Interesting Times

There’s a lot of evil spirits, see. Because of all the slaughtering.”
    “Slaughtering?”
    Rincewind had always understood that the Agatean Empire was a peaceful place. It was civilized. They invented things. In fact, he recalled, he’d been instrumental in introducing a few of their devices to Ankh-Morpork. Simple, innocent things, like clocks worked by demons, and boxes that painted pictures, and extra glass eyes you could wear over the top of your own eyes to help you see better, even if it did mean you made a spectacle of yourself.
    It was supposed to be dull .
    “Oh, yeah. Slaughtering,” said Cohen. “Like, supposing the population is being a bit behind with its taxes. You pick some city where people are being troublesome and kill everyone and set fire to it and pull down the walls and plough up the ashes. That way you get rid of the trouble and all the other cities are suddenly really well behaved and polite and all your back taxes turn up in a big rush, which is handy for governments, I understand. Then if they ever give trouble you just have to say ‘Remember Nangnang?’ or whatever, and they say ‘Where’s Nangnang?’ and you say, ‘My point exactly.’”
    “Good grief! If that sort of thing was tried back home—”
    “Ah, but this place has been going a long time. People think that’s how a country is supposed to run. They do what they’re told. The people here are treated like slaves.”
    Cohen scowled. “Now, I’ve got nothing against slaves, you know, as slaves. Owned a few in my time. Been a slave once or twice. But where there’s slaves, what’ll you expect to find?”
    Rincewind thought about this. “Whips?” he said at last.
    “Yeah. Got it in one. Whips. There’s something honest about slaves and whips. Well…they ain’t got whips here. They got something worse than whips.”
    “What?” said Rincewind, looking slightly panicky.
    “You’ll find out.”
    Rincewind found himself looking around at the half-dozen other prisoners, who had trailed after them and were watching in awe from a distance. He’d given them a bit of leopard, which they’d looked at initially as if it was poison and then eaten as if it was food.
    “They’re still following us,” he said.
    “Yeah, well…you did give ’em meat,” cackled Cohen, starting to roll a post-prandial cigarette. “Shouldn’t have done that. Should’ve let ’em have the whiskers and the claws and you’d’ve been amazed at what they’d cook up. You know their big dish down on the coast?”
    “No.”
    “Pig’s ear soup. Now, what’s that tell you about a place, eh?”
    Rincewind shrugged. “Very provident people?”
    “Some other bugger pinches the pig.”
    He turned in the saddle. The group of ex-prisoners shrank back.
    “Now, see here,” he said. “I told you. You’re free. Understand?”
    One of the braver men spoke up. “Yes, master.”
    “I ain’t your master. You’re free . You can go wherever you like, excepting if you follow me I’ll kill the lot of you. And now—go away!”
    “Where, master?”
    “Anywhere! Somewhere not here!”
    The men gave one another some worried looks and then the whole group, as one man, turned and trotted away along the path.
    “Probably go straight back to their village,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Worse than whips, I tell you.”
    He waved a scrawny hand at the landscape as they rode on.
    “Strange bloody country,” he said. “Did you know there’s a wall all round the Empire?”
    “That’s to keep…barbarian invaders…out…”
    “Oh, yes, very defensive,” said Cohen sarcastically. “Like, oh my goodness, there’s a twenty-foot wall, dear me, I suppose we’d just better ride off back over a thousand miles of steppe and not, e.g., take a look at the ladder possibilities inherent in that pine wood over there. Nah. It’s to keep the people in. And rules? They’ve got rules for everything. No one even goes to the privy without a piece of paper.”
    “Well, as a matter of fact I myself—”
    “A piece of paper saying they can go, is what I meant. Can’t leave your village without a chit. Can’t get married without a chit. Can’t even have a sh—Ah, we’re here.”
    “Yes, indeed,” said Rincewind.
    Cohen glared at him. “How did you know?” he demanded.
    Rincewind tried to think. It had been a long day. In fact it had, because of the thaumic equivalent of jetlag, been several hours longer than most other days he’d experienced