The Last Continent

'So what?' said Dibbler. 'Still native. Genuine picture of traditional city tucker, done by a native. A fair go, that's all I ask.'

'Ah, suddenly I think I understand. The native in this case, perhaps, being you?' said Rincewind.

'Yep. Authentic. You arguing?'

'Oh, come on.'

'What? I was born over there in Treacle Street, Bludgeree, and so was my dad. And my granddad. And his dad. I didn't just step off the driftwood like some people I might mention.' His ratty little face darkened. 'Coming over here, taking our jobs... What about the little man, eh? All I'm askin' for is a fair go.'

For a moment Rincewind contemplated handing himself over to the Watch.

'Nice to hear someone siding with the rights of the indigenous population,' he muttered, checking the street again.

'Indigenous? What do they know about a day's work? Nah, they can go back where they came from too,' said Dibbler. 'They don't want to work.'

'Good thing for you, though, I can see that,' said Rincewind. 'Otherwise they'd be taking your job, right?'

The way I see it, I'm more indigenous than them,' said Fair Go, pointing an indignant thumb at himself. 'I earned my indigenuity, I did.'

Rincewind sighed. Logic could take you only so far. then you had to get out and hop. 'A fair go, that's what you want,' he said. 'Am I right?'

'Yep!'

'So... is there anyone who you don't want to go back where they came from?'

Fair Go Dibbler gave this some deep consideration. 'Well, me, obviously,' he said. 'And my mate Duncan, 'cos Duncan's me mate. And Mrs Dibbler, of course. And some of the blokes down at the fish and chip shop. Lots of people, really.'

'Well, I'll tell you what,' said Rincewind. 'I definitely want to go back where I came from.'

'Good on yer!'

'Your socio-political analysis is certainly work-ing on me.'

'Beaut!'

'And maybe you can show me how? Like, where the docks are?'

'Well, I would,' said Dibbler, obviously torn. 'Only there's going to be this hanging in a few hours and I want to get the meat pies warmed up.'

As a matter of fact, I heard the hanging had been cancelled,' said Rincewind, conspiratorially.

'The bloke escaped.'

'Never!'

'He certainly did!' said Rincewind. Tm not pulling your raw prawn.'

'Did he have any last words?'

' "Goodbye," I think.'

'You mean he wasn't in a famous last-stand shoot-out with the Watch?'

'Apparently not.'

'What kind of escape is that?' said Fair Go. 'That's no way to behave. I didn't have to come up here, I gave up a good spot at the Galah for this, 's not a good hanging without a meat pie.' He leaned closer and gave a furtive look both ways before continuing: 'Say what you like, the Galah's good for business. Their money's the same as anyone else's, that's what I say.'

'Well... yes. Obviously. Otherwise it'd be... different money,' said Rincewind. 'So, since your night's ruined, why not just show me where the docks are?'

There was still some uncertainty in Dibbler's stance. Rincewind swallowed. He'd faced spiders, angry men with spears and bears that dropped on you out of trees, but now the continent was presenting him with its most dangerous challenge.

Tell you what,' he said, 'I'll... I'll even... buy... something off you?'

The rope?'

'Not the rope. Not the rope. Um... I know this may seem a somewhat esoteric question, but what's in the meat pies?'

'Meat.'

'And what kind of meat?'

'Ah, you want one of the gourmet meat pies, then?'

'Oh, I see. That's where you say what's in them?'

'Yup.'

'Before or after the customers have bitten into them?'

'Are you suggesting that my pies ain't right?'

'Let us say I'm inching my way to the possibility that they might be, shall we? All right, I'll try a gourmet pie.'

'Good on yer.' Dibbler removed a pie from the little heated section of his tray.

'Now... what's the meat? Cat?'

'Do you mind? Mutton's cheaper'n cat,' said Dibbler, upending the pie into a dish.

'Well, that's—' Rincewind's face screwed up. 'Oh, no, you're pouring pea soup all over it too. Why does everyone always pour pea soup over it!'

'No worries, mate. Puts a lining on your stomach,' said Dibbler, producing a red bottle.

'And what's that?'

'The cut de grass, mate.'

'You're tipping a meat pie into a dish of pea soup and now you want me to eat it with... with tomato sauce on it?'

'Pretty colours, ain't they?' said Fair Go, handing Rincewind a spoon.

Rincewind prodded the pie. It rebounded gently off the side of the dish.