Lord Hong cherished the nervousness. He intended to use it, by and by. He smiled and smiled.
Finally he said: ‘However, my lords, despite your sterling efforts the situation remains grave. I have information that a very senior wizard from Ankh-Morpork has arrived to assist the rebels here in Hunghung, and that there is a plot to overthrow the good organization of the celestial world and assassinate the Emperor, may he live for ten thousand years. I must naturally assume that the foreign devils are behind this.’
‘I know nothing of this!’ snapped Lord Tang.
‘My dear Lord Tang. I was not suggesting that you should,’ said Lord Hong.
‘I meant—’ Lord Tang began.
‘Your devotion to the Emperor is unquestioned,’ Lord Hong continued, as smoothly as a knife through warm butter. ‘It is true that there is almost certainly someone highly placed assisting these people, but not one shred of evidence points to you.’
‘I should hope not!’
‘Indeed.’
The Lords Fang and McSweeney moved very slightly away from Lord Tang.
‘How can we have let this happen?’ said Lord Fang. ‘Certainly it is true that people, foolish deranged people, have sometimes ventured out beyond the Wall. But to let one come back—’
‘I am afraid the Grand Vizier at the time was a man of changeable humours,’ said Lord Hong. ‘He thought it would be interesting to see what intelligence was brought back.’
‘Intelligence?’ said Lord Fang. ‘This city of Ank … More … Pork is an abomination! Mere anarchy! There appear to be no nobles of consequence and the society is that of a termite nest! It would be better for us, my lords, if it was wiped from the face of the world!’
‘Your incisive comments are duly noted, Lord Fang,’ said Lord Hong, while part of him rolled on the floor laughing. ‘In any event,’ he went on, ‘I shall see that extra guards are posted in the Emperor’s chambers. However all this trouble began, we must see that it ends here.’
He watched them watching him. They think I want to rule the Empire, he thought. So they’re all — except for Lord Tang, rebel fellow traveller as he will undoubtedly prove to be — working out how this will be to their advantage …
He dismissed them, and retired to his chambers.
It was a fact that the ghosts and devils who lived beyond the Wall had no grasp of culture and certainly no concept of books, and being in possession of such a patently impossible object was punishable by eventual death. And confiscation.
Lord Hong had built up quite a library. He had even acquired maps.
And more than maps. There was a box he kept locked, in the room with the full-length mirror …
Not now. Later on …
Ankh-Morpork! Even the name sounded rich.
All he needed was a year. The dreadful scourge of the rebellion would allow him to wield the kind of powers that even the maddest Emperor had not dreamed of. And then it would be unthinkable not to build a vengeful fleet to wreak terror on the foreign devils. Thank you, Lord Fang. Your point is duly noted.
As if it mattered who was Emperor! The Empire was possibly a bonus, to be acquired later, perhaps, in passing. Let him just have Ankh-Morpork, with its busy dwarfs and its grasp, above all, of machinery. Look at the Barking Dogs. Half the time they blew up. They were inaccurate. The principle was sound but the execution was terrible, especially when they blew up.
It had come as a revelation to Lord Hong when he looked at the problem the Ankh-Morpork way and realized that it might just possibly be better to give the job of Auspicious Dog-maker to some peasant with a fair idea about metal and explosive earths than to some clerk who’d got the highest marks in an examination to find the best poem about iron. In Ankh-Morpork people did things.
Let him just walk down Broadway as owner, and eat the pies of the famous Mr Dibbler. Let him play one game of chess against Lord Vetinari. Of course, it would mean leaving the man one arm.
He was shaking with excitement. Not later … now. His fingers reached for the secret key on its chain around his neck.
It was barely a track. Rabbits would have walked right past it. And you’d have sworn there was a sheer, passless rock wall until you found the gap.
Once you did find it, it was hardly worth the bother. It led to a long gully with a few natural caves in it, and a bit of grass, and a spring.
And, as it turned out, Cohen’s gang. Except that he called it a horde. They were sitting in the sun, complaining about how it wasn’t as warm as it used to be.
‘I’m back then, lads,’ said Cohen.
‘Been away, have you?’
‘Whut? Whut’s he say?’
‘He said HE’S BACK.’
‘Black what?’
Cohen beamed at Rincewind. ‘I brought ’em with me,’ he said: ‘Like I said, no future in going it alone these days.’
‘Er,’ said Rincewind, after surveying the little scene, ‘are any of these men under eighty years old?’
‘Stand up, Boy Willie,’ said Cohen.
A dehydrated man only marginally less wrinkled than the others got to his feet. It was his feet that were particularly noticeable. He wore boots with extremely thick soles.
‘So’s me feet touch the ground,’ he said.
‘Don’t they … er … touch the ground in ordinary boots?’
‘Nope. Orthopaedic problem, see. Like … you know how a lot of people’ve got one leg shorter than the other? Funny thing, with me it’s—’
‘Don’t tell me,’ said Rincewind. ‘Sometimes I get these amazing flashes … Both legs are shorter than the other, right?’
‘Amazing. O’ course, I can see you’re a wizard,’ said Boy Willie. ‘You’d know about this sort of thing.’
Rincewind gave the next member of the Horde a bright mad smile. It was almost certainly a human being, because wizened little monkeys didn’t usually go around in a wheelchair while wearing a helmet with horns on it. It grimaced at Rincewind.
‘This is—’
‘Whut? Whut?’
‘Mad Hamish,’ said Cohen.
‘Whut? Whozee?’
‘I bet that wheelchair terrifies them,’ said Rincewind. ‘Especially the blades.’
‘We had the devil of a job getting it over the wall,’ Cohen conceded. ‘But you’d be amazed at his turn of speed.’
‘Whut?’
‘And this is Truckle the Uncivil.’
‘Sod off, wizard.’
Rincewind beamed at Exhibit B. ‘Those walking sticks … Fascinating! Very impressive the way you’ve got LOVE and HATE written on them.’
Cohen smiled proprietorially.
‘Truckle used to be reckoned one of the biggest badasses in the world,’ he said.
‘Really? Him?’
‘But it’s amazing what you can do with a herbal suppository.’
‘Up yours, mister,’ said Truckle.
Rincewind blinked. ‘Er. Can I have a word, Cohen?’
He drew the ancient barbarian aside.
‘I don’t want to seem to be making trouble here,’ he said, ‘but it doesn’t strike you, does it, that these men are a bit, well, past their sell-by date? A little, not to put too fine a point on it, old?’
‘Whut? Whutzeesayin’?’
‘He says IT’S COLD.’
‘Whut?’
‘What’re you saying? There’s nearly five hundred years of concentrated barbarian hero experience in ’em,’ said Cohen.
‘Five hundred years’ experience in a fighting unit is good,’ said Rincewind. ‘It’s good. But it should be spread over more than one person. I mean, what are you expecting them to do? Fall over on people?’
‘Nothin’ wrong with ’em,’ said Cohen, indicating a frail man who was staring intently at a large block of teak. ‘Look at ole Caleb the Ripper over there. See? Killed more’n four hundred men with his bare hands. Eighty-five now and but for the dust he’s marvellous.’