The Last Continent - Terry Pratchett [100]
The third woman, the one the others had called Neilette, was watching him curiously, and Rincewind felt that there was something not right about her. Her hair wasn’t drab, but it certainly appeared to be when compared with that of her colleagues. She didn’t seem to have enough make-up. She seemed, in short, slightly out of place.
The he caught sight of a watchman ahead, and flung himself below the edge of the cart. A gap in the boards gave him a view, as the cart turned the corner, of the waiting crowds.
He’d been to quite a number of carnivals, although not usually on purpose. He’d even attended Fat Lunchtime in Genua, generally regarded as the biggest in the world, although he vaguely recalled that he’d been hanging upside down under one of the floats in order to escape pursuers, but right now he couldn’t quite remember why he’d been chased and it was never wise to stop and ask. Although Rincewind had covered quite a lot of the Disc in his life, most of his recollections were like that—a blur. Not through forgetfulness, but because of speed.
This looked like the usual audience. A real carnival procession should only take place after the pubs have been open for a good long time. It adds to the spontaneity. There were cheers, whistles, jeers and catcalls. Up ahead, people were blowing horns. Dancers whirled past Rincewind’s peephole.
He sat back and pulled a swathe of taffeta over his head. This sort of thing always took up a lot of Watch time, what with pickpockets and so on. He’d wait until they were in whatever bit of wasteground these things always ended up in, and drop quietly out of sight.
He glanced down.
These ladies were certainly into shoes in a big way. They had hundreds.
Hundreds of shoes, all lined up, peeking out from under a heap of women’s clothing. Rincewind looked away. There was probably something morally wrong about staring at women’s clothes without women in them.
His head turned back and looked at the shoes again. He was sure that several of them had moved—
A bottle shattered near his head. Glass showered around him. Up above, Darleen uttered a word he’d never have expected on the lips of a lady.
Rincewind raised his head cautiously and another bottle bounced off his hat.
“Some hoonies having a bit of fun,” said Darleen, through gritted teeth. “There’s always some joker—oh really?”
“Give us a kiss, mister?” said a young man who’d leapt on to the edge of the cart, waving a beer can happily.
Rincewind had seen some serious fighters in action, but no one had ever swung a punch like Darleen. Her eyes narrowed, her fist seemed to travel in a complete circle, it met the man’s chin about halfway round and when he disappeared from the wizard’s view he was still rising.
“Will you look at that?” Darleen demanded, waving her hand at Rincewind. “Ripped! These evening gloves cost a fortune, the bastard!” A beer can sailed past her ear. “Didja see who threw that? Didja? I saw yer, yer mazza! I’ll stick my hand down yer throat and pull yer trousers up!”
The crowd roared their appreciation and derision at the same time. Rincewind caught sight of watchmen’s helmets heading purposefully towards them.
“Er…” he said.
“Hey, that’s him! That’s Rinso the bush ranger!” someone yelled, pointing.
“It wasn’t bushes, it was just a sheep!”
Rincewind wondered who’d said that, and realized it was him. And there was no escape. And the watchmen were looking up at him. And there was really no escape. The street was packed. There was another fight further up the procession. There were no nearby alleyways, the fugitive’s friend. And the watchmen were fighting their way through the throng, with great difficulty. And the crowd were having the time of their lives. And the huge kangaroo beer sign gleamed overhead.
This was it, then. Time for a Famous Last Stand.
“What?” he said aloud. “It’s never time for a Famous Last Stand!”
He turned to Letitia. “I should just like to thank you for trying to help me,” he said. “It’s a pleasure