The Last Continent

ladder.
    Rincewind crawled out on to the top of the cart. It was swaying and bouncing. Red dust choked him and the wind tried to blow his robe over his head.
    He hated weapons, and not just because they’d so often been aimed at him. You got into more trouble if you had a weapon. People shot you instantly if they thought you were going to shoot them. But if you were unarmed, they often stopped to talk. Admittedly, they tended to say things like, “You’ll never guess what we’re going to do to you, pal,” but that took time . And Rincewind could do a lot with a few seconds. He could use them to live longer in.
    The dots in the distance were other carts, designed for speed rather than cargo. Some had four wheels, some had two. One had…just one, a huge one between narrow shafts, with a tiny saddle on top. The rider looked as though he’d bought his clothes in the scrapmetal yards of three continents and, where they wouldn’t fit, had strapped on a chicken.
    But not one as big as the chicken pulling his wheel. It was bigger than Rincewind and most of what wasn’t leg was neck. It was covering the ground as fast as a horse.
    “What the hell’s that ?” he yelled.
    “Emu!” shouted Mad, who was now hanging among the harnesses. “Try and pick it off, they’re a good feed!”
    The cart jolted. Rincewind’s hat whirled away into the dust.
    “Now I’ve lost my hat!”
    “Good! Bloody awful hat!”
    An arrow twanged off a metal plate by Rincewind’s foot.
    “And they’re shooting at me!”
    A cart rattled out of the dust. The man beside the driver whirled something around his head. A grapnel bit into the woodwork by Rincewind’s other foot and ripped off a metal plate.
    “And they’re—” he began.
    “You’ve got a bow, right?” yelled Mad, who was balancing on the back of one of the horses. “And find something to hold onta, they’re gonna go at any minute—”
    The cart had been moving at the gallop, but now it suddenly shot forward and almost jolted Rincewind right off. Smoke poured out of the axles. The landscape blurred.
    “What the hell is that?”
    “Supercharger!” shouted Mad, pulling himself on to the cart inches from the frantically pounding hooves. “Secret recipe! Now hold ’em off, right, ’cos someone’s gotta steer!”
    The emu emerged from the dust cloud with a few of the faster carts rattling behind it. An arrow buried itself in the cart right between Rincewind’s legs.
    He flung himself flat on the swaying roof, held out the crossbow, shut his eyes and fired.
    In accordance with ancient narrative practice, the shot ricocheted off someone’s helmet and brought down an innocent bird some distance away, whose only role was to expire with a suitably humorous squawk.
    The man driving the emu drew alongside. From under a familiar hat with “Wizzard” dimly visible in the grime he gave Rincewind a grin. Every tooth had been sharpened to a point, and the front six had “Mother” engraved on them.
    “G’day!” he shouted cheerfully. “Hand over your cargo and I promise you that you won’t be killed all in one go.”
    “That’s my hat! Give me back my hat!”
    “You’re a wizard, are you?” The man stood up on the saddle, balancing easily as the wheel bounced over the sand. He waved his hands over his head.
    “Look at me, mates! I’m a bloody wizard! Magic, magic, magic!”
    A very heavy arrow, trailing a rope, smashed into the back of the cart and stuck fast. There was a cheer from the riders.
    “You give me back my hat or there’ll be trouble!”
    “Oh, there’s gonna be trouble anyway ,” said the rider, aiming his crossbow. “Tell you what, why not turn me into somethin’ bad ? Oh, I’m all afrai—”
    His face went green. He pitched backwards. The crossbow bolt hit the driver of the cart beside him, which veered wildly into the path of another, which swerved and crashed into a camel. That meant the carts behind were suddenly faced with a pile-up which, together with the absence of brakes on any vehicle, immediately got bigger. Part of it was kicking people as well.
    Rincewind, hands over his head, watched until the last wheel had rolled away, and then walked unsteadily along the swaying cart to where Mad was leaning on the reins.
    “Er, I think you can slow down now, Mr. Mad,” he ventured.
    “Yeah? Killed ’em all, didja?”
    “Er…not all of them. Some of them just ran away.”
    “You kiddin’ me?” The dwarf looked round. “Stone