Interesting Times

fingers.
    What he needed now was a wall. Walls had exits. True, they could also be entrances, but now there did not seem much danger of any guards hurrying in here. The air had an ancient smell, with a hint of fox and a slight trace of thunderstorms, but above all it tasted unused.
    He crept forward, testing each step with his foot.
    Then there was light. A small blue spark jumped off Rincewind’s finger.

    Cohen grabbed at his beard. It was straining away from his face.
    Mr. Saveloy’s fringe of hair stood out from his head and sparked at the ends.
    “Static discharges!” he shouted, above the crackle.
    Ahead of them the spears of the enemy glowed at the tips. The charge faltered. There was the occasional shriek as sparks leaped from man to man.
    Cohen looked up.
    “Oh, my,” he said. “Will you look at that! ”

    Tiny sparks flickered around Rincewind as he eased himself over the unseen floor.
    The word tomb had presented itself for his consideration, and one thing Rincewind knew about large tombs was that their builders were often jolly inventive in the traps and spikes department. They also put in things like paintings and statues, possibly so that the dead had something to look at if they became bored.
    Rincewind’s hand touched stone, and he moved carefully sideways. Now and again his feet touched something yielding and soft. He very much hoped it was mud.
    And then, right at hand height, was a lever. It stuck out fully two feet.
    Now…it could be a trap. But traps were generally, well, traps. The first you knew about them was when your head was rolling along the corridor several yards away. And trap builders tended to be straightforwardly homicidal and seldom required victims to actively participate in their own destruction.
    Rincewind pulled it.

    The yellow cloud sailed overhead in its millions, moving much faster on the wind they’d created than the slow beating of their wings would suggest. Behind them came the storm.
    Mr. Saveloy blinked.
    “ Butterflies? ”
    Both sides stopped as the creatures sleeted past. It was even possible to hear the rustle of their wings.
    “All right, Teach,” said Cohen. “Explain this one.”
    “It, it, it could be a natural phenomenon,” said Mr. Saveloy. “Er…Monarch butterflies, for example, have been known to…er…to tell you the truth, I don’t know…”
    The cloud swarmed on towards the hill.
    “Not some kind of sign?” said Cohen. “There must have been some temple I didn’t rob.”
    “The trouble with signs and portents,” said Boy Willie, “is you never know who they’re for. This’n could be a nice one for Hong and his pals.”
    “Then I’m nicking it,” said Cohen.
    “You can’t steal a message from the gods!” said Mr. Saveloy.
    “Can you see it nailed down anywhere? No? Sure? Right. So it’s mine.”
    He raised his sword as the stragglers fluttered past overhead.
    “The gods smile on us!” he bellowed. “Hahaha!”
    “Hahaha?” whispered Mr. Saveloy.
    “Just to worry ’em,” said Cohen.
    He glanced at the other members of the Horde. Each man nodded, very slightly.
    “All right, lads,” he said quietly. “This is it.”
    “Er…what do I do?” said Mr. Saveloy.
    “Think of something to make yourself good and angry. That gets the ole blood boiling. Imagine the enemy is everything you hate.”
    “Head teachers,” said Mr. Saveloy.
    “Good.”
    “Sports masters!” shouted Mr. Saveloy.
    “Yep.”
    “Boys who chew gum!” screamed Mr. Saveloy.
    “Look at him, steam coming out of his ears already,” said Cohen. “First one to the afterlife gets ’em in. Charge!”

    The yellow cloud thronged up the slopes of the hill and then, carried on the uprising wind, rose.
    Above it the storm rose, too, piling up and up and spreading into a shape something like a hammer—
    It struck.
    Lightning hit the iron pagoda so hard that it exploded into white-hot fragments.

    It is confusing for an entire army to be attacked by seven old men. No book of tactics is up to the task of offering advice. There is a tendency towards bafflement.
    The soldiers backed away in the face of the rush and then, driven by currents in the great mass of men, closed in behind.
    A solid circle of shields surrounded the Horde. It buckled and swayed under the press of men, and also under the blows rained on it by Mr. Saveloy’s sword.
    “Come on, fight!” he shouted. “Smoke pipes at me, would you? You! That boy there! Answer me back, eh! Take