“Don't think so.”
“Well best of luck to them,” said Rincewind, rather more cheerfully.
“What's up with the lad?”
“Cramp.”
When the man had gone back behind his counter Eric hissed, “You didn't have to kick me!”
“You're quite right. It was an entirely voluntary act on my part.”
A heavy hand dropped on to Rincewind`s shoulder. He looked around and up into the face of an Ephebian centurion. A soldier beside him said: “That's the one, sarge. I'd bet a year's salt.”
“Who'd of thought it?” said the sergeant. He gave Rincewind an evil grin. “Up we come, chummy. The chief would like a word with you.”
Some talk of Alexander and some of Hercules, of Hector and Lysander and such great names as these. In fact, throughout the history of the multiverse people have said nice things about every cauliflower-eared sword-swinger, at least in their vicinity, on the basis that it was a lot safer that way. It's funny how the people have always respected the kind of commander who comes up with strategies like “I want fifty thousand of you chappies to rush at the enemy”, whereas the more thoughtful commanders who say things like “Why don't we build a damn great wooden horse and then nip in at the back date while they're all round the thing waiting for us to come out” are considered only one step above common oiks and not the kind of person you'd lend money to.
This is because most of the first type of commanders are brave men, whereas cowards make far better strategists.
Rincewind was dragged before the Ephebian leaders, who had set up a command post in the city's main square so that they could oversee the storming of the central citadel, which loomed over the city on its vertiginous hill. They were not too close, however, because the defenders were dropping rocks.
They were discussing strategy when Rincewind arrived. The consensus seemed to be
that if really large numbers of men were sent to storm the mountain, then enough might survive the rocks to take the citadel. This is essentially the basis of all military thinking.
Several of the more impressively dressed chieftains glanced up when Rincewind and Eric approached, gave them a look which suggested that maggots were more interesting, and turned away again. The only person who seemed to be pleased to see them
-didn't look like a soldier at all. He had the armour, which was tarnished, and he had the helmet, which looked as though its plume had been used as a paintbrush, but he was skinny and had all the military bearing of a weasel. There was something vaguely familiar about his face, though. Rincewind thought it looked quite handsome.
“Pleased to see them” was only a comparative description. He was the only one who acknowledged their existence.
He was lounging in a chair and feeding the Luggage with sandwiches.
“Oh, hallo,” he said gloomily. “It's you.”
It was amazing how much information can be crammed in to a couple of words. To achieve the same effect the man could have said: It's been a long night, I'm having to organise everything from wooden horse building to the laundry rota, these idiots are about as much help as a rubber hammer, I never wanted to be here anyway and, on top of all this there's you. Hallo, you.
He indicated the Luggage, which opened its lid expectantly.
“This yours?” he said.
“Sort of,” said Rincewind guardedly. “I can't afford to pay for anything it's done, mind you.”
“Funny little thing, isn't it?” said the soldier. “We found it herding fifty Tsorteans into a corner. Why was it doing that, do you think?”
Rincewind thought quickly. “It has this amazing ability to know when people are thinking about harming me,” he said. He glared at the Luggage as one might glare at a sly, evil-tempered and generally reprehensible family pet who, after years of biting visitors, has rolled over on its scabby back and played as Lovable Puppy to impress the bailiffs.
“Yes?” said the man, without much surprise. “Magic, is it?”
“Yes.” “Something in the wood, is it?” “Yes.” “Good job we didn't build the sodding horse out of it, then.” “Yes.” “Got into it by magic, did you?” “Yes.” “Thought so.” He threw another sandwich at the Luggage. “Where you from?” Rincewind decided to come clean. “The future,” he said. This didn't have the expected