Interesting Times

say it was that sort of thing that made me what I am today, too.”
    They stepped inside the city. The streets were practically empty. Most people had flocked to the huge square in front of the palace. New Emperors tended towards displays of generosity. Besides, the news had got around that this one was different and was giving away free pigs.
    “I heard him talking about sending envoys to Ankh-Morpork,” said Twoflower, as they dripped up the street. “I expect there’s going to be a bit of a fuss about that.”
    “Was that man Disembowel-Meself-Honorably present at the time?” said Rincewind.
    “Yes, as a matter of fact.”
    “When you visited Ankh-Morpork, did you ever meet a man called Dibbler?”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “If those two ever shake hands I think there might be some sort of explosion.”
    “But you could go back, I’m sure,” said Twoflower. “I mean, your new University will need all sorts of things and, well, I seem to recall that people in Ankh-Morpork were very keen on gold.”
    Rincewind gritted his teeth. The image wouldn’t go away—of Archchancellor Rincewind buying the Tower of Art and getting them to number all the stones and send it back to Hunghung, of Archchancellor Rincewind hiring all the faculty as college porters, of Archchancellor Rincewi…
    “No!”
    “Pardon?”
    “Don’t encourage me to think like that! The moment I think that it’s all going to be worthwhile something dreadful will happen!”
    There was a movement behind him, and a knife suddenly pressed against his throat.
    “The Great Blob of Swallow’s Vomit?” said a voice by his ear.
    “There,” said Rincewind. “You see? Run away! Don’t stand there, you bloody idiot! Run! ”
    Twoflower stared for a moment and then turned and scampered away.
    “Let him go,” said the voice. “He doesn’t matter.”
    Hands pulled him into the alley. He had a vague impression of armor, and mud; his captors were skilled in the way of dragging a prisoner so that he had no chance to get a foothold anywhere.
    Then he was flung on to the cobbles.
    “He does not look so great to me,” said an imperious voice. “Look up, Great Wizard!”
    There was some nervous laughter from the soldiers.
    “You fools!” raged Lord Hong. “He is just a man! Look at him! Does he look so powerful? He is just a man who has found some old trickery! And we will find out how great he is without his arms and legs.”
    “Oh,” said Rincewind.
    Lord Hong leaned down. There was mud on his face and a wild glint in his eyes. “We shall see what your barbarian Emperor can do then , won’t we?” He indicated the sullen group of mud-encrusted soldiers. “You know, they half believe you really are a great wizard? That’s superstition, I’m afraid. Very useful most of the time, damn inconvenient on occasion. But when we march you into the square and show them how great you really are, I think your barbarian will not have so very long left. What are these?”
    He snatched the gloves off Rincewind’s hands.
    “Toys,” he said. “Made things. The Red Army are just machines, like mills and pumps. There’s no magic there.”
    He tossed them aside and nodded at one of the guards.
    “And now,” said Lord Hong, “let us go to the Imperial Square.”

    “How’d you like to be governor of Bhangbhangduc and all these islands around here?” said Cohen, as the Horde pored over a map of the Empire. “You like the seaside, Hamish?”
    “Whut?”
    The doors of the Throne Room were flung open. Twoflower scuttled in, trailed by One Big River.
    “Lord Hong’s got Rincewind! He’s going to kill him!”
    Cohen looked up.
    “He can wizard himself out of it, can’t he?”
    “No! He hasn’t got the Red Army anymore! He’s going to kill him! You’ve got to do something!”
    “Ach, well, you know how it is with wizards,” said Truckle. “There’s too many of ’em as it is—”
    “No.” Cohen picked up his sword and sighed.
    “Come on,” he said.
    “But, Cohen—”
    “I said come on . We ain’t like Hong. Rincewind’s a weasel, but he’s our weasel. So are you coming or what?”

    Lord Hong and his group of soldiers had almost reached the bottom of the wide steps to the palace when the Horde emerged. The crowd surrounded them, held back by the soldiers.
    Lord Hong held Rincewind tightly, a knife at his throat.
    “Ah, Emperor,” he said, in Ankh-Morporkian. “We meet again. Check, I think.”
    “What’s he mean?” Cohen