Interesting Times

'Who you?' he said. 'This is Ghenghiz Cohen,' said Mr Saveloy. 'Doer of mighty deeds. Slayer of dragons. Ravager of cities. He once bought an apple.' No-one laughed. Mr Saveloy had found that the Horde had no concept whatsoever of sarcasm. Probably no-one had ever tried it on them. One Big River had been raised to do what he was told. Everyone had told him what to do, all through his life. He fell in behind the man with diamond teeth because he was the sort of man you followed when he said 'follow'.



'But, you know, there are tens of thousands of men who would die rather than betray their Emperor,' whispered Six Beneficent Winds, as they filed through the corridors. 'I hope so.'



'Some of them will be on guard around the For-bidden City. We've avoided them, but they're still there. We'll have to deal with them eventually.'



'Oh, good!' said Cohen. 'Bad,' said Mr Saveloy. 'That business with the ninjas was just high spirits—'



'—high spirits—' murmured Six Beneficent Winds. '—but you don't want a big fight out in the open. It'll get messy.' Cohen walked over to the nearest wall, which had a gorgeous pattern of peacocks, and took out his knife. 'Paper,' he said. 'Bloody paper. Paper walls.' He poked his head through. There was a shrill whimper. 'Oops, sorry, ma'am. Official wall inspection.' He extracted his head, grinning. 'But you can't go through walls!' said Six Beneficent Winds. 'Why not?'



'They're - well, they're the walls. What would happen if everyone walked through walls? What do you think doors are for?'



'I think they're for other people,' said Cohen. 'Which way's that throne room?'



'Whut?'



'This is lateral thinking,' explained Mr Saveloy, as they followed him. 'Ghenghiz is quite good at a certain kind of lateral thinking.'



'What a lateral?'



'Er. It's a kind of muscle, I believe.'



'Thinking with your muscles . . . Yes. I see,' said Six Beneficent Winds. Rincewind sidled into a space between the wall and a statue of a rather jolly dog with its tongue hanging out. 'What now?' said Butterfly. 'How big's the Red Army?'



'We number many thousands,' said Butterfly, defiantly. 'In Hunghung?'



'Oh, no. There is a cadre in every city.'



'You know that, do you? You've met them?'



'That would be dangerous. Only Two Fire Herb knows how to contact them . . .'



'Fancy that. Well, do you know what I think? I think someone wants a revolution. And you're all so damn respectful and polite he's having his work cut out trying to organize one! But once you've got rebels you can do anything.'



'That can't be true . . .' The rebels in other cities, they do great revolutionary deeds, do they?'



'We hear reports all the time!'



'From our friend Herb?' Butterfly frowned. 'Yes . . .'



'You're thinking, aren't you?' said Rincewind. 'The old brain cells are finally banging together, yes? Good. Have I convinced you?'



'I . . . don't know.'



'Now let's go back.'



'No. Now I've got to find out if what you're suggesting is true.'



'Dying to find out, eh? Good grief, you people make me so angry. Look, watch this . . .' Rincewind strode to the end of the corridor. There was a pair of wide doors, flanked by a pair of jade dragons. He flung them back. The room inside was low-ceilinged but large. In the centre, under a canopy, was a bed. It was hard to make out the figure lying there, but it had that certain stillness that suggests the kind of sleep from which there is unlikely to be any kind of awakening. 'You see?' he said. 'He's been . . . killed . . . already . . .' A dozen soldiers were staring at Rincewind in amazement.



Behind him he heard the creaking of the floor and then some whooshing sounds followed by a noise like wet leather being hit against rock. Rincewind looked at the nearest soldier. The man was holding a sword. One drop of blood coursed down the blade and, with a brief pause for dramatic effect, fell on to the floor. Rincewind looked up and raised his hat. 'I do beg your pardon,' he said, brightly. 'Isn't this room 3B?' And ran for it. The floors screamed under him, and behind him someone screamed Rincewind's nickname, which was: 'Don't let him get away!' Let me get away, Rincewind prayed, oh, please, let me get away. He slipped as he turned the corner, skidded through a paper wall and landed in an ornamental fish pond. But Rincewind in full flight had catlike, even messianic abilities. The water barely rippled under his feet as he bounced off the surface and headed away. Another wall erupted and he was in what was possibly the same corridor. Behind him, someone landed heavily on a valuable koi. Rincewind shot forward again. From; that was the most important factor in any mindless escape. You were always running from. To could look after itself. He cleared a long flight of shallow stone steps, rolled upright at the bottom and set off at random along another corridor. His legs had sorted themselves out now. First the mad, wild dash to get you out of immediate danger and then the good solid strides to put as much distance as possible between you and it. That was the trick. History told of a runner who'd run forty miles after a battle to report its successful outcome to those at home. He was traditionally regarded as the greatest runner of all time, but if he'd been reporting news of an impending battle he'd have been overtaken by Rincewind. And yet . . . someone was gaining. A knife poked through the wall of the throne room and cut a hole large enough to afford space for an upright man or one wheelchair.



There was muttering from the Horde. 'Bruce the Hoon never went in the back way.'



'Shut up.'



'Never one for back gates, Bruce the Hoon.'



'Shut up.'



'When Bruce the Hoon attacked Al Khali, he did it right at the main guard tower, with a thousand screaming men on very small horses.'



'Yeah, but. . . last I saw of Bruce the Hoon, his head was on a spike.'



'All right, I'll grant you that. But at least it was over the main gate. I mean, at least he got in.'



'His head did.'



