Interesting Times

He remembered Noodle Jackson, back in the days when he was a very young student. Everyone wanted to be friends with Noodle but somehow, if you were in his gang, you found yourself being trodden on or chased by the Watch or being hit in fights you didn't start, while Noodle was somewhere on the edge of things, laughing.

Besides, the Emperor wasn't simply at Death's door but well inside the hallway, admiring the carpet and commenting on the hatstand. And you didn't have to be a political genius to know that when someone like that died, scores were being settled before he'd even got cold. Anyone he'd publicly called a friend would have a life expectancy more normally associated with things that hover over trout streams at sunset.

Rincewind moved aside a skull and sat down. There was the possibility of rescue, he supposed, but the Red Army would be hard put to it to rescue a rubber duck from drowning. Anyway, that'd put him back in the clutches of Butterfly, who terrified him almost as much as the Emperor.

He had to believe that the gods didn't intend for Rincewind, after all his adventures, to rot in a dungeon.

No, he added bitterly, they probably had something much more inventive in mind.

What light reached the dungeon came from a very small grille and had a second-hand look. The rest of the furnishing was a pile of what had possibly once been straw. There was—

—a gentle tapping at the wall.

Once, twice, three times.

Rincewind picked up the skull and returned the signal.

One tap came back.

He repeated it.

Then there were two.

He tapped twice.

Well, this was familiar. Communication without meaning... it was just like being back at Unseen University.

'Fine,' he said, his voice echoing in the cell. 'Fine. Très prisoner. But what are we saying?'

There was a gentle scraping noise and one of the blocks in the wall very gently slid out of the wall, dropping on to Rincewind's foot.

'Aargh!'

'What big hippo?' said a muffled voice.

'What?'

'Sorry?'

'What?'

'You wanted to know about the tapping code? It's how we communicate between cells, you see. One tap means—'

'Excuse me, but aren't we communicating now?'

'Yes, but not formally. Prisoners are not... allowed... to talk...' The voice slowed down, as if the speaker had suddenly remembered something important.

'Ah, yes,' said Rincewind. 'I was forgetting. This is... Hunghung. Everyone... obeys... the rules...'

Rincewind's voice died away too.

On either side of the wall there was a long, thoughtful silence.

'Rincewind?'

'Twoflower?'

'What are you doing here?' said Rincewind.

'Rotting in a dungeon!'

'Me too!'

'Good grief! How long has it been?' said the muffled voice of Twoflower.

'What? How long has what been?'

'But you... why are...'

'You wrote that damn book!'

'I just thought it would be interesting for people!'

'Interesting? Interesting?'

'I thought people would find it an interesting account of a foreign culture. I never meant it to cause trouble.'

Rincewind leaned against his side of the wall. No, of course, Twoflower never wanted to cause any trouble. Some people never did. Probably the last sound heard before the Universe folded up like a paper hat would be someone saying, 'What happens if I do this?'

'It must have been Fate that brought you here,' said Twoflower.

'Yes, it's the sort of thing he likes to do,' said Rincewind.

'You remember the good times we had?'

'Did we? I must have had my eyes shut.'

'The adventures!'

'Oh, them. You mean hanging from high places, that sort of thing... ?'

'Rincewind?'

'Yes? What?'

'I feel a lot happier about things now you're here.'

'That's amazing.'

Rincewind enjoyed the comfort of the wall. It was rust rock. He felt he could rely on it.

'Everyone seems to have a copy of your book,' he said. 'It's a revolutionary document. And I do mean copy. It looks as though they make their own copy and pass it on.'

'Yes, it's called samizdat.'

'What does that mean?'

'It means each one must be the same as the one before. Oh, dear. I thought it would just be entertainment. I didn't think people would take it seriously. I do hope it's not causing too much bother.'

Well, your revolutionaries are still at the slogan-and-poster stage, but I shouldn't think that'll count for much if they're caught.'

'Oh, dear.'

'How come you're still alive?'

'I don't know. I think they may have forgotten about me. That tends to happen, you know. It's the paperwork. Someone makes the wrong stroke with the brush or forgets to copy a line. I believe it happens a lot.'

'You mean that there's people in prison and no-one can remember why?'

'Oh, yes.'

'Then why don't they set them free?'

'I suppose it is felt that they must have done something. All in all, I'm afraid our government does leave something to be desired.'

'Like a new government.'

'Oh, dear. You could get locked up for saying things like that.'

People slept, but the Forbidden City never slept. Torches flickered all night in the great Bureaux as the ceaseless business of Empire went on.