Interesting Times

mind.”
    “Whut?”
    “Typically foreign.”
    “I’d do away with most of this and get some decent straw on the floor, a few shields round the walls.”
    “Whut?”
    “Mind you, get in a few hundred tables and you could have a helluva carouse in here.”
    Cohen walked across the huge expanse towards the throne, which was under a vast ornamental canopy.
    “’S got ’n umbrella over it, look.”
    “Probably the roof leaks. You can’t trust tiles. A good reed thatch’ll give you forty years bone dry.”
    The throne was lacquered wood, but with many precious gems set in it. Cohen sat down.
    “Is this it?” he said. “We’ve done it, Teach?”
    “Yes. Of course, now you have to get away with it,” said Mr. Saveloy.
    “I’m sorry,” said Six Beneficent Winds. “What’ve you done?”
    “You know that thing we were here to steal?” said the teacher.
    “Yes?”
    “It’s the Empire.”
    The taxman’s expression didn’t change for a few seconds, and then it flowed into a horrified grin.
    “I think some breakfast is called for before we go any further,” said Mr. Saveloy. “Mr. Winds, perhaps you would be so good as to summon someone?”
    The taxman was still grinning fixedly.
    “But…but…you can’t conquer an empire like this!” he managed. “You’ve got to have an army, like the warlords! Just walking in like this…It’s against the rules! And…and…there are thousands of guards!”
    “Yes, but they’re all out there,” said Mr. Saveloy.
    “Guarding us,” said Cohen.
    “But they’re guarding the real Emperor!”
    “That’s me,” said Cohen.
    “Oh, yeah?” said Truckle. “Who died and made you Emperor?”
    “No one has to die,” said Mr. Saveloy. “It’s called usurping.”
    “That’s right,” said Cohen. “You just say, see here, Gunga Din, you’re out on your ear, okay? Piss off to some island somewhere or—”
    “Ghenghiz,” said Mr. Saveloy gently, “do you think you could refrain from referring to foreigners in that rather offensive fashion? It’s not civilized.”
    Cohen shrugged.
    “You’re still going to have big trouble with the guards and things,” said Six Beneficent Winds.
    “Maybe not,” said Cohen. “Tell ’em, Teach.”
    “Have you ever seen the, er, former Emperor?” said Mr. Saveloy. “Mr. Winds?”
    “Of course not. Hardly anyone has seen—”
    He stopped.
    “There you are, then,” said Mr. Saveloy. “Very quick on the uptake, Mr. Winds. As befits the Lord High Chief Tax Gatherer.”
    “But it won’t work because—” Six Beneficent Winds stopped again. Mr. Saveloy’s words reached his brain.
    “Lord High Chief? Me? The black hat with the red ruby button?”
    “Yes.”
    “And a feather in it, if you like,” said Cohen munificently.
    The taxman looked in rapt consideration.
    “So…if there was, say, a mere District Administrator who was incredibly cruel to his staff, particularly to a hard-working deputy, and thoroughly deserving of a good sound thrashing—”
    “As the Lord High Chief Tax Gatherer, of course, that would be entirely your affair.”
    Six Beneficent Winds’ grin now threatened to remove the top of his head.
    “On the subject of new taxation,” he said, “I’ve often had this thought that fresh air is all too readily available at far below the cost of production—”
    “We will listen to your ideas with extreme interest,” said Mr. Saveloy. “In the meantime, please arrange breakfast.”
    “And have summoned,” said Cohen, “all those buggers who think they know what the Emperor looks like.”

    The pursuer was closing.
    Rincewind skidded around a corner and there, blocking the passageway, were three guards. These were not dead. They were alive, and they had got swords.
    Someone cannoned into the back of him, pushed him to the ground, and leapt past.
    He shut his eyes.
    There were a couple of thumps, a groan, and then a very strange metallic noise.
    It was a helmet, spinning round and round on the floor.
    He was pulled to his feet.
    “Are you going to lie around all day?” said Butterfly. “Come on. They’re not far behind!”
    Rincewind glanced at the recumbent guards, and then loped after the girl.
    “How many of them are there?” he managed.
    “Seven now. But two of them are limping and one’s having trouble breathing. Come on .”
    “You hit them?”
    “Do you always waste breath like this?”
    “Never found anyone who could keep up with me before!”
    They turned a corner