by The Wit
*
‘What’s it look like to you, Tom?’ said the major.
‘We’ve lost nearly eighty men,’ said the captain.
‘What? That’s terrible!’
‘Oh, about sixty of them are deserters, as far as I can see. As for the rest, well, as far as I can see only six or seven of them went down to definite enemy action. Three men got stabbed in alleyways, for example.’
‘Sounds like enemy action to me.’
Yes, Clive. But you were born in Quirm. Getting murdered in alleyways is just part of life in the big city’
*
‘Tom?’
Yes, Clive?’
‘Have you ever sung the national anthem?’
‘Oh, lots of times, sir.’
‘I don’t mean officially.’
‘You mean just to show I’m patriotic? Good gods, no. That would be a rather odd thing to do,’ said the captain.
‘And how about the flag?’
‘Well, obviously I salute it every day, sir.’
‘But you don’t wave it, at all?’ the major enquired.
‘I think I waved a paper one a few times when I was a little boy. Patrician’s birthday or something. We stood in the streets as he rode by and we shouted “Hurrah!” ‘
‘Never since then?’
‘Well, no, Clive,’ said the captain, looking embarrassed. ‘I’d be very worried if I saw a man singing the national anthem and waving the flag, sir. It’s really a thing foreigners do.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘We don’t need to show we’re patriotic, sir. I mean, this is Ankh-Morpork. We don’t have to make a big fuss about being the best, sir. We just know.’
*
‘It’s called Victory Stew, sergeant,’ said Dibbler. ‘Tuppence a bowl or I’ll cut my throat, eh?’
‘Close enough,’ said Vimes, and looked at the strange (and, what was worse, occasionally hauntingly familiar) lumps seething in the scum. ‘What’s in it?’
‘It’s stew,’ explained Dibbler. ‘Strong enough to put hairs on your chest.’
‘Yes, I can see that some of those bits of meat have got bristles on them already’ said Vimes.
*
There were rules. When you had a Guild of Assassins, there had to be rules which everyone knew and were never, ever broken.
An Assassin, a real Assassin, had to look like one – black clothes, hood, boots and all. If they could wear any clothes, any disguise, then what could anyone do but spend all day sitting in a small room with a loaded crossbow pointed at the door?
And they couldn’t kill a man incapable of defending himself (although a man worth more than AM$10,000 a year was considered automatically capable of defending himself or at least of employing people to do it for him).
And they had to give the target a chance.
† Named after Wallace Sonky, a man without whose experiments with thin rubber pressure on the housing in Ankh-Morpork would have been a good deal more pressing.
IMAGINE a million clever rats. Rats that don’t run. Rats that fight…
Maurice, a scruffy tomcat with an eye for the main chance, has the perfect fiddle going. He has a stupid-looking kid for a piper, and he has his very own plague of rats – rats who are strangely educated, so Maurice can no longer think of them as ‘lunch’. And everyone knows the stories about rats and pipers – and is giving him lots of money…
Until they try the trick in the far-flung town of Bad Blintz, and the nice little con suddenly goes down the drain.
Someone there is playing a different tune. A dark, shadowy tune. Something very, very bad is waiting in the cellars. The rats must learn a new word.
Evil.
Everyone needs their little dreams. If you knew what it was that people really, really wanted, you very nearly controlled them.
Cats are good at steering people. A miaow here, a purr there, a little gentle pressure with a claw … Cats didn’t have to think. They just had to know what they wanted. Humans had to do the thinking. That’s what they were for.
*
Everyone knew about plagues of rats. There were famous stories about the rat pipers, who made their living going from town to town getting rid of plagues of rats.
And that, really, was it. You didn’t need many rats for a plague, not if they knew their business. One rat, popping up here and there, squeaking loudly, taking a bath in the fresh cream and widdling in the flour,could be a plague all by himself.
