Interesting Times - Terry Pratchett [122]
He snatched the gloves off Rincewind’s hands.
“Toys,” he said. “Made things. The Red Army are just machines, like mills and pumps. There’s no magic there.”
He tossed them aside and nodded at one of the guards.
“And now,” said Lord Hong, “let us go to the Imperial Square.”
“How’d you like to be governor of Bhangbhangduc and all these islands around here?” said Cohen, as the Horde pored over a map of the Empire. “You like the seaside, Hamish?”
“Whut?”
The doors of the Throne Room were flung open. Twoflower scuttled in, trailed by One Big River.
“Lord Hong’s got Rincewind! He’s going to kill him!”
Cohen looked up.
“He can wizard himself out of it, can’t he?”
“No! He hasn’t got the Red Army anymore! He’s going to kill him! You’ve got to do something!”
“Ach, well, you know how it is with wizards,” said Truckle. “There’s too many of ’em as it is—”
“No.” Cohen picked up his sword and sighed.
“Come on,” he said.
“But, Cohen—”
“I said come on. We ain’t like Hong. Rincewind’s a weasel, but he’s our weasel. So are you coming or what?”
Lord Hong and his group of soldiers had almost reached the bottom of the wide steps to the palace when the Horde emerged. The crowd surrounded them, held back by the soldiers.
Lord Hong held Rincewind tightly, a knife at his throat.
“Ah, Emperor,” he said, in Ankh-Morporkian. “We meet again. Check, I think.”
“What’s he mean?” Cohen whispered.
“He thinks he has you cornered,” said Mr. Saveloy.
“How’s he know I won’t just let the wizard die?”
“Psychology of the individual, I’m afraid.”
“It doesn’t make any sense!” Cohen shouted. “If you kill him, you’ll be dead yourself in seconds. I shall see to it pers’nally!”
“Indeed, no,” said Lord Hong. “When your…Great Wizard…is dead, when people see how easily he dies…how long will you be Emperor? You won by trickery!”
“What are your terms?” said Mr. Saveloy.
“There are none. You can give me nothing I cannot take myself.” Lord Hong grabbed Rincewind’s hat from one of the guards and rammed it on to Rincewind’s head.
“This is yours,” he hissed. “‘Wizzard’ hah! You can’t even spell! Well, wizzard? Aren’t you going to say something?”
“Oh, no!”
Lord Hong smiled. “Ah, that’s better,” he said.
“Oh, noooooo!”
“Very good!”
“Aarrgh!”
Lord Hong blinked. For a moment the figure in front of him appeared to stretch to twice its height and then have its feet snap up under its chin.
And then it disappeared, with a small thunderclap.
There was silence in the square, except for the sound of several thousand people being astonished.
Lord Hong waved his hand vaguely in the air.
“Lord Hong?”
He turned. There was a short man behind him, covered in grime and mud. He wore a pair of spectacles, one lens of which was cracked.
Lord Hong hardly glanced at him. He prodded the air again, unwilling to believe his own senses.
“Excuse me, Lord Hong,” said the apparition, “but do you by any chance remember Bes Pelargic? About six years ago? I think you were quarreling with Lord Tang? There was something of a skirmish. A few streets destroyed. Nothing very major.”
Lord Hong blinked.
“How dare you address me!” he managed.
“It doesn’t really matter,” said Twoflower. “But it’s just that I’d have liked you to have remembered. I got…quite angry about it. Er. I want to fight you.”
“You want to fight me? Do you know who you are talking to? Have you any idea?”
“Er. Yes. Oh, yes,” said Twoflower.
Lord Hong’s attention finally focused. It had not been a good day.
“You foolish, stupid little man! You don’t even have a sword!”
“Oi! Four-eyes!”
They both turned. Cohen threw his sword. Twoflower caught it clumsily and was almost knocked over by the weight.
“Why did you do that?