'Oh, my . . . ' Mr Saveloy was gratified. The room they'd stepped into was enough to silence the Horde, if only briefly. It was large, of course, but that hadn't been its only purpose. One Sun Mirror, as he welded the tribes and countries and little island nations together, had wanted a room built which said to chieftains and ambassadors: this is the biggest space you've ever been in, it is more splendid than anything you could ever imagine, and we've got a lot more rooms like this. He had wanted it to be impressive. He had very clearly wanted it to intimidate mere barbarians so much that they'd give in there and then. Let there be huge statues, he'd said. And vast decorative hangings. Let there be pillars and carvings. Let the visitor be silenced by the sheer magnificence. Let it say to him, 'This is civilization, and you can join it or die. Now drop to your knees or be shortened some other way.' The Horde gave it the benefit of their inspection. Finally Truckle said, 'It's all right, I suppose, but not a patch on our chieftain's longhouse back in Skund. It hasn't even got a fire in the middle of the floor, look.'



'Gaudy, to my mind.'



'Whut?'



'Typically foreign.'



'I'd do away with most of this and get some decent straw on the floor, a few shields round the walls.'



'Whut?'



'Mind you, get in a few hundred tables and you could have a helluva carouse in here.' Cohen walked across the huge expanse towards the throne, which was under a vast ornamental canopy. '



'S got 'n umbrella over it, look.'



'Probably the roof leaks. You can't trust tiles. A good reed thatch'll give you forty years bone dry.' The throne was lacquered wood, but with many precious gems set in it. Cohen sat down. 'Is this it?' he said. 'We've done it, Teach?'



'Yes. Of course, now you have to get away with it,' said Mr Saveloy. 'I'm sorry,' said Six Beneficent Winds. 'What've you done?'



'You know that thing we were here to steal?' said the teacher. 'Yes?'



'It's the Empire.' The taxman's expression didn't change for a few seconds, and then it flowed into a horrified grin. 'I think some breakfast is called for before we go any further,' said Mr Saveloy. 'Mr Winds, perhaps you would be so good as to summon someone?' The taxman was still grinning fixedly. 'But . . . but . . . you can't conquer an empire like this!' he managed. 'You've got to have an army, like the warlords! Just walking in like this . . . It's against the rules! And . . . and . . . there are thousands of guards!'



'Yes, but they're all out there,' said Mr Saveloy. 'Guarding us,' said Cohen. 'But they're guarding the real Emperor!'



'That's me,' said Cohen. 'Oh yeah?' said Truckle. 'Who died and made you Emperor?'



'No-one has to die,' said Mr Saveloy. 'It's called usurping.'



'That's right,' said Cohen. 'You just say, see here, Gunga Din, you're out on your ear, OK? Piss off to some island somewhere or—'



'Ghenghiz,' said Mr Saveloy gently, 'do you think you could refrain from referring to foreigners in that rather offensive fashion? It's not civilized.' Cohen shrugged. 'You're still going to have big trouble with the guards and things,' said Six Beneficent Winds. 'Maybe not,' said Cohen. 'Tell 'em, Teach.'



'Have you ever seen the, er, former Emperor?' said Mr Saveloy. 'Mr Winds?'



'Of course not. Hardly anyone has seen—' He stopped. 'There you are, then,' said Mr Saveloy. 'Very quick on the uptake, Mr Winds. As befits the Lord High Chief Tax Gatherer.'



'But it won't work because—' Six Beneficent Winds stopped again. Mr Saveloy's words reached his brain. 'Lord High Chief? Me? The black hat with the red ruby button?'



'Yes.'



'And a feather in it, if you like,' said Cohen munificently. The taxman looked in rapt consideration. 'So . . . if there was, say, a mere District Administrator who was incredibly cruel to his staff, particularly to a hard-working deputy, and thoroughly deserving of a good sound thrashing—'



'As the Lord High Chief Tax Gatherer, of course, that would be entirely your affair.' Six Beneficent Winds' grin now threatened to remove the top of his head. 'On the subject of new taxation,' he said, 'I've often had this thought that fresh air is all too readily available at far below the cost of production—'



'We will listen to your ideas with extreme interest,' said Mr Saveloy. 'In the meantime, please arrange breakfast.'



'And have summoned,' said Cohen, 'all those buggers who think they know what the Emperor looks like.' The pursuer was closing.



Rincewind skidded around a corner and there, blocking the passageway, were three guards. These were not dead. They were alive, and they had got swords. Someone cannoned into the back of him, pushed him to the ground, and leapt past. He shut his eyes. There were a couple of thumps, a groan, and then a very strange metallic noise. It was a helmet, spinning round and round on the floor. He was pulled to his feet. 'Are you going to lie around all day?' said Butterfly. 'Come on. They're not far behind!' Rincewind glanced at the recumbent guards, and then loped after the girl. 'How many of them are there?' he managed. 'Seven now. But two of them are limping and one's having trouble breathing. Come on.'



'You hit them?'



'Do you always waste breath like this?'



'Never found anyone who could keep up with me before!' They turned a corner and almost ran into another guard. Butterfly didn't even stop. She took a ladylike step, whirled around on one foot, and kicked the man so hard on his ear that he spun on his own axis and landed on his head. She paused, panted, and tucked a hair back into place. 'We should split up,' she said. 'Oh, no!' said Rincewind. 'I mean, I must protect you!'



'I'll head back to the others. You lead the guards away somewhere—'



'Can you all do that?'



'Of course,' said Butterfly, testily. 'I told you we fought the guards. 'Now, if we split up one of us is bound to escape. The murderers! We were supposed to take the blame for that!'