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"Bludy walrus again?"
"YES!"
"Whut?"
They were, all of them, old men. Their background conversation was a litany of complaints about feet, stomachs and backs. They moved slowly. But they had a look about them. It was in their eyes. Their eyes said that wherever it was, they had been there. Whatever it was, they had done it, sometimes more than once. But they would never, ever, buy the T-shirt. And they did know the meaning of the word "fear". It was something that happened to other people. "I wish Old Vincent was here," said Caleb the Ripper, poking the fire aimlessly. "Well, he's gone, and there's an end of it," said Truckle the Uncivil shortly. "We said we weren't going to bloody talk about it."
"But what a way to go ... gods, I hope that doesn't happen to me. Something like that... it shouldn't happen to anyone ..."
"Yes. all right," said Truckle. "He was a good bloke. Took everything the world threw at him."
"All right!"
"And then to choke on-"
"We all know! Now bloody well shut up!"
"Dinners done," said Caleb, pulling a smoking slab of grease out of the embers. "Nice walrus steak, anyone? What about Mr. Pretty?" They turned to an evidently human figure that had been propped against a boulder. It was indistinct, because of the ropes, but it was clearly dressed in brightly coloured clothes. This wasn't the place for brightly coloured clothes. This was a land for fur and leather. Boy Willie walked over to the colourful thing. "We'll take the gag off." he said. "if you promise not to scream." Frantic eyes darted this way and that, and then the gagged head nodded. "All right, then. Eat your your nice walrus ... er, lump," said Boy Willie, pulling at the cloth. "How dare you drag me all-" the minstrel began. "Now look," said Boy Willie, "none of us like havin' to wallop you alongside the ear when you go on like this, do we? Be reasonable."
""Reasonable? When you kidnap-" Boy Willie snapped the gag back into place. "Thin streak of nothin'." be muttered at the angry eyes. "You ain't even got a harp. What kind of bard doesn't even have a harp? Just this sort of little wooden pot thing. Damn silly idea."
"'s called a lute," said Caleb, through a mouthful of walrus. "Whut?"
"IT'S CALLED A LUTE, HAMISH!"
"Aye, I used to loot!"
"Nah, it's for singin' posh songs for ladies," said Caleb. "About... flowers and that. Romance?" The Horde knew the word, although the activity had been outside the scope of their busy lives. "Amazin', what songs do for the ladies," said Caleb. "Well, when I was a lad." said Truckle, "if you wanted to get a girl's int'rest, you had to cut off your worst enemy's wossname and present it to her."
"Whut?"
"I SAID YOU HAD TO CUT OFF YOUR WORST ENEMY'S WOSSNAME AND PRESENT IT TO HER!"
"Aye, romance is a wonderful tiling," said Mad Hamish. "What'd you do if you didn't have a worst enemy?" said Boy Willie. "You try and cut off anyone's wossname."" said Truckle, "and you've soon got a worst enemy."
"Flowers is more usual these days," said Caleb, reflectively. Truckle eyed the struggling lutist.
"Can't think what the boss was thinking of, draggin' this thing along," he said. "Where is he, anyway?" Lord Vetinari, despite his education, had a mind like an engineer. If you wished to open something, you found the appropriate spot and applied the minimum amount of force necessary to achieve your end. Possibly the spot was between a couple of ribs and the force was applied via a dagger, or between two warring countries and applied via an army, but the important thing was to find that one weak spot which would be the key to everything. "And so you are now the unpaid Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography?" he said to the figure who had been brought before him. The wizard known as Rincewind nodded slowly, just in case an admission was going to get him into trouble. "Er... yes?"
"Have you been to the Hub?"
"Er ... yes?"
"Can you describe the terrain?"
"Er ..."
"What did the scenery look like?" Lord Vetinari added helpfully. "Er ... blurred, sir. I was being chased by some people."
"Indeed? And why was this?" Rincewind looked shocked. "Oh. I never stop to find out why people are chasing me, sir. I never look behind, either. That'd be rather silly, sir." Lord Vetinari pinched the bridge of his nose, "Just tell me what you know about Cohen, please," he said wearily. "Him? He's just a hero who never died, sir. A leathery old man. Not very bright, really, but he's got so much cunning and guile you'd never know it."
"Are you a friend of his?"
"Well, we've met a couple of times and he didn't kill me," said Rincewind. "That probably counts as a "yes"."
"And what about the old men who're with him?"
"Oh, they're not old men ... well, yes, they are old men ... but, well... they're his Silver Horde, sir."
