Sourcery

‘Oh, I employ the slavers. I am the vizier, after all,’ said Abrim. ‘It is rather expected of me.’

He gazed thoughtfully at the girl, and then nodded at a couple of the guards.

‘The current Seriph is rather literary in his views,’ he said. ‘I, on the other hand, am not. Take her to the seraglio, although,’ he rolled his eyes and gave an irritable sigh, ‘I’m sure the only fate that awaits her there is boredom, and possibly a sore throat.’

He turned to Rincewind.

‘Don’t say anything,’ he said. ‘Don’t move your hands. Don’t try any sudden feats of magic. I am protected by strange and powerful amulets.’

‘Now just hold on a minute—’ Rincewind began, and Conina said, ‘All right. I’ve always wondered what a harem looked like.’

Rincewind’s mouth went on opening and shutting, but no sounds came out. Finally he managed, ‘Have you?’

She waggled an eyebrow at him. It was probably a signal of some sort. Rincewind felt he ought to have understood it, but peculiar passions were stirring in the depths of his being. They weren’t actually going to make him brave, but they were making him angry. Speeded up, the dialogue behind his eyes was going something like this: Ugh.

Who’s that?

Your conscience. I feel terrible. Look, they’re marching her off to the harem.

Rather her than me, thought Rincewind, but without much conviction.

Do something!

There’s too many guards! They’ll kill me!

So they’ll kill you, it’s not the end of the world.

It will be for me, thought Rincewind grimly.

But just think how good you’ll feel in your next life—

Look, just shut up, will I? I’ve had just about enough of me.

Abrim stepped across to Rincewind and looked at him curiously.

‘Who are you talking to?’ he said.

‘I warn you,’ said Rincewind, between clenched teeth, ‘I have this magical box on legs which is absolutely merciless with attackers, one word from me and—’

‘I’m impressed,’ said Abrim. ‘Is it invisible?’

Rincewind risked a look behind him.

‘I’m sure I had it when I came in,’ he said, and sagged.

It would be mistaken to say the Luggage was nowhere to be seen. It was somewhere to be seen, it was just that the place wasn’t anywhere near Rincewind.

Abrim walked slowly around the table on which sat the hat, twirling his moustache.

‘Once again,’ he said, ‘I ask you: this is an artifact of power, I feel it, and you must tell me what it does.’

‘Why don’t you ask it?’ said Rincewind.

‘It refuses to tell me.’

‘Well, why do you want to know?’

Abrim laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound. It sounded as though he had had laughter explained to him, probably slowly and repeatedly, but had never heard anyone actually do it.

‘You’re a wizard,’ he said. ‘Wizardry is about power. I have taken an interest in magic myself. I have the talent, you know.’ The vizier drew himself up stiffly. ‘Oh, yes. But they wouldn’t accept me at your University. They said I was mentally unstable, can you believe that?’

‘No,’ said Rincewind, truthfully. Most of the wizards at Unseen had always seemed to him to be several bricks short of a shilling. Abrim seemed pretty normal wizard material.

Abrim gave him an encouraging smile.

Rincewind looked sideways at the hat. It said nothing. He looked back at the vizier. If the laughter had been weird, the smile made it sound as normal as birdsong. It looked as though the vizier had learned it from diagrams.

‘Wild horses wouldn’t get me to help you in any way,’ he said.

‘Ah,’ said the vizier. ‘A challenge.’ He beckoned to the nearest guard.

‘Do we have any wild horses in the stables?’

‘Some fairly angry ones, master.’

‘Infuriate four of them and take them to the turn-wise courtyard. And, oh, bring several lengths of chain.’

‘Right away, master.’

‘Um. Look,’ said Rincewind.

‘Yes?’ said Abrim.

‘Well, if you put it like that…’

‘You wish to make a point?’

‘It’s the Archchancellor’s hat, if you must know,’ said Rincewind. ‘The symbol of wizardry.’

‘Powerful?’

Rincewind shivered. ‘Very,’ he said.

‘Why is it called the Archchancellor’s hat?’

‘The Archchancellor is the most senior wizard, you see. The leader. But, look—’

Abrim picked up the hat and turned it around and around in his hands.

‘It is, you might say, the symbol of office?’

‘Absolutely, but look, if you put it on, I’d better warn you—’

Shut up.

Abrim leapt back, the hat dropping to the floor.

The wizard knows nothing. Send him away. We must negotiate.

The vizier stared down at the glittering octarines around the hat.

‘I negotiate? With an item of apparel?’

I have much to offer, on the right head.

Rincewind was appalled. It has already been indicated that he had the kind of instinct for danger usually found only in certain small rodents, and it was currently battering on the side of his skull in an attempt to run away and hide somewhere.

‘Don’t listen!’ he shouted.

Put me on, said the hat beguilingly, in an ancient voice that sounded as though the speaker had a mouthful of felt.