Interesting Times

Emperor.
    “Emperor,” said Lord Hong wearily, “what will you have us do with this Great Wizard of yours?”
    The old man gave Rincewind the look a present gets around the time the batteries have run out.
    “Put him in the special…dungeon,” he said. “For…now.”
    “Yes, Emperor,” said Lord Hong. He nodded at a couple of guards.
    Rincewind managed a quick look back as he was dragged from the room. The Emperor was lying back in his movable bed, quite oblivious to him.
    “Is he mad or what?” he said.
    “Silence!”
    Rincewind looked up at the guard who’d said that.
    “A mouth like that could get a man into big trouble around here,” he muttered.

    Lord Hong always found himself depressed by the general state of humanity. It often seemed to him to be flawed. There was no concentration . Take the Red Army. If he had been a rebel the Emperor would have been assassinated months ago and the country would now be aflame, except for those bits too damp to burn. But these? Despite his best efforts, their idea of revolutionary activity was a surreptitious wall poster saying something like “Unpleasantness To Oppressors When Convenient!”
    They had tried to set fire to guardhouses. That was good. That was proper revolutionary activity, except for the bit where they tried to make an appointment first. It had taken Lord Hong some considerable effort to see that the Red Army appeared to achieve any victories at all.
    Well, he’d given them the Great Wizard they so sincerely believed in. They had no excuse now. And by the look of him, the wretch was as craven and talentless as Lord Hong had hoped. Any army led by him would either flee or be slaughtered, leaving the way open for the counter-revolution.
    The counter-revolution would not be inefficient. Lord Hong would see to that.
    But things had to be done one step at a time. There were enemies everywhere. Suspicious enemies. The path of the ambitious man was a nightingale floor. One wrong step and it would sing out. It was a shame the Great Wizard would turn out to be so good at locks. Lord Tang’s men were guarding the prison block tonight. Of course, if the Red Army were to escape, no blame at all could possibly attach to Lord Tang…
    Lord Hong risked a little chuckle to himself as he strode back to his suite. Proof, that was the thing. There must never be proof. But that wouldn’t matter very long. There was nothing like a fearsomely huge war to unite people, and the fact that the Great Wizard—that is, the leader of the terrible rebel army—was an evil foreign troublemaker was just the spark to light the firecracker.
    And then…Ankh-Morpork [urinating dog].
    Hunghung was old. The culture was based on custom, the alimentary tract of the common water buffalo, and base treachery. Lord Hong was in favor of all three, but they did not add up to world domination, and Lord Hong was particularly in favor of that, provided it was achieved by Lord Hong.
    If I was the traditional type of Grand Vizier, he thought as he sat down before his tea table, I’d cackle with laughter at this point.
    He smiled to himself, instead.
    Time for the box again? No. Some things were all the better for the anticipation.

    Mad Hamish’s wheelchair caused a few heads to turn, but no actual comment. Undue curiosity was not a survival trait in Hunghung. They just got on with their work, which appeared to be the endless carrying of stacks of paper along the corridors.
    Cohen looked down at what was in his hand. Over the decades he’d fought with many weapons—swords, of course, and bows and spears and clubs and…well, now he came to think of it, just about anything.
    Except this…
    “I still don’t like it,” said Truckle. “Why’re we carrying pieces of paper?”
    “Because no one looks at you in a place like this if you’re carrying a piece of paper,” said Mr. Saveloy.
    “Why?”
    “Whut?”
    “It’s—a kind of magic.”
    “I’d feel happier if it was a weapon.”
    “As a matter of fact, it can be the greatest weapon there is.”
    “I know, I’ve just cut myself on my bit,” said Boy Willie, sucking his finger.
    “Whut?”
    “Look at it like this, gentlemen,” said Mr. Saveloy. “Here we are, actually inside the Forbidden City, and no one is dead!”
    “Yes. That’s what we’re… danging… complaining about,” said Truckle.
    Mr. Saveloy sighed. There was something in the way Truckle used words. It didn’t matter what he actually said, what you