Eric

It had got there by a complicated sequence of events that had involved a lot of squawking, a cloud of feathers and three Tezuman priests with badly swollen thumbs.

“The high priest is just performing a wossname in honour of Quezovercoatl,” it went on, conversationally. “You’ve drawn quite a crowd.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t kind of hop down here and bite through these ropes, would you?” said Rincewind.

“Not a chance.”

“Thought so.”

“Sun’s coming up soon,” the parrot continued. Rincewind felt that it sounded unnecessarily cheerful.

“I’m going to complain about this, demon,” moaned Eric. “You wait till my mother finds out. My parents have got influence, you know.”

“Oh, good,” said Rincewind weakly. “Why don’t you tell the high priest that if he cuts your heart out she’ll be right down to the school tomorrow to complain.”

The Tezuman priests bowed towards the sun, and all eyes in the crowd below turned to the jungle.

Where something was happening. There was the sound of crackling undergrowth. Tropical birds erupted through the trees, shrieking.

Rincewind, of course, could not see this.

“You never should have wanted to be ruler of the world,” he said. “I mean, what did you expect? You can’t expect people to be happy about seeing you. No-one ever is when the landlord turns up.”

“But they’re going to kill me!”

“It’s just their way of saying that, metaphorically, they’re fed up with waiting for you to repaint the place and see to the drains.”

The whole jungle was in uproar now. Animals exploded out of the bushes as if running from a fire. A few heavy thumps indicated that trees were falling over.

At last a frantic jaguar crashed through the undergrowth and loped down the causeway. The Luggage was a few feet behind it.

It was covered with creepers, leaves and the feathers of various rare jungle fowls, some of which were now even rarer. The jaguar could have avoided it by zigging or zagging to either side, but sheer idiot terror prevented it. It made the mistake of turning its head to see what was behind.

This was the last mistake it ever made.

“You know that box of yours?” said the parrot.

“What about it?” said Rincewind.

“It’s heading this way.”

The priests peered down at the running figure far below. The Luggage had a straightforward way of dealing with things between it and its intended destination: it ignored them.

It was at this moment, against all his instincts, in great trepidation and, most unfortunately of all, in deep ignorance of what was happening, that Quezovercoatl himself chose to materialise on top of the pyramid.

Several of the priests noticed him. The knives fell from their fingers.

“Er,” squeaked the demon.

Other priests turned around.

“Right. Now, I want you all to pay attention,” squeaked Quezovercoatl, cupping his tiny hands around his main mouth in an effort to be heard.

This was very embarrassing. He’d enjoyed being the Tezuman god, he’d been really impressed by their single-minded devotion to duty, he’d been very gratified by the incredible lifelike statue in the pyramid, and it really hurt to have to reveal that, in one important particular, it was incorrect.

He was six inches high.

“Now then,” he began, “this is very important—”

Unfortunately, no-one ever found out why. At that moment the Luggage breasted the top of the pyramid, its legs whirring like propellers, and landed squarely on the slabs.

There was a brief, flat squeak.

It was a funny old world, said da Quirm. You had to laugh, really. If you didn’t, you’d go mad, wouldn’t you? One minute strapped to a slab and about to undergo exquisite torture, the next being given breakfast, a change of clothes, a hot tub and a free lift out of the kingdom. It made you believe there was a god. Of course, the Tezumen knew there was a god, and that he was currently a small and distressing greasy patch on top of the pyramid. Which left them with a bit of a problem.

The Luggage squatted in the city’s main plaza. The entire priesthood was sitting around it and watching it carefully, in case it did anything amusing or religious.

“Are you going to leave it behind?” said Eric.

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Rincewind. “It generally catches up. Let’s just go away quickly.”

“But we’ll take the tribute, won’t we?”

“I think that could be an amazingly bad idea,” said Rincewind. “Let’s just quietly go, while they’re in a good temper. The novelty will wear off soon, I expect.”

“And I’ve got to get on with my search for the Fountain of Youth,” said da Quirm.

“Oh yes,” said Rincewind.

“I’ve devoted my whole life to it, you know,” said the old man proudly.

Rincewind looked him up and down. “Really?” he said.

“Oh, yes. Exclusively. Ever since I was a boy.”

Rincewind’s expression was one of acute puzzlement.

“In that case,” he began, in the manner of one talking to a child, “wouldn’t it have been better … you know, more sensible … if you’d just got on with …”

“What?” said da Quirm.