‘Very bad for business, panic,’ said D. M. H., nodding uncomfortably.
‘So make sure you tell people there’s no truth in this rumour, will you? Set their minds at rest.’
‘Good idea. Er. These invisible vampire ghosts … Do they carry money of any sort?’
‘No. Because they don’t exist.’
‘Ah, yes. I forgot.’
‘And there are not 2,300,009 of them,’ said Rincewind. He was rather proud of this little detail.
‘Not 2,300,009 of them …’ said D. M. H., a little glassy-eyed.
‘Absolutely not. There are not 2,300,009 of them, no matter what anyone says. Nor has the Great Wizard made them twice as big as normal. Good man. Now I’d better be off—’
Rincewind hurried away.
The trader stood in thought for a while. It stole over him that he’d probably sold enough things for now, and he might as well go home and spend a quiet night in a barrel in the root cellar with a sack over his head.
His route led him through quite a large part of the camp. He made sure that soldiers he met knew there was no truth in the rumour, even though this invariably meant that, first of all, he had to tell them what the rumour actually was.
A toy rabbit squeaked nervously.
‘And I’m afraid of the big inwisible wampire ghosts!’ sobbed Favourite Pearl.
The soldiers around this particular campfire tried to comfort her but, unfortunately, there was no one to comfort them.
‘An’ I heard they alweady et some men!’
One or two soldiers looked over their shoulders. There was nothing to be seen in the darkness. This wasn’t, however, a reassuring sign.
The Red Army moved obliquely from campfire to campfire.
Rincewind had been very specific. He’d spent all his adult life — at least, those parts of it where he wasn’t being chased by things with more legs than teeth — in Unseen University, and he felt he knew what he was talking about here. Don’t tell people anything, he said. Don’t tell them. You didn’t get to survive as a wizard in UU by believing what people told you. You believed what you were not told.
Don’t tell them. Ask them. Ask them if it’s true. You can beg them to tell you it’s not true. Or you can even tell them you’ve been told to tell them it’s not true, and that is the best of all.
Because Rincewind knew very well that when the four rather small and nasty Horsemen of Panic ride out there is a good job done by Misinformation, Rumour and Gossip, but they are as nothing compared to the fourth horseman, whose name is Denial.
After an hour Rincewind felt quite unnecessary.
There were conversations breaking out everywhere, particularly in those areas on the edge of the camps, where the night stretched away so big and dark and, so very obviously, empty.
‘All right, so how come they’re saying there’s not 2,300,009 of them, eh? If there’s none of them, then why’s there a number?’
‘Look, there’s no such thing as invisible vampire ghosts, all right?’
‘Oh yeah? How do you know? Have you ever seen any?’
‘Listen, I went and asked the captain and he says he’s certain there’s no invisible ghosts out there.’
‘How can he be certain if he can’t see them?’
‘He says there’s no such things as invisible vampire ghosts at all.’
‘Oh? How come he’s saying that all of a sudden? My grandfather told me there’s millions of them outside the—’
‘Hold on … What’s that out there …?’
‘What?’
‘Could’ve sworn I heard something …’
‘I can’t see anything.’
‘Oh, no!’
Things must have filtered through to High Command because, getting on towards midnight, trumpets were sounded around the camps and a special proclamation was read out.
It confirmed the reality of vampire ghosts in general but denied their existence in any specific, here-and-now sense. It was a masterpiece of its type, particularly since it brought the whole subject to the ears of soldiers the Red Army hadn’t been able to reach yet.
An hour later the situation had reached the point of criticality and Rincewind was hearing things he personally hadn’t made up and, on the whole, would much rather not hear.
He’d chat with a couple of soldiers and say: ‘I’m sure there’s no huge hungry army of vampire ghosts’ and get told, ‘No, there’s seven old men.’
‘Just seven old men?’
‘I heard they’re very old,’ said a soldier. ‘Like, too old to die. I heard from someone at the palace that they can walk through walls and make themselves invisible.’
‘Oh, come on,’ said Rincewind. ‘Seven old men fighting this whole army?’
‘Makes you think, eh? Corporal Toshi says the Great Wizard is helping them. Stands to reason. I wouldn’t be fighting a whole army if I didn’t have a lot of magic on my side.’
‘Er. Anyone know what the Great Wizard looks like?’ said Rincewind.
‘They say he’s taller than a house and got three heads.’
Rincewind nodded encouragingly.
‘I heard,’ said a soldier, ‘that the Red Army is going to fight on their side, too.’
‘So what? Corporal Toshi says they’re just a bunch of kids.’
‘No, I heard … the real Red Army … you know …’
‘The Red Army ain’t gonna side with barbarian invaders! Anyway, there’s no such thing as the Red Army. That’s just a myth.’
‘Like the invisible vampire ghosts,’ said Rincewind, giving the clockwork of anxiety another little turn.
‘Er … yeah.’
He left them arguing.
No one was deserting. Running off into a night full of non-specific terrors was worse than staying in camp. But that was all to the good, he decided. It meant that the really frightened people were staying put and seeking reassurance from their comrades. And there was nothing like someone repeating ‘I’m sure there’s no vampire wizards’ and going to the latrine four times an hour to put backbone into a platoon.
Rincewind crept back towards the city, rounded a tent in the shadows, and collided with a horse, which trod heavily on his foot.
‘Your wife is a big hippo!’
SORRY.
Rincewind froze, both hands clutching his aching foot. He knew only one person with a voice like a cemetery in midwinter.
He tried to hop backwards, and collided with another horse.
RINCEWIND, ISN’T IT? said Death. YES. GOOD EVENING. I DON’T BELIEVE YOU HAVE MET WAR. RINCEWIND, WAR. WAR, RINCEWIND.
War touched his helmet in salute.
‘Pleasure’s all mine,’ he said. He indicated the other three riders. ‘Like to introduce you to m’sons, Terror and Panic. And m’daughter, Clancy.’
The children chorused a ‘hello’. Clancy was scowling, looked about seven years old and was wearing a hard hat and a Pony Club badge.
I WASN’T EXPECTING TO SEE YOU HERE, RINCEWIND.
‘Oh. Good.’
Death pulled an hourglass out of his robe, held it up to the moonlight, and sighed. Rincewind craned to see how much sand was left.
HOWEVER, I COULD —
‘Don’t you make any special arrangement just on my account,’ said Rincewind hurriedly. ‘I, er … I expect you’re all here for the battle?’
YES. IT PROMISES TO BE EXTREMELY — SHORT.
‘Who’s going to win?’
NOW, YOU KNOW I WOULDN’T TELL YOU THAT, EVEN IF I KNEW.
‘Even if you knew?’ said Rincewind. ‘I thought you were supposed to know everything!’
Death held up a finger. Something fluttered down through the night. Rincewind thought it was a moth, although it looked less fluffy and had a strange speckled pattern on its wings.