‘What? On my head?’
‘What are you waiting for? Let’s go while they’re occupied,’ he said to Conina.
‘I need a sword,’ she said.
‘You’ll be spoilt for choice in a minute.’
‘One will be enough.’
Rincewind kicked the Luggage.
‘Come on,’ he snarled. ‘You’ve got a lot of floating to do.’
The Luggage extended its little legs with exaggerated nonchalance, turned slowly, and settled down beside the girl.
‘Traitor,’ said Rincewind to its hinges.
The battle already seemed to be over. Five of the raiders stalked up the ladder to the afterdeck, leaving most of their colleagues to round up the defeated crew below. The leader pulled down his mask and leered briefly and swarthily at Conina; and then he turned and leered for a slightly longer period at Rincewind.
‘This is a robe,’ said Rincewind quickly. ‘And you’d better watch out, because I’m a wizard.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Lay a finger on me, and you’ll make me wish you hadn’t. I warn you.’
‘A wizard? Wizards don’t make good strong slaves,’ mused the leader.
‘Absolutely right,’ said Rincewind. ‘So if you’ll just see your way clear to letting me go—’
The leader turned back to Conina, and signalled to one of his companions. He jerked a tattooed thumb towards Rincewind.
‘Do not kill him too quickly. In fact—’ he paused, and treated Rincewind to a smile full of teeth. ‘Maybe … yes. And why not? Can you sing, wizard?’
‘I might be able to,’ said Rincewind, cautiously. ‘Why?’
‘You could be just the man the Seriph needs for a job in the harem.’ A couple of slavers sniggered.
‘It could be a
Rincewind backed away. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, ‘thanks all the same. I’m not cut out for that kind of thing.’
‘Oh, but you could be,’ said the leader, his eyes bright. ‘You could be.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ muttered Conina. She glanced at the men on either side of her, and then her hands moved. The one stabbed with the scissors was possibly better off than the one she raked with the comb, given the kind of mess a steel comb can make of a face. Then she reached down, snatched up a sword dropped by one of the stricken men, and lunged at the other two.
The leader turned at the screams, and saw the Luggage behind him with its lid open. And then Rincewind cannoned into the back of him, pitching him forward into whatever oblivion lay in the multidimensional depths of the chest.
There was the start of a bellow, abruptly cut off.
Then there was a click like the shooting of the bolt on the gates of Hell.
Rincewind backed away, trembling. ‘A unique opportunity,’ he muttered under his breath, having just got the reference.
At least he had a unique opportunity to watch Conina fight. Not many men ever got to see it twice.
Her opponents started off grinning at the temerity of a slight young girl in attacking them, and then rapidly passed through various stages of puzzlement, doubt, concern and abject gibbering terror as they apparently became the centre of a flashing, tightening circle of steel.
She disposed of the last of the leader’s bodyguard with a couple of thrusts that made Rincewind’s eyes water and, with a sigh, vaulted the rail on the main deck. To Rincewind’s annoyance the Luggage barrelled after her, cushioning its fall by dropping heavily on to a slaver, and adding to the sudden panic of the invaders because, while it was bad enough to be attacked with deadly and ferocious accuracy by a rather pretty girl in a white dress with flowers on it, it was even worse for the male ego to be tripped up and bitten by a travel accessory; it was pretty bad for all the rest of the male, too.
Rincewind peered over the railing.
‘Showoff,’ he muttered.
A throwing knife clipped the wood near his chin and ricocheted past his ear. He raised his hand to the sudden stinging pain, and stared at it in horror before gently passing out. It wasn’t blood in general he couldn’t stand the sight of, it was just his blood in particular that was so upsetting.
Ardrothy Longstaff, Purveyor of Pies Full of Personality, peered over the top of the wreckage of his stall in time to see the wizards emerge.
He knew wizards, or up until now he’d always thought he did. They were vague old boys, harmless enough in their way, dressed like ancient sofas, always ready customers for any of his merchandise that happened to be marked down on account of age and rather more personality than a prudent housewife would be prepared to put up with.
But these wizards were something new to Ardrothy. They walked out into Sator Square as if they owned it. Little blue sparks flashed around their feet. They seemed a little taller, somehow.
Or perhaps it was just the way they carried themselves.
Yes, that was it…
Ardrothy had a touch of magic in his genetic makeup, and as he watched the wizards sweep across the square it told him that the very best thing he could do for his health would be to pack his knives and mincers in his little pack and have it away out of the city at any time in the next ten minutes.
The last wizard in the group lagged behind his colleagues and looked around the square with disdain.
‘There used to be fountains out here,’ he said. ‘You people – be off.’
