is…it?” he said.

When he spoke, people waited expectantly for the final gurgle in mid-sentence.

“Well, I—” Rincewind began.

“Silence!” screamed a chamberlain.

Rincewind shrugged.

He hadn’t known what to expect of an Emperor, but the mental picture had room for a big fat man with lots of rings. Talking to this one was a hair’s breadth from necromancy.

“Can you show us some more…magic, Great Wizard?”

Rincewind glanced at the chamberlain.

“W—”

“Silence!”

The Emperor waved a hand vaguely, gurgled with the effort, and gave Rincewind another enquiring look. Rincewind decided to chance things.

“I’ve got a good one,” he said. “It’s a vanishing trick.”

“Can you…do it now?”

“Only if everyone opens all the doors and turns their backs.”

The Emperor’s expression did not change. The court fell silent. Then there was a sound like a number of small rabbits being choked to death.

The Emperor was laughing. Once this was established, everyone else laughed too. No one can get a laugh like a man who can have you put to death more easily than he goes to the lavatory.

“What
shall
we do with…you?” he said. “Where
is
the…Grand…Vizier?”

The crowd parted.

Rincewind risked a sideways squint. Once you were in the hands of a Grand Vizier, you were dead. Grand Viziers were
always
scheming megalomaniacs. It was probably in the job description: “Are you a devious, plotting, unreliable madman? Ah, good, then you can be my most trusted minister.”

“Ah, Lord…Hong,” said the Emperor.

“Mercy?” suggested Rincewind.

“Silence!” screamed the chamberlain.

“Tell me, Lord…Hong,” said the ancient Emperor. “What would be the punishment for a…foreigner…entering the Forbidden City?”

“Removal of all limbs, ears, and eyes, and then allowed to go free,” said Lord Hong.