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'Twenty-seven times,' said Twoflower helpfully. 'I worked it out. But you never actually have.'
'What? Worked it out?' said Rincewind, who was beginning to have the familiar feeling that the conversation had been mugged.
'No. Been killed. Doesn't that seem a bit suspicious?'
'I've never objected to it, if that's what you mean,' said Rincewind. He glared at his feet. Twoflower was right, of course. The Spell was keeping him alive, it was obvious. No doubt if he jumped over a cliff a passing cloud would cushion his fall.
The trouble with that theory, he decided, was that it only worked if he didn't believe it was true. The moment he thought he was invulnerable he'd be dead.
So, on the whole it was wisest not to think about it at all.
Anyway, he might be wrong.
The only thing he could be certain of was that he was getting a headache. He hoped that the Spell was somewhere in the area of the headache and really suffering.
When they rode out of the hollow both Rincewind and Twoflower were sharing a horse with one of their captors.
Rincewind perched uncomfortably in front of Weems. who had sprained an ankle and was not in a good mood. Twoflower sat in front of Herrena which, since he was fairly short, meant that at least he kept his ears warm. She rode with a drawn knife and a sharp eye out for any-walking boxes; Herrena hadn't quite worked out what the Luggage was, but she was bright enough to know that it wouldn't let Twoflower be killed.
After about ten minutes they saw it in the middle of the road. It's lid lay open invitingly. It was full of gold.
'Go round it,' said Herrena.
'But —'
'It's a trap.'
'That's right,' said Weems, white-faced. 'You take it from me.'
Reluctantly they reined their horses around the glittering temptation and trotted on along the track. Weems glanced back fearfully, dreading to see the chest coming after him.
What he saw was almost worse. It had gone.
Far off to one side of the path the long grass moved mysteriously and was still.
Rincewind wasn't much of a wizard and even less of a fighter, but he was an expert at cowardice and he knew fear when he smelt it. He said, quietly, 'It'll follow you, you know.'
'What?' said Weems, distractedly. He was still peering at the grass.
'It's very patient and it never gives up. That's sapient pearwood you're dealing with. It'll let you think it's forgotten you, then one day you'll be walking along a dark street and you'll hear these little footsteps behind you – shlup, shlup, they'll go, then you'll start running and they'll speed up, shlupshlupSHLUP—'
'Shut up!' shouted Weems.
'It's probably already recognised you, so —'
'I said shut up!'
Herrena turned around in her saddle and glared at them. Weems scowled and pulled Rincewind's ear until it was ight in front his mouth, and said hoarsely, I'm afraid of nothing, understand? This wizard stuff, I spit on it.'
'They all say that until they hear the footsteps,' said Rincewind. He stopped. A knifepoint was pricking his ribs.
Nothing happened for the rest of the day but, to Rincewind's satisfaction and Weems' mounting paranoia, the Luggage showed itself several times. Here it would be perched incongruously on a crag, there it would be half-hidden in a ditch with moss growing over it.
By late afternoon they came to the crest of a hill and looked down on the broad valley of the upper Smarl, the longest river on the Disc. It was already half a mile across, and heavy with the silt that made the lower valley the most fertile area on the continent. A few wisps of early mist wreathed its banks.
'Shlup,' said Rincewind. He felt Weems jerk upright in the saddle.
'Eh?'
