Interesting Times

It was crowded in the guardhouse, with the Horde and the guards and with Mad Hamish's wheelchair. One of the guards looked down at Hamish, glowering under his blanket.

'What do you have there, grandfather?'

A sword came up through the cloth and stabbed the guard in the thigh.

'Whut? Whut? Whutzeesay?'

'He said, "Aargh!", Hamish,' said Cohen, a knife appearing in his hand. With one movement his skinny arms had the captain in a lock, the knife at his throat.

'Whut?'

'He said, "Aargh!" '

'Whut? I ain't even married!'

Cohen put a little more pressure on the captain's neck.

'Now then, friend,' he said. 'You can have it the easy way, see, or the hard way. It's up to you.'

'Blood-sucking pig! You call this the easy way?'

'Well, I ain't sweatin'.'

'May you live in interesting times! I would rather die than betray my Emperor!'

'Fair enough.'

It took the captain only a fraction of a second to realize that Cohen, being a man of his word, assumed that other people were too. He might, if he had time, have reflected that the purpose of civilization is to make violence the final resort, while to a barbarian it is the first, preferred, only and above all most enjoyable option. But by then it was too late. He slumped forward.

'I always lives in interestin' times,' said Cohen, in the satisfied voice of someone who did a lot to keep them interesting.

He pointed his knife at the other guards. Mr Saveloy's mouth was wide open in horror.

'By rights I should be cleanin' this,' said Cohen. 'But I ain't goin' to bother if it's only goin' to get dirty again. Now, person'ly, I'd as soon kill you as look at you but Teach here says I've got to stop doin' that and become respectable.'

One of the guards looked sideways at his fellows and then fell on his knees.

'What is your wish, o master?' he said.

'Ah, officer material,' said Cohen. 'What's your name, lad?'

'Nine Orange Trees, master.'

Cohen looked at Mr Saveloy.

'What do I do now?'

'Take them prisoner, please.'

'How do I do that?'

'Well... I suppose you tie them up, that sort of thing.'

'Ah. And then cut their throats?'

'No! No. You see, once you've got them at your mercy, you're not allowed to kill them.'

The Silver Horde, to a man, stared at the ex-teacher.

'I'm afraid that's civilization for you,' he added.

'But you said the sods haven't got any bloody weapons!' said Truckle.

'Yes,' said Mr Saveloy, shuddering a little. 'That's why you're not allowed to kill them.'

'Are you mad? Got mad papers, have you?'

Cohen scratched his stubbly chin. The remainder of the guard watched him in trepidation. They were used to cruel and unusual punishment, but they were unaccustomed to argument first.

'You haven't had a lot of military experience, have you, Teach?' he said.

'Apart from Form Four? Not a lot. But I'm afraid this is the way it has to be done. I'm sorry. You did say you wanted me—'

'Well, I vote we just cuts their throats right now,' said Boy Willie. 'I can't be having with this prisoner business either. I mean, who's gonna feed them?'

'I'm afraid you have to.'

'Who me? Not likely! I vote we make them eat their own eyeballs. Hands up all in favour.'

There was a chorus of assent from the Horde and, among the raised hands, Cohen noticed one belonging to Nine Orange Trees.

'What you voting for, lad?' he said.

'Please, sir, I would like to go to the lavatory.'

'You listen to me, you lot,' said Cohen. 'This slaughtering and butchering business isn't how you do it these days, right? That's what Mr Saveloy says and he knows how to spell words like "marmalade" which is more than you do. Now, we know why we're here, and we'd better start as we mean to go on.'

'Yeah, but you just killed that guard,' said Truckle.

'I'm breaking myself in,' said Cohen. 'You've got to creep up on civilization a bit at a time.'

'I still say we should cut their heads off. That's what I did to the Mad Demon-Sucking Priests of Ee!'

The kneeling guard had cautiously raised his hand again.

'Please, master?'

'Yes, lad?'

'You could lock us up in that cell over there. Then we wouldn't be any trouble to anyone.'

'Good thinking,' said Cohen. 'Good lad. The boy keeps his head in a crisis. Lock 'em up.'

Thirty seconds later the Horde had limped off, into the city.

The guards sat in the cramped, hot cell.

Eventually one said, 'What were they?'

'I think they might have been ancestors.'

'I thought you had to be dead to be an ancestor.'

'The one in the wheelchair looked dead. Right up to the point where he stabbed Four White Fox.'

'Should we shout for help?'

They might hear us.'

'Yes, but if we don't get let out we'll be stuck in here. And the walls are very thick and the door is very strong.'

'Good.'

Rincewind stopped running in some alley somewhere. He hadn't bothered to see if they'd followed him. It was true - here, with one mighty bound, you could be free. Provided you realized it was one of your options.

Freedom did, of course, include man's age-old right to starve to death. It seemed a long time since his last proper meal.