‘A lot of men would,’ Conina snapped. She leaned against a wall and glared at him.
‘Listen,’ she said, ‘There’s this long word, see, an old witch told me about it …can’t remember it …you wizards know about long words.’
Rincewind thought about long words. ‘Marmalade?’ he volunteered.
She shook her head irritably. ‘It means you take after your parents.’
Rincewind frowned. He wasn’t too good on the subject of parents.
‘Kleptomania? Recidivist?’ he hazarded.
‘Begins with an H.’
‘Hedonism?’ said Rincewind desperately.
‘Herrydeterry,’ said Conina. ‘This witch explained it to me. My mother was a temple dancer for some mad god or other, and father rescued her, and - they stayed together for a while. They say I get my looks and figure from her.’
‘And very good they are, too,’ said Rincewind, with hopeless gallantry.
She blushed. ‘Yes, well, but from him I got sinews you could moor a boat with, reflexes like a snake on a hot tin, a terrible urge to steal things and this dreadful sensation every time I meet someone that I should be throwing a knife through his eye at ninety feet. I can, too,’ she added with a trace of pride.
‘Gosh.’
‘It tends to put men off.’
Well, it would,’ said Rincewind weakly.
‘I mean, when they find out, it’s very hard to hang on to a boyfriend.’
‘Except by the throat, I imagine,’ said Rincewind.
‘Not what you really need to build up a proper relationship.’
‘No. I can see,’ said Rincewind. ‘Still, pretty good if you want to be a famous barbarian thief.’
But not,’ said Conina, ‘if you want to be a hairdresser.’
‘Ah.’
They stared into the mist.
‘Really a hairdresser?’ said Rincewind.
Conina sighed.
‘Not much call for a barbarian hairdresser