He chewed it carefully. It was salty and faintly rubbery, with a hint of sewage outfall.
‘Nice?’ said Chidder anxiously. Several nearby diners started to clap.
‘Different,’ Teppic conceded, chewing. ‘What is it?’
‘Deep sea blowfish,’ said Chidder.
‘It’s all right,’ he said hastily as Teppic laid down his fork meaningfully, ‘it’s perfectly safe provided every bit of stomach, liver and digestive tract is removed, that’s why it cost so much, there’s no such thing as a second-best blowfish chef, it’s the most expensive food in the world, people write poems about it—’
‘Could be a taste explosion,’ muttered Teppic, getting a grip on himself. Still, it must have been done properly, otherwise the place would now be wearing him as wallpaper. He poked carefully at the sliced roots which occupied the rest of the plate.
‘What do these do to you?’ he said.
‘Well, unless they’re prepared in exactly the right way over a six-week period they react catastrophically with your stomach acids,’ said Chidder. ‘Sorry. I thought we should celebrate with the most expensive meal we could afford.’
‘I see. Fish and chips for Men,’ said Teppic.
‘Do they have any vinegar in this place?’ said Arthur, his mouth full. ‘And some mushy peas would go down a treat.’
But the wine was good. Not incredibly good, though. Not one of the great vintages. But it did explain why Teppic had gone through the whole of the day with a headache.
It had been the hangunder. His friend had bought four bottles of otherwise quite ordinary white wine. The reason it was so expensive was that the grapes it was made from hadn’t actually been planted yet[8].
Light moves slowly, lazily on the Disc. It’s in no hurry to get anywhere. Why bother? At lightspeed, everywhere is the same place.
King Teppicymon XXVII watched the golden disc float over the edge of the world. A flight of cranes took off from the mist-covered river.
He’d been conscientious, he told himself. No one had ever explained to him how one made the sun come up and the river flood and the corn grow. How could they? He was the god, after all. He should know. But he didn’t, so he’d just gone through life hoping like hell that it would all work properly, and that seemed to have done the trick. The trouble was, though, that if it didn’t work, he wouldn’t know why not. A recurrent nightmare was of Dios the high priest shaking him awake one morning, only it wouldn’t be a morning, of course, and of every light in the palace burning and an angry crowd muttering in the star-lit darkness outside and everyone looking expectantly at him …
And all he’d be able to say was, ‘Sorry’.
It terrified him. How easy to imagine the ice forming on the river, the eternal frost riming the palm trees and snapping off the leaves (which would smash when they hit the frozen ground) and the birds dropping lifeless from the sky …
Shadow swept over him. He looked up through eyes misted with tears at a grey and empty horizon, his mouth dropping open in horror.
He stood up, flinging aside the blanket, and raised both hands in supplication. But the sun had gone. He was the god, this was his job, it was the only thing he was here to do, and he had failed the people.
Now he could hear in his mind’s ear the anger of the crowd, a booming roar that began to fill his ears until the rhythm became insistent and familiar, until it reached the point where it pressed in no longer but drew him out, into the salty blue desert where the sun always shone and sleek shapes wheeled across the sky.
The pharaoh raised himself on his toes, threw back his head, spread his wings. And leapt.
As he soared into the sky he was surprised to hear a thump behind him. And the sun came out from behind the clouds.
Later on, the pharaoh felt awfully embarrassed about it.
The three new assassins staggered slowly along the street, constantly on the point of falling over but never quite reaching it, trying to sing ‘A Wizard’s Staff Has A Knob On The End’ in harmony or at least in the same key.
‘’Tis big an’ i’ss round an’ weighs three to the—’ sang Chidder. ‘Blast, what’ve I stepped in?’
‘Anyone know where we are?’ said Arthur.
‘We — we were headed for the Guildhouse,’ said Teppic, ‘only must of took the wrong way, that’s the river up ahead. Can smell it.’
Caution penetrated Arthur’s armour of alcohol.
‘Could be dangerous pep — plep — people around, this time o’ night,’ he hazarded.
‘Yep,’ said Chidder, with satisfaction, ‘us. Got ticket to prove it. Got test and everything. Like to see anyone try anything with us.’
‘Right,’ agreed Teppic, leaning against him for support of a sort. ‘We’ll slit them from wossname to thingy.’
‘Right!’
They lurched uncertainly out on to the Brass Bridge.
In fact there were dangerous people around in the pre-dawn shadows, and currently these were some twenty paces behind them.
The complex system of criminal Guilds had not actually made Ankh-Morpork a safer place, it just rationalized its dangers and put them on a regular and reliable footing. The major Guilds policed the city with more thoroughness and certainly more success than the old Watch had ever managed, and it was true that any freelance and unlicensed thief caught by the Thieves’ Guild would soon find himself remanded in custody for social inquiry reports plus having his knees nailed together[9]. However, there were always a few spirits who would venture a precarious living outside the lawless, and five men of this description were closing cautiously on the trio to introduce them to this week’s special offer, a cut throat plus theft and burial in the river mud of your choice.
People normally keep out of the way of assassins because of an instinctive feeling that killing people for very large sums of money is disapproved of by the gods (who generally prefer people to be killed for very small sums of money or for free) and could result in hubris, which is the judgement of the gods. The gods are great believers in justice, at least as far as it extends to humans, and have been known to dispense it so enthusiastically that people miles away are turned into a cruet.
However, assassin’s black doesn’t frighten everyone, and in certain sections of society there is a distinct cachet in killing an assassin. It’s rather like smashing a sixer in conkers.{16}
Broadly, therefore, the three even now lurching across the deserted planks of the Brass Bridge were dead drunk assassins and the men behind them were bent on inserting the significant comma.
Chidder wandered into one of the heraldic wooden hippopotami[10] that lined the seaward edge of the bridge, bounced off and flopped over the parapet.
‘Feel sick,’ he announced.
‘Feel free,’ said Arthur, ‘that’s what the river’s for.’
Teppic sighed. He was attached to rivers, which he felt were designed to have water lilies on top and crocodiles underneath, and the Ankh always depressed him because if you put a water lily in it, it would dissolve. It drained the huge silty plains all the way to the Ramtop mountains, and by the time it had passed through Ankh-Morpork, pop. one million, it could only be called a liquid because it moved faster than the land around it; actually being sick in it would probably make it, on average, marginally cleaner.
He stared down at the thin trickle that oozed between the central pillars, and then raised his gaze to the grey horizon.
‘Sun’s coming up,’ he announced.
8
Counterwise wine is made from grapes belonging to that class of flora — reannuals — that grow only in excessively high magic fields. Normal plants grow after the seeds have been planted — with reannuals it’s
9
When the Thieves’ Guild declared a General Strike in the Year of the Engaging Sloth, the actual level of crime doubled.
10
One of the two[*] legends about the founding of Ankh-Morpork relates that the two orphaned brothers who built the city were in fact found and suckled by a hippopotamus{**} (lit.
* The other legend, not normally recounted by citizens, is that at an even earlier time a group of wise men survived a flood sent by the gods by building a huge boat, and on this boat they took two of every type of animal then existing on the Disc. After some weeks the combined manure was beginning to weigh the boat low in the water so — the story runs — they tipped it over the side, and called it Ankh-Morpork.
** The legend of Ankh-Morpork being founded by two orphaned brothers who had been found and suckled by a hippopotamus refers to the legend of Romulus and Remus who were two orphaned brothers raised by a wolf, who later went on to found Rome (the brothers did, not the wolf).