Sourcery

attacked?”
    “Could be. There’s been three men following us on the rooftops.”
    Rincewind squinted upwards at almost the same time as three men, dressed in flowing black robes, dropped lightly into the alleyway in front of them. When he looked around two more appeared from around a corner. All five were holding long curved swords and, although the lower halves of their faces were masked, it was almost certain that they were grinning evilly.
    Rincewind rapped sharply on the Luggage’s lid.
    “Kill,” he suggested. The Luggage stood stock still for a moment, and then plodded over and stood next to Conina. It looked slightly smug and, Rincewind realized with jealous horror, rather embarrassed.
    “Why, you—” he growled, and gave it a kick—“you handbag .”
    He sidled closer to the girl, who was standing there with a thoughtful smile on her face.
    “What now?” he said. “Are you going to offer them all a quick perm?”
    The men edged a little closer. They were, he noticed, only interested in Conina.
    “I’m not armed,” she said.
    “What happened to your legendary comb?”
    “Left it on the boat.”
    “You’ve got nothing?”
    Conina shifted slightly to keep as many of the men as possible in her field of vision.
    “I’ve got a couple of hairclips,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.
    “Any good?”
    “Don’t know. Never tried.”
    “You got us into this!”
    “Relax. I think they’ll just take us prisoner.”
    “Oh, that’s fine for you to say. You’re not marked down as this week’s special offer.”
    The Luggage snapped its lid once or twice, a little uncertain about things. One of the men gingerly extended his sword and prodded Rincewind in the small of the back.
    “They want to take us somewhere, see?” said Conina. She gritted her teeth. “Oh, no,” she muttered.
    “What’s the matter now?”
    “I can’t do it!”
    “What?”
    Conina put her head in her hands. “I can’t let myself be taken prisoner without a fight! I can feel a thousand barbarian ancestors accusing me of betrayal!” she hissed urgently.
    “Pull the other one.”
    “No, really. This won’t take a minute.”
    There was a sudden blur and the nearest man collapsed in a small gurgling heap. Then Conina’s elbows went back and into the stomachs of the men behind her. Her left hand rebounded past Rincewind’s ear with a noise like tearing silk and felled the man behind him. The fifth made a run for it and was brought down by a flying tackle, hitting his head heavily on the wall.
    Conina rolled off him and sat up, panting, her eyes bright.
    “I don’t like to say this, but I feel better for that,” she said. “It’s terrible to know that I betrayed a fine hairdressing tradition, of course. Oh.”
    “Yes,” said Rincewind somberly, “I wondered if you’d noticed them.”
    Conina’s eyes scanned the line of bowmen who had appeared along the opposite wall. They had that stolid, impassive look of people who have been paid to do a job, and don’t much mind if the job involves killing people.
    “Time for those hairclips,” said Rincewind.
    Conina didn’t move.
    “My father always said that it was pointless to undertake a direct attack against an enemy extensively armed with efficient projectile weapons,” she said.
    Rincewind, who knew Cohen’s normal method of speech, gave her a look of disbelief.
    “Well, what he actually said,” she added, “was never enter an arse-kicking contest with a porcupine.”

    Spelter couldn’t face breakfast.
    He wondered whether he ought to talk to Carding, but he had a chilly feeling that the old wizard wouldn’t listen and wouldn’t believe him anyway. In fact he wasn’t quite sure he believed it himself…
    Yes he was. He’d never forget it, although he intended to make every effort.
    One of the problems about living in the University these days was that the building you went to sleep in probably wasn’t the same building when you woke up. Rooms had a habit of changing and moving around, a consequence of all this random magic. It built up in the carpets, charging up the wizards to such an extent that shaking hands with somebody was a sure-fire way of turning them into something. The build up of magic, in fact, was overflowing the capacity of the area to hold it. If something wasn’t done about it soon, then even the common people would be able to use it—a chilling thought but, since Spelter’s mind was already so full of chilling