Interesting Times - Terry Pratchett [29]
“Don’t tell me,” said Rincewind. “Sometimes I get these amazing flashes…Both legs are shorter than the other, right?”
“Amazing. O’ course, I can see you’re a wizard,” said Boy Willie. “You’d know about this sort of thing.”
Rincewind gave the next member of the Horde a bright mad smile. It was almost certainly a human being, because wizened little monkeys didn’t usually go around in a wheelchair while wearing a helmet with horns on it. It grimaced at Rincewind.
“This is—”
“Whut? Whut?”
“Mad Hamish,” said Cohen.
“Whut? Whozee?”
“I bet that wheelchair terrifies them,” said Rincewind. “Especially the blades.”
“We had the devil of a job getting it over the wall,” Cohen conceded. “But you’d be amazed at his turn of speed.”
“Whut?”
“And this is Truckle the Uncivil.”
“Sod off, wizard.”
Rincewind beamed at Exhibit B. “Those walking sticks…Fascinating! Very impressive the way you’ve got LOVE and HATE written on them.”
Cohen smiled proprietorially.
“Truckle used to be reckoned one of the biggest badasses in the world,” he said.
“Really? Him?”
“But it’s amazing what you can do with a herbal suppository.”
“Up yours, mister,” said Truckle.
Rincewind blinked. “Er. Can I have a word, Cohen?”
He drew the ancient barbarian aside.
“I don’t want to seem to be making trouble here,” he said, “but it doesn’t strike you, does it, that these men are a bit, well, past their sell-by date? A little, not to put too fine a point on it, old?”
“Whut? Whutzeesayin’?”
“He says IT’S COLD.”
“Whut?”
“What’re you saying? There’s nearly five hundred years of concentrated barbarian hero experience in ’em,” said Cohen.
“Five hundred years’ experience in a fighting unit is good,” said Rincewind. “It’s good. But it should be spread over more than one person. I mean, what are you expecting them to do? Fall over on people?”
“Nothin’ wrong with ’em,” said Cohen, indicating a frail man who was staring intently at a large block of teak. “Look at ole Caleb the Ripper over there. See? Killed more’n four hundred men with his bare hands. Eighty-five now and but for the dust he’s marvellous.”
“What the hell is he doing?”
“Ah, see, they’re into bare-handed combat here. Very big thing, unarmed combat, on account of most people not being allowed weapons. So Caleb reckons he’s on to a good thing. See that big lump of teak? It’s amazin’. He just gives this blood-curdlin’ shout and—”
“Cohen, they’re all very old men.”
“They’re the cream!”
Rincewind sighed.
“Cohen, they’re the cheese. Why’ve you brought them all the way here?”
“Gonna help me steal something,” said Cohen.
“What? A jewel or something?”
“’S something,” said Cohen, sulkily. “’S in Hunghung.”
“Really? My word,” said Rincewind. “And there’s a lot of people in Hunghung, I expect?”
“About half a million,” said Cohen.
“Lots of guards, no doubt?”
“About forty thousand, I heard. About three-quarters of a million if you count all the armies.”
“Right,” said Rincewind. “So, with these half-dozen old men—”
“The Silver Horde,” said Cohen, with a touch of pride.
“What? Pardon?”
“That’s their name. Got to have a name in the horde business. The Silver Horde.”
Rincewind turned around. Several of the Horde had fallen asleep.
“The Silver Horde,” he said. “Right. Matches the color of their hair. Those that have got hair. So…with this…Silver Horde you’re going to rush the city, kill all the guards and steal all the treasure?”
Cohen nodded. “Yeah…something like that. Of course, we won’t have to kill all the guards…”
“Oh, no?”
“It’d take too long.”
“Yes, and of course you’ll want to leave something to do tomorrow.”
“I mean they’ll be busy, what with the revolution and everything.”
“A revolution, too? My word.”
“They say it’s a time of portents,” said Cohen. “They—”
“I’m surprised they’ve got time to worry about the state of their camping equipment,” said Rincewind.
“You’d be well advised to stay along o’ us,” said Ghenghiz Cohen. “You’ll be safer with us.”
“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” said Rincewind, grinning