Eric

Rincewind felt something claw its way up his back and on to his shoulder, where a voice like a sheet of metal being torn in half said, “That’s better. Very wossname, comfy. If you try and knock me off, demon, you can wossname your ear goodbye. What a turn up for the scrolls, eh? They seemed to be expecting him.”

“Why do you keep saying wossname?” said Rincewind.

“Limited wossname. Doodah. Thingy. You know. It’s got words in it,” said the parrot.

“Dictionary?” said Rincewind. The passengers in the other chariots had got out and were also grovelling to Eric, who was beaming like an idiot.

The parrot considered this.

“Yeah, probably,” it said. “I’ve got to wing it to you,” it went on. “I thought you were a bit of a wossname at the start, but you seem to be delivering the wossname.”

“Demon?” said Eric, airily.

“Yes?”

“What are they saying? Can’t you speak their language?”

“Er, no,” said Rincewind. “I can read it, though,” he called out, as Eric turned away. “If you could just sort of make signs for them to write it down …”

It was around noon. In the jungle behind Rincewind creatures whooped and gibbered. Mosquitoes the size of humming-birds whined around his head.

“Of course,” he said, for the tenth time, “They’ve never really got round to inventing paper.”

The stonemason stood back, handed the latest blunted obsidian chisel to his assistant, and gave Rincewind an expectant look.

Rincewind stood back and examined the rock critically.

“It’s very good,” he said. “I mean, it’s a very good likeness. You’ve got his hairstyle and everything. Of course, he’s not as, er, square as that normally, but, yes, very good. And here’s the chariot and there’s the step-pyramids. Yes. Well, it looks as though they want you to go to the city with them,” he said to Eric.

“Tell them yes,” said Eric firmly.

Rincewind turned to the headman.

“Yes,” he said.

“¿[Hunched-figure-in-triple-feathered-headdress-over-three-dots]?”

Rincewind sighed. Without saying a word, the stonemason put a fresh stone chisel into his unresisting fingers and manhandled a new slab of granite into position.

One of the problems of being a Tezuman, apart from having a god like Quezovercoatl, is that if you unexpectedly need to order an extra pint of milk tomorrow you probably should have started writing the note for the milkman last month. Tezumen are the only people who beat themselves to death with their own suicide notes.

It was late afternoon by the time the chariot trotted into the slab city around the largest pyramid, between lines of cheering Tezumen.

“This is more like it,” said Eric, graciously acknowledging the cheers. “They’re very pleased to see us.”

“Yes,” said Rincewind, gloomily. “I wonder why?”

“Well, because I’m the new ruler, of course.”

“Hmm.” Rincewind glanced sidelong at the parrot, who had been unnaturally silent for some time and was now cowering up against his ear like an elderly spinster in a strip club. It was having serious thoughts about the exquisite feather headdresses.

“Wossname bastards,” it croaked. “Any wossname lays a hand on me and that wossname is minus one finger, I’m telling you.”

“There’s something not right about this,” said Rincewind.

“What’s that?” said the parrot.

“Everything.”

“I’m telling you, one feather out of place—”

Rincewind wasn’t used to people being pleased to see him. It was unnatural, and boded no good. These people were not only cheering, they were throwing flowers and hats. The hats were made out of stone, but the thought was there.

Rincewind thought they were rather odd hats. They didn’t have crowns. They were, in fact, mere discs with holes in the middle.

The procession trotted up the wide avenues of the city to a cluster of buildings at the foot of the pyramid, where another group of civic dignitaries was waiting for them.

They were wearing lots of jewellery. It was all basically the same. There are quite a lot of uses to which you can put a stone disc with a hole in the middle, and the Tezumen had explored all but one of them.^{6}

More important, though, were the boxes and boxes of treasure stacked in front of them. They were stuffed with jewels.

Eric’s eyes widened.

“The tribute!” he said.

Rincewind gave up. It really was working. He didn’t know how, he didn’t know why, but at last it was all going Right. The setting sun glinted off a’dozen fortunes. Of course, it belonged to Eric, presumably, but maybe there was enough for him, too …

“Naturally,” he said weakly. “What else did you expect?”

And there was feasting, and long speeches that Rincewind couldn’t understand but which were punctuated with cheers and nods and bows in Eric’s direction. And there were long recitals of Tezuman music, which sounds like someone clearing a particularly difficult nostril.

Rincewind left Eric sitting proudly enthroned in the firelight and wandered disconsolately across to the pyramid.

“I was enjoying the wossname,” said the parrot reproachfully.