Interesting Times

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 the 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?'

Rincewind thought about this. 'Whips?' he said at last.

'Yeah. Got it in one. Whips. There's something honest about slaves and whips. Well… they ain't got whips here. They got something worse than whips.'

'What?' said Rincewind, looking slightly panicky.

'You'll find out.'

Rincewind found himself looking around at the half-dozen other prisoners, who had trailed after them and were watching in awe from a distance. He'd given them a bit of leopard, which they'd looked at initially as if it was poison and then eaten as if it was food.

'They're still following us,' he said.

'Yeah, well… you did give 'em meat,' cackled Cohen, starting to roll a post-prandial cigarette. 'Shouldn't have done that. Should've let 'em have the whiskers and the claws and you'd've been amazed at what they'd cook up. You know their big dish down on the coast?'

'No.'

'Pig's ear soup. Now, what's that tell you about a place, eh?'

Rincewind shrugged. 'Very provident people?'

'Some other bugger pinches the pig.'

He turned in the saddle. The group of ex-prisoners shrank back.

'Now, see here,' he said. 'I told you. You're free. Understand?'

One of the braver men spoke up. 'Yes, master.'

'I ain't your master. You're free. You can go where-ever you like, excepting if you follow me I'll kill the lot of you. And now — go away!'

'Where, master?'

'Anywhere! Somewhere not here!'

The men gave one another some worried looks and then the whole group, as one man, turned and trotted away along the path.

'Probably go straight back to their village,' he said, rolling his eyes. 'Worse than whips, I tell you.'

He waved a scrawny hand at the landscape as they rode on.

'Strange bloody country,' he said. 'Did you know there's a wall all round the Empire?'

'That's to keep… barbarian invaders… out…'

'Oh, yes, very defensive,' said Cohen sarcastically. 'Like, oh my goodness, there's a twenty-foot wall, dear me, I suppose we'd just better ride off back over a thousand miles of steppe and not, e.g., take a look at the ladder possibilities inherent in that pine wood over there. Nah. It's to keep the people in. And rules? They've got rules for everything. No-one even goes to the privy without a piece of paper.'