Interesting Times

it’ll all be better for them, will it?”
    “Of course,” said Butterfly. “They will no longer be subject to the cruel and capricious whims of the Forbidden City.”
    “Oh, that’s good,” said Rincewind. “So they’ll sort of be in charge of themselves, will they?”
    “Indeed,” said Lotus Blossom.
    “By means of the People’s Committee,” said Butterfly.
    Rincewind pressed both hands to his head.
    “My word,” he said. “I don’t know why, but I had this predictive flash!”
    They looked impressed.
    “I had this sudden feeling,” he went on, “that there won’t be all that many water buffalo string holders on the People’s Committee. In fact…I get this kind of…voice telling me that a lot of the People’s Committee, correct me if I’m wrong, are standing in front of me right now?”
    “ Initially , of course,” said Butterfly. “The peasants can’t even read and write.”
    “I expect they don’t even know how to farm properly,” said Rincewind, gloomily. “Not after doing it for only three or four thousand years.”
    “We certainly believe that there are many improvements that could be made, yes,” said Butterfly. “If we act collectively.”
    “I bet they’ll be really glad when you show them,” said Rincewind.
    He stared glumly at the floor. He quite liked the job of a water buffalo string holder. It sounded nearly as good as the profession of castaway. He longed for the kind of life where you could really concentrate on the squishiness of the mud underfoot, and make up pictures in the clouds; the kind of life where you could let your mind catch up with you and speculate for hours at a time about when your water buffalo was next going to enrich the loam. But it was probably difficult enough as it was without people trying to improve it…
    He wanted to say: how can you be so nice and yet so dumb? The best thing you can do with the peasants is leave them alone. Let them get on with it. When people who can read and write start fighting on behalf of people who can’t, you just end up with another kind of stupidity. If you want to help them, build a big library or something somewhere and leave the door open.
    But this is Hunghung. You can’t think like that in Hunghung. This is where people have learned to do what they’re told. The Horde worked that one out.
    The Empire’s got something worse than whips all right. It’s got obedience. Whips in the soul. They obey anyone who tells them what to do. Freedom just means being told what to do by someone different.
    You’ll all be killed.
    I’m a coward. And even I know more about fights than you do. I’ve run away from some really good ones.
    “Oh, let’s just get out of here,” he said. He gingerly took the sword from a dead guard and held it the right way round on the second attempt. He weighed it for a second, then shook his head and threw it away.
    The cadre looked a lot happier.
    “But I’m not leading you,” said Rincewind. “I’m just showing you the way. And it’s the way out , do you understand?”
    They stood wearing rather bruised looks, as people do who’ve been subject to several minutes’ ranting. No one spoke, until Twoflower whispered:
    “He often goes on like this, you know. And then he does something very brave.”
    Rincewind snorted.
    There was another dead guard at the top of the stairs. Sudden death seemed to be catching.
    And, leaning against the wall, was a bundle of swords. Tied to it was a scroll.
    “The Great Wizard has shown us the way for only two minutes and already we have extra luck,” said Lotus Blossom.
    “Don’t touch the swords,” said Rincewind.
    “But supposing we see more guards? Should we not resist them with every drop of our life’s blood?” said Butterfly.
    Rincewind looked blank. “No. Run away.”
    “Ah, yes,” said Twoflower. “And live to fight another day. That is an Ankh-Morpork saying.”
    Rincewind had always assumed that the purpose of running away was to be able to run away another day.
    “However,” he said, “people don’t usually find themselves mysteriously let out of prison with a bunch of weapons handily close by and all the guards out of action. Ever thought of that?”
    “And with a map!” said Butterfly.
    Her eyes shone. She flourished the scroll.
    “It’s a map of the way out?” said Rincewind.
    “No! To the Emperor’s chambers! Look, it has been marked! That’s what Herb used to talk about sometimes! He must be in the