After a few days of this, it was amazing how glad people were to see the stupid-looking kid with his magical rat pipe. And they were amazed when rats poured out of every hole to follow him out of the town. They were so amazed that they didn’t bother much about the fact that there were only a few hundred rats.
They’d have been really amazed if they’d ever found out that the rats and the piper met up with a cat somewhere in the bushes out of town, and solemnly counted out the money.
*
There were three loud knocks from below. They were repeated. And then they were repeated again. Finally, Malicia’s voice said: ‘Are you two up there or not?’
Keith crawled out of the hay and looked down. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Didn’t you hear the secret knock?’ said Malicia, staring up at him in annoyance.
‘It didn’t sound like a secret knock,’ said Maurice.
‘It is a secret knock!’ Malicia snapped. ‘I know about these things! And you’re supposed to give the secret knock in return!’
‘But if it’s just someone knocking on the door in, you know, general high spirits, and we knock back, what are they going to think is up here?’ said Maurice. ‘An extremely heavy beetle?’
Malicia went uncharacteristically silent for a moment. Then she said: ‘Good point, good point. I know, I’ll shout “It’s me, Malicia!” and then give the secret knock, and that way you’ll know it’s me and you can give the secret knock back. Okay?’
‘Why don’t we just say “Hello, we’re up here”?’ said Keith innocently.
Malicia sighed. ‘Don’t you have any sense of drama?’
Cat singing consists of standing two inches in front of other cats and screaming at them until they give in.
‘Never rush, never run. We don’t want to be like the first mouse, eh?’
‘No, Darktan,’ the rats chorused dutifully. ‘We don’t want to be like the first mouse!’
‘Right! What mouse do we want to be like?’
‘The second mouse, Darktan!’ said the rats, who’d had this lesson dinned into them many times.
‘Right! And why do we want to be like the second mouse?’
‘Because the second mouse gets the cheese, Darktan!’
‘Good!’ said Darktan.
A young rat was holding up its paw.
‘Yes?’
‘Er … can I ask a question, sir?’
‘All right,’ he said.
‘Er … you said the second mouse gets the cheese, sir? But … doesn’t the first mouse get something, sir?’
Darktan stared at the young rat. ‘I can see you’re going to be a valuable addition to the squad.’ He raised his voice. ‘Squad! What does the first mouse get?’
The roar of voices made dust fall down from the ceiling. ‘The Trap!’
*
‘You were stolen away at birth, I expect [said Malicia]. You probably are the rightful king of some country, but they found someone who looked like you and did a swap. You were probably found on a doorstep.’
‘I was, yes,’ said Keith.
‘See? I’m always right!’
‘What were you doing on a doorstep?’ said Maurice.
‘I don’t know. Gurgling, I expect,’ said Keith.
‘There was a magic sword or a crown in the basket with you, probably. And you’ve got a mysterious tattoo or a strange-shaped birthmark, too,’ said Malicia.
‘I don’t think so. No one ever mentioned them,’ said Keith. ‘There was just me and a blanket. An
d a note.’
‘A note? But that’s important!’
‘It said “19 pints and a Strawberry Yoghurt”,’ said Keith.
*
‘Well, you probably won’t be surprised to know that I’ve got two dreadful step-sisters,’ said Malicia. ‘And I have to do all the chores!’
‘Gosh, really,’ said Maurice.
‘Well, most of the chores,’ said Malicia, as if revealing an unfortunate fact. ‘Some of them, definitely. I have to clean up my own room, you know! And it’s extremely untidy!’
‘Gosh, really.’
‘And it’s very nearly the smallest bedroom. There’re practically no cupboards and I’m running out of bookshelf space!’
‘Gosh, really.’
‘And people are incredibly cruel to me. You will note that we’re here in a kitchen. And I’m the mayor’s daughter. Should the daughter of a mayor be expected to wash up at least once a week? I think not!’
‘Gosh, really.’
‘And will you just look at these torn and bedraggled clothes I have to wear?’
Maurice looked. As far as he could tell, Malicia’s dress was pretty much like any other dress.
