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“Er,” said Rincewind. Someone coughed. He looked down. The evaporating mists now revealed a broad circle of armed men, many of them grinning
and all of them carrying mass-produced, soulless but above all sharp long spears. “Ah,” said Rincewind. He looked back at the hatchway. It said it all, really.
“The only thing I don't understand,” said the captain of the guard, “is: why two of you? We were expecting maybe a hundred.”
He leaned back on his stool, his great plumed helmet in his lap, a pleased smile on his
face.
“Honestly, you Ephebians!” he said. Talk about laugh! You must think we was born yesterday! All night nothing but sawing and hammering, the next thing there's a damn great wooden horse outside the gates, so I think, that's funny, a bloody great wooden horse with airholes. That's the kind of little detail I notice, see. Airholes. So I muster all the lads and we nips out extra early and drag it in the gates, as per expectations, and then we bides quiet, like, around it, waiting to see what it coughs up. In a manner of speaking. Now,“ he pushed his unshaven face close to Rincewind, ”you've got a choice, see? Top seat or bottom seat, it's up to you. I just have to put the word in. You play discus with me and I'll play discus with you*." (*Ball games were unknown in the Discworld at this time.)
“What seat?” said Rincewind, reeling from the gusts of garlic.
“It's the war triremes,” said the sergeant cheerfully. “Three seats, see, one above the other? Triremes. You get chained to the oars for years, see, and it's all according whether you're in the top seat, up in the fresh air and that, or the bottom seat where” - he grinned
-“you're not. So it's down to you, lads. Be co-operative and all you'll need to worry about will be the seagulls. Now. Why only the two of you?”
was the last mistake it ever made.
“You know that box of yours?” said the parrot.
“What about it?” said Rincewind.
“It's heading this way.”
The priests peered down at the running figure far below. The Luggage had a straightforward way of dealing with things between it and its intended destination: it ignored them.
It was at this moment, against all his instincts, in great trepidation and, most unfortunately of all, in deep ignorance of what was happening, that Quezovercoatl himself chose to materialise on top of the pyramid.
Several of the priests noticed him. The knives fell from their fingers.
“Er,” squeaked the demon.
Other priests turned around.
“Right. Now, I want you all to pay attention,” squeaked Quezovercoatl, cupping his tiny hands around his main mouth in an effort to be heard.
This was very embarrassing. He'd enjoyed being the Tezumen god, he'd been really impressed by their single-minded devotion to duty, he'd been very gratified by the incredible lifelike statue in the pyramid, and it really hurt to have to reveal that, in one important particular, it was incorrect.
He was six inches high.
“Now then,” he began, “this is very important -”
Unfortunately, no-one ever found out why. At that moment the Luggage breasted the top of the pyramid, its legs whirring like propellers, and landed squarely on the slabs.
There was a brief, flat squeak.
It was a funny old world, said da Quirm. You had to laugh, really. If you didn't, you'd go mad, wouldn't you? One minute strapped to a slab and about to undergo exquisite torture, the next being given breakfast, a change of clothes, a hot tub and a free lift out of the kingdom. It made you believe there was a god. Of course the Tezumen knew there was a god, and that he was currently a small and distressing greasy patch on top of the pyramid. Which left them with a bit of a problem.
The Luggage squatted in the city's main plaza. The entire priesthood was sitting around it and watching it carefully, in case it did anything amusing or religious.
“Are you going to leave it behind?” said Eric.
“It's not as simple as that,” said Rincewind. “It generally catches up. Let's just go away quickly.”
“But we'll take the tribute, won't we?”
“I think that could be an amazingly bad idea,” said Rincewind. “Let's just quietly go, while they're in a good temper. The novelty will wear off soon, I expect.” “And I've got to get on with my search for the Fountain of Youth,” said da Quirm. “Oh yes,” said Rincewind. “I've devoted my whole life to it, you know,” said the old man proudly. Rincewind looked him up and down. “Really?” he said. “Oh, yes. Exclusively. Ever since I was a boy.”