The traders stared at one another. Wizards normally spoke imperiously, that was to be expected. But there was an edge to the voice that no one had heard before. It had knuckles in it.
Ardrothy’s eyes swivelled sideways. Arising out of the ruins of his jellied starfish and clam stall like an avenging angel, dislodging various molluscs from his beard and spitting vinegar, was Miskin Koble, who was said to be able to open oysters with one hand. Years of pulling limpets off rocks and wrestling the giant cockles in Ankh Bay had given him the kind of physical development normally associated with tectonic plates. He didn’t so much stand up as unfold.
Then he thudded his way towards the wizard and pointed a trembling finger at the ruins of his stall, from which half a dozen enterprising lobsters were making a determined bid for freedom. Muscles moved around the edges of his mouth like angry eels.
‘Did you do that?’ he demanded.
‘Stand aside, oaf,’ said the wizard, three words which in the opinion of Ardrothy gave him the ongoing life expectancy of a glass cymbal.
‘I hates wizards,’ said Koble. ‘I really hates wizards. So I am going to hit you, all right?’
He brought his fist back and let fly.
The wizard raised an eyebrow, yellow fire sprang up around the shellfish salesman, there was a noise like tearing silk, and Koble had vanished. All that was left was his boots, standing forlornly on the cobbles with little wisps of smoke coming out of them.
No one knows why smoking boots always remain, no matter how big the explosion. It seems to be just one of those things.
It seemed to the watchful eyes of Ardrothy that the wizard himself was nearly as shocked as the crowd, but he rallied magnificently and gave his staff a flourish.
‘You people had better jolly well learn from this,’ he said. ‘No one raises their hand to a wizard, do you understand? There are going to be a lot of changes around here. Yes, what do you want?’
This last comment was to Ardrothy, who was trying to sneak past unnoticed. He scrabbled quickly in his pie tray.
‘I was just wondering if your honourship would care to purchase one of these finest pies,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Full of nourish—’
‘Watch closely, pie-selling person,’ said the wizard. He stretched out his hand, made a strange gesture with his fingers, and produced a pie out of the air.
It was fat, golden-brown and beautifully glazed. Just by looking at it Ardrothy knew it was packed edge to edge with prime lean pork, with none of those spacious areas of good fresh air under the lid that represented his own profit margin. It was the kind of pie piglets hope to be when they grew up.
His heart sank. His ruin was floating in front of him with short-crust pastry on it.
‘Want a taste?’ said the wizard. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from.’
‘Wherever it came from,’ said Ardrothy.
He looked past the shiny pastry to the face of the wizard, and in the manic gleam of those eyes he saw the world turning upside down.
He turned away, a broken man, and set out for the nearest city gate.
As if it wasn’t bad enough that wizards were killing people, he thought bitterly, they were taking away their livelihood as well.
He sat up.
‘Are you all right?’ said Conina, anxiously.
Rincewind swivelled his eyes around the cluttered deck.
‘Not necessarily,’ he said cautiously. There didn’t seem to be any black-clad slavers around, at least vertically. There were a good many crew members, all of them maintaining a respectful distance from Conina. Only the captain stood reasonably close, an inane grin on his face.
‘They left,’ said Conina. ‘Took what they could and left.’
‘They bastards,’ said the captain, ‘but they paddle pretty fast!’ Conina winced as he gave her a ringing slap on the back. ‘She fight real good for a lady,’ he added. ‘Yes!’
Rincewind got unsteadily to his feet. The boat was scudding along cheerfully towards a distant smear on the horizon that had to be hubward Klatch. He was totally unharmed. He began to cheer up a bit.
The captain gave them both a hearty nod and hurried off to shout orders connected with sails and ropes and things. Conina sat down on the Luggage, which didn’t seem to object.
‘He said he’s so grateful he’ll take us all the way to Al Khali,’ she said.
‘I thought that’s what we arranged anyway,’ said Rincewind. ‘I saw you give him money, and everything.’
‘Yes, but he
‘What, not sell me?’ said Rincewind, and then snorted, ‘Of course, it’s the wizard’s robes, he wouldn’t dare—’
‘Um. Actually, he said he’d have to give you away,’ said Conina, picking intently at an imaginary splinter on the Luggage’s lid.
‘
Conina picked industriously at the splinter. The Luggage gave a contented creak.
‘I know something else that’ll upset you,’ she muttered.
‘Hmmm?’
‘The hat’s gone.’
‘What?’
‘I couldn’t help it, they just grabbed whatever they could—’
‘The slavers have made off with the hat?’
‘Don’t you take that tone with me! I wasn’t having a quiet sleep at the time—’
Rincewind waved his hands frantically. ‘Nonono, don’t get excited, I wasn’t taking any tone – I want to think about this…’