‘Here, just here,’ said Malicia, pointing to a place on the hem which, to Maurice, looked no different from the rest of the dress. ‘I had to sew that back myself, you know?’
*
Keith grabbed the back edge of the dresser with both hands, and braced one foot against the wall, and heaved.
Slowly, like a mighty forest tree, the dresser pitched forward. The crockery started to fall out as it tipped, plate slipping off plate in one glorious chaotic deal from a very expensive pack of cards. Even so, some of them survived the fall on to the floor, and so did some of the cups and saucers as the cupboard opened and added to the fun, but that didn’t made any difference because then the huge, heavy woodwork thundered down on top of them.
One miraculously whole plate rolled past Keith, spinning round and round and getting lower on the floor with the groiyuoiyoi-yooooinnnnggg sound you always get in these distressing circumstances.
*
‘Do you know what an aglet is?’
Aglet? Aglet? What’s an aglet got to do with anything?’ snapped Malicia.
‘It’s those little metal bits on the end of shoelaces,’ said Maurice.
‘How come a cat knows a word like that?’ said the girl.
‘Everyone’s got to know something,’ said Maurice.
*
‘They’ll tell my father I’ve been telling stories and I’ll get locked out of my room again.’
‘You get locked out of your room as a punishment?’ said Maurice.
‘Yes. It means I can’t get at my books. I’m rather a special person, as you may have guessed,’ said Malicia, proudly.
OF COURSE THERE ARE NO CAT GODS.THAT WOULD BE TOO MUCH LIKE … WORK.
‘When I woke up there was a rat dancing on my dressing-table,’ said Corporal Knopf. ‘Tapitty, tapitty, tap.’
‘That’s odd,’ said Sergeant Doppelpunkt, giving his corporal a strange look.
‘And it was humming “There’s no Business like Show Business”. I call that more than just “odd”!’
‘No, I meant it’s odd you’ve got a dressing-table. I mean, you’re not even married.’
*
“scuse me, ‘scuse me,’ said a voice from beside him. He looked down at a dirty, half-scorched cat, which grinned at him.
‘Did that cat just speak?’ said the mayor.
Maurice looked around. ‘Which one?’ he said.
‘You! Did you just talk?’
‘Would you feel better if I said no?’ said Maurice.
*
‘Look, there’s two types of people in the world.’ said Malicia. ‘There are those who have got the plot, and those that haven’t.’
‘The world hasn’t got a plot,’ said Maurice. ‘Things just … happen, one after another.’
‘Only if you think of it like that,’ said Malicia, far too smugly in Maurice’s opinion. ‘There’s always a plot. You just have to know where to look.’ She paused for a moment and then said, ‘Look! That’s the word! There’ll be a secret passage, of course! Everyone look for the entrance to the secret passage!’
‘Er … how will we know it’s the entrance to a secret passage?’ said Keith, looking even more bewildered than normal. ‘What does a secret passage look like?’
‘It won’t look like one, of course!’
‘Oh, well, in that case I can see dozens of secret passages,’ said Maurice. ‘Doors, windows, that calendar from the Acme Poison Company, that cupboard over there, that rat hole, that desk, that—’
You’re just being sarcastic,’ said Malicia, lifting up the calendar and sternly inspecting the wall behind it.
‘Actually, I was just being flippant,’ said Maurice. ‘But I can do sarcastic if you like.’
Keith stared at the long bench which was in front of a window frosted with ancient cobwebs.
‘You might try to be some help,’ said Malicia, tapping the walls.
‘I don’t know how to look for something that doesn’t look like the thing I’m looking for,’ said Keith.
Malicia stood back and brushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘This isn’t working,’ she said.
‘I suppose there might not be a secret passage?’ said Maurice. ‘I know it’s a rather daring idea, but perhaps this is just an ordinary shed?’
Even Maurice leaned back a little from the force of Malicia’s stare.
‘There has to be a secret passage,’ she said. ‘Otherwise there’s no point.’
