Interesting Times

alley was quieter and, at the far end, opened into something much wider and empty looking. On the basis that people also meant trouble, Rincewind headed in that direction.
    Here, at last, was an open space. It was very open indeed. It was a paved square, big enough to hold a couple of armies. It had cherry trees growing along the verges. And, given the heaving mob everywhere else, a surprising absence of anyone…
    “You!”
    …apart from the soldiers.
    They appeared abruptly from behind every tree and statue.
    Rincewind tried to back away, but that proved unfortunate since there was a guard behind him.
    A terrifying armored mask confronted him.
    “Peasant! Do you not know this is the Imperial Square?”
    “Was that a capital S on Square, please?” said Rincewind.
    “You do not ask questions!”
    “Ah. I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ So it’s important, then. Sorry. I’ll just sort of go away, then…”
    “You stay!”
    But what struck Rincewind as amazingly odd was that none of them actually took hold of him. And then he realized that this must be because they hardly ever needed to. People did what they were told.
    There’s something worse than whips in the Empire, Cohen had said.
    At this point, he realized, he should be on his knees. He crouched down, hands placed lightly in front of him.
    “I wonder,” he said brightly, rising into the starting position, “if this is the time to draw your attention to a famous saying?”

    Cohen was familiar with city gates. He’d broken down a number in his time, by battering ram, siege gun, and on one occasion with his head.
    But the gates of Hunghung were pretty damn good gates. They weren’t like the gates of Ankh-Morpork, which were usually wide open to attract the spending customer and whose concession to defense was the sign “Thank You For Not Attacking Our City. Bonum Diem.” These things were big and made of metal and there was a guardhouse and a squad of unhelpful men in black armor.
    “Teach?”
    “Yes, Cohen?”
    “Why’re we doing this? I thought we were going to use the invisible duck the mice use.”
    Mr. Saveloy waggled a finger.
    “That’s for the Forbidden City itself. I hope we’ll find that inside. Now, remember your lessons,” he said. “It’s important that you all learn how to behave in cities.”
    “I know how to bloody well behave in cities,” said Truckle the Uncivil. “Pillage, ravish, loot, set fire to the damn place on your way out. Just like towns only it takes longer.”
    “That’s all very well if you’re just passing through,” said Mr. Saveloy, “but what if you want to come back next day?”
    “It ain’t bloody well there next day, mister.”
    “Gentlemen! Bear with me. You will have to learn the ways of civilization!”
    People couldn’t just walk through. There was a line. And the guards gathered rather offensively around each cowering visitor to examine their papers.
    And then it was Cohen’s turn.
    “Papers, old man?”
    Cohen nodded happily, and handed the guard captain a piece of paper on which was written, in Mr. Saveloy’s best handwriting:

    WE ARE WANDERING MADMEN WHO HAVE NO PAPERS. SORRY .

    The guard’s gaze lifted from the paper and met Cohen’s cheerful grin.
    “Indeed,” he said nastily. “Can’t you speak, grandfather?”
    Cohen, still grinning, looked questioningly at Mr. Saveloy. They hadn’t rehearsed this part.
    “Foolish dummy,” said the guard.
    Mr. Saveloy looked outraged.
    “I thought you were supposed to show special consideration for the insane!” he said.
    “You cannot be insane without papers to say you’re insane,” said the guard.
    “Oh, I’m fed up with this,” said Cohen. “I said it wouldn’t work if we came across a thick guard.”
    “Insolent peasant!”
    “I’m not as insolent as my friends here,” said Cohen.
    The Horde nodded.
    “That’s us, flatfoot.”
    “Bum to you.”
    “Whut?”
    “Extremely foolish soldier.”
    “Whut?”
    The captain was taken aback. Deeply ingrained in the Agatean psyche was the habit of obedience. But even stronger was a veneration of one’s ancestors and a respect for the elderly, and the captain had never seen anyone so elderly while still vertical. They practically were ancestors. The one in the wheelchair certainly smelled like one.
    “Take them to the guardhouse!” he shouted.
    The Horde let themselves be manhandled, and did it quite well. Mr. Saveloy had spent hours training them in this, since he