Interesting Times

towards the setting sun until I left the mountains and reached the alluvial plain where you’ll see evidence of drumlins and some quite fine examples of obviously erratic boulders. It’s about ten miles.”
    Rincewind stared at him. A brigand’s directions were usually more on the lines of “keep straight on past the burning city and turn right when you’ve passed all the citizens hanging up by their ears.”
    “Those drumlins sound dangerous,” he said.
    “They’re just a type of post-glacial hill,” said Mr. Saveloy.
    “What about these erratic boulders? They sound like the kind of thing that’d pounce on—”
    “Just boulders dropped a long way from home by a glacier,” said Mr. Saveloy. “Nothing to worry about. The landscape is not hostile.”
    Rincewind didn’t believe him. He’d had the ground hit him very hard many times.
    “However,” said Mr. Saveloy, “Hunghung is a little dangerous at the moment.”
    “No, really?” said Rincewind wearily.
    “It’s not exactly a siege. Everyone’s waiting for the Emperor to die. These are what they call here”—he smiled—“interesting times.”
    “I hate interesting times.”
    The other Horders had wandered off, fallen asleep again, or were complaining to one another about their feet. The voice of Cohen could be heard somewhere in the distance: “Look, this is a match, and this is—”
    “You know, you sound a very educated man for a barbarian,” said Rincewind.
    “Oh, dear me, I didn’t start out a barbarian. I used to be a school teacher. That’s why they call me Teach.”
    “What did you teach?”
    “Geography. And I was very interested in Auriental * studies. But I decided to give it up and make a living by the sword.”
    “After being a teacher all your life?”
    “It did mean a change of perspective, yes.”
    “But…well…surely…the privation, the terrible hazards, the daily risk of death…”
    Mr. Saveloy brightened up. “Oh, you’ve been a teacher, have you?”
    Rincewind looked around when someone shouted. He turned, to see two of the Horde arguing nose to nose.
    Mr. Saveloy sighed.
    “I’m trying to teach them chess,” he said. “It’s vital to the understanding of the Auriental mind. But I am afraid they have no concept of taking turns at moving, and their idea of an opening gambit is for the King and all the pawns to rush up the board together and set fire to the opposing rooks.”
    Rincewind leaned closer.
    “Look, I mean… Ghenghiz Cohen?” he said. “Has he gone off his head? I mean…just killing half a dozen geriatric priests and nicking some paste gems, yes . Attacking forty thousand guards all by himself is certain death!”
    “Oh, he won’t be by himself,” said Mr. Saveloy.
    Rincewind blinked. There was something about Cohen. People caught optimism off him as though it was the common cold.
    “Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry. I’d forgotten that. Seven against forty thousand? I shouldn’t think you’ll have any problems. I’ll just be going. Fairly quickly, I think.”
    “We have a plan. It’s a sort of—” Mr. Saveloy hesitated. His eyes unfocused slightly. “You know? Thing. Bees do it. Wasps, too. Also some jellyfish, I believe…Had the word only a moment ago…er. It’s going to be the biggest one ever, I think.”
    Rincewind gave him another blank stare. “I’m sure I saw a spare horse,” he said.
    “Let me give you this,” said Mr. Saveloy. “Then perhaps you’ll understand. It’s what it’s all about, really…”
    He handed Rincewind a small bundle of papers fastened together by a loop of string through one corner.
    Rincewind, shoving it hastily into his pocket, noticed only the title on the first page.
    It said:

    WHAT I DID ON MY HOLIDAYS

    The choices seemed very clear to Rincewind. There was the city of Hunghung, under siege, apparently throbbing with revolution and danger, and there was everywhere else.
    Therefore it was important to know where Hunghung was so that he didn’t blunder into it by accident. He paid a lot of attention to Mr. Saveloy’s instructions, and then rode the other way.
    He could get a ship somewhere. Of course, the wizards would be surprised to see him back, but he could always say there’d been no one in.
    The hills gave way to scrubland which in turn led down to an apparently endless damp plain which contained, in the misty distance, a river so winding that half the time it must have been flowing backwards.
    The land was a checkerboard