Interesting Times

Six Beneficent Winds glanced hopefully towards the door.

'—and we are here to learn more about your wonderful… mountain… variety of bamboo… sound of running water at evening… drat… civilization.'

Behind him, Truckle was energetically demonstrating to the rest of the Horde what he and Bruce the Hoon's Skeletal Riders once did to a tax gatherer. The sweeping arm movements in particular occupied Six Beneficent Winds' attention. He couldn't understand the words but, somehow, you didn't need to.

'Why are you talking to him like that?'

'Ghenghiz, I'm lost. There are no maps of the Forbidden City. We need a guide.'

Goat Face turned back to the taxman. 'Perhaps you would like to come with us?' he said.

Out, thought Six Beneficent Winds. Yes! There may be guards out there!

'Just a minute,' said Diamond Teeth, as he nodded. 'Pick up your paintbrush and write down what I say.'

A minute later, they'd gone. All that remained in the taxman's office was an amended piece of paper, which read as follows:

'Roses are red, violets are blue. Seven Lucky Logs to be given one pig and all the rice he can carry, because he is now One Lucky Peasant. By order of Six Beneficent Winds, Collector of Revenues, Langtang. Help. Help. If anyone reads this I am being held prisoner by an evil eunuch. Help.'

Rincewind and Twoflower lay in their separate cells and talked about the good old days. At least, Twoflower talked about the good old days. Rincewind worked at a crack in the stone with a piece of straw, it being all he had to hand. It would take several thousand years to make any kind of impression, but that was no reason to give up.

'Do we get fed in here?' he said, interrupting the flow of reminiscence.

'Oh, sometimes. But it's not like the marvellous food in Ankh-Morpork.'

'Really,' murmured Rincewind, scratching away. A tiny piece of mortar seemed ready to move.

'I'll always remember the taste of Mr Dibbler's sausages.'

'People do.'

'A once-in-a-lifetime experience.'

'Frequently.'

The straw broke.

'Damn and blast!' Rincewind sat back. 'What's so important about the Red Army?' he said. 'I mean, they're just a bunch of kids. Just a nuisance!'

'Yes, I'm afraid things got rather confused,' said Twoflower. 'Um. Have you ever heard of the theory that History goes in cycles?'

'I saw a drawing in one of Leonard of Quirm's notebooks—' Rincewind began, trying again with another straw.

'No, I mean… like a… wheel, spinning. If you stand in the same place it all comes round again?'

'Oh, that. Blast!'

'Well, a lot of people believe it here. They think History starts again every three thousand years.'

'Could be,' said Rincewind, who was looking for another straw and wasn't really listening. Then the words sank in. 'Three thousand years? That's a bit short, isn't it? The whole thing? Stars and oceans and intelligent life evolving from arts graduates, that sort of thing?'

'Oh, no. That's just… stuff. Proper history started with the founding of the Empire by One Sun Mirror. The first Emperor. And his servant, the Great Wizard. Just a legend, really. It's the sort of thing peasants believe. They look at something like the Great Wall and say, that's such a marvellous thing it must have been built by magic… And the Red Army… what it probably was was just a well- organized body of trained fighting men. The first real army, you see. All there was before was just undisciplined mobs. That's what it must have been. Not magical at all. The Great Wizard couldn't really have made… What the peasants believe is silly…'

'Why, what do they believe?'

'They say the Great Wizard made the earth come alive. When all the armies on the continent faced One Sun Mirror the Great Wizard… flew a kite.'

'Sounds sensible to me,' said Rincewind. 'When there's war around take the day off, that's my motto.'

'No, you don't understand. This was a special kite. It trapped the lightning in the sky and the Great Wizard stored it in bottles and then took the mud itself and… baked it with the lightning, and made it into an army.'

'Never heard of any spells for that.'

'And they have funny ideas about reincarnation, too…'

Rincewind conceded that they probably would. It probably whiled away those long water-buffaloid hours: hey, after I die I hope I come back as… a man holding a water buffalo, but facing a different way.

'Er… no,' said Twoflower. They don't think you come back at all. Er… I'm not using the right words, am I?… Bit corroded on this language… I mean ^reincarnation. It's like reincarnation backwards. They think you're born before you die.'

'Oh, really?' said Rincewind, scratching at the stones. 'Amazing! Born before you die? Life before death? People will get really excited when they hear about that.'

'That's not exactly… er. It's all tied in with ancestors. You should always venerate ancestors because you might be them one day, and… Are you listening?'

The little piece of mortar fell away. Not bad for ten minutes' work, thought Rincewind. Come the next Ice Age, we're out of here…

It dawned on him that he was working on the wall that led to Twoflower's cell. Taking several thousand years to break into an adjoining cell could well be thought a waste of time.

He started on a different wall. Scratch… scratch…

There was a terrible scream.

Scratchscratchscratch—

'Sounds like the Emperor has woken up,' said Twoflower's voice from the hole in the wall.

'That's kind of an early morning torture, is it?' said Rincewind. He started to hammer at the huge blocks with a piece of shattered stone.

'It's not really his fault. He just doesn't understand about people.'

'Is that so?'

'You know how common kids go through a stage of pulling the wings off flies?'

'I never did,' said Rincewind. 'You can't trust flies. They may look small but they can turn nasty.'

'Kids generally, I mean.'

'Yes? Well?'

'He is an Emperor. No-one ever dared tell him it was wrong. It's just a matter of, you know, scaling up. All the five families fight among themselves for the crown. He killed his nephew to become Emperor. No-one has ever told him that it's not right to keep killing people for fun. At least, no-one who has ever managed to get to the end of the first sentence. And the Hongs and the Fangs and the Tangs and the Sungs and the McSweeneys have been killing one another for thousands of years. It's all part of the royal succession.'

'McSweeneys?'

'Very old-established family.'

Rincewind nodded gloomily. It was probably like breeding horses. If you have a system where treacherous murderers tend to win, you end up breeding really treacherous murderers. You end up with a situation where it's dangerous to lean over a cradle…

There was another scream.

Rincewind started kicking at the stones.

A key turned in the lock.

'Oh,' said Twoflower.

But the door didn't open.