She snapped her fingers. ‘Of course! We’re doing it wrong! Everyone knows you never find the secret passage by looking for it! It’s when you give up and lean against the wall that you inadvertently operate the secret switch!’
Maurice looked at Keith for help. He was a human, after all. He should know how to deal with something like Malicia. But Keith was just wandering around the shed, staring at things.
Malicia leaned against the wall with incredible nonchalance. There was not a click. A panel in the floor did not slide back. ‘Probably the wrong place,’ she said. ‘I’ll just rest my arm innocently on this coat hook.’ A sudden door in the wall completely failed to happen. ‘Of course, it’d help if there was an ornate candlestick,’ said Malicia. ‘They’re always a sure-fire secret passage lever. Every adventurer knows that.’
‘There isn’t a candlestick,’ said Maurice.
‘I know. Some people totally fail to have any idea of how to design a proper secret passage,’ said Malicia. She leaned against another piece of wall, which had no effect whatsoever.
‘I don’t think you’ll find it that way’ said Keith, who was carefully examining a trap.
‘Oh? Won’t I?’ said Malicia. ‘Well, at least I’m being constructive about things! Where would you look, if you’re such an expert?’
‘Why is there a rat hole in a ratcatchers’ shed?’ said Keith. ‘It smells of dead rats and wet dogs and poison. I wouldn’t come near this place if I was a rat.’
‘Ye-es,’ said Malicia. ‘That usually works, in stories. It’s often the stupid person who comes up with the good idea by accident.’ She crouched down and peered into the hole. ‘There’s a sort of little lever,’ she said. ‘I’ll just give it a little push …’
There was a clonk under the floor, part of it swung back, and Keith dropped out of sight.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Malicia. ‘I thought something like that would probably happen …’
*
‘Now I want to ask you a question,’ said Darktan. ‘You’ve been the leader for … how long?’
‘Ten years,’ said the mayor.
‘Isn’t it hard?’
‘Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Everyone argues with me all the time,’ said the mayor. ‘Although I must say I’m expecting a little less arguing if all this works. But it’s not an easy job.’
‘It’s ridiculous
to have to shout all the time just to get things done,’ said Darktan.
‘That’s right,’ said the mayor.
‘And everyone expects you to decide things,’ said Darktan.
‘True.’
‘The last leader gave me some advice just before he died, and do you know what it was? “Don’t eat the green wobbly bit”!’
‘Good advice?’ said the mayor.
‘Yes,’ said Darktan. ‘But all he had to do was be big and tough and fight all the other rats that wanted to be leader.’
‘It’s a bit like that with the council,’ said the mayor.
‘What?’ said Darktan. ‘You bite them in the neck?’
‘Not yet,’ said the mayor. ‘But it’s a thought, I must say’
‘It’s just all a lot more complicated than I ever thought it would be!’ said Darktan, bewildered. ‘Because after you’ve learned to shout you have to learn not to!’
‘Right again,’ said the mayor. ‘That’s how it works … See the river? See the Houses? See the people in the streets? I have to make it all work. Well, not the river, obviously, that works by itself. And every year it turns out that I haven’t upset enough people for them to choose anyone else as mayor. So I have to do it again. It’s a lot more complicated than I ever thought it would be.’
‘What, for you too? But you’re a human!’ said Darktan in astonishment.
‘Hah! You think that makes it easier? I thought rats were wild and free!’
‘Hah!’ said Darktan.
They stared out of the window.
‘It’s just like I always tell my daughter,’ said the man. ‘Stories are just stories. Life is complicated enough as it is. We have to plan for the real world. There’s no room for the fantastic’
‘Exactly’ said the rat.
The thing about stories is that you have to pick the ones that last.
THERE’S trouble on the Aching farm - nightmares spreading down from the hills. And now Tiffany Aching’s little brother has been stolen by the Queen of the Fairies (although Tiffany doesn’t think this is entirely a bad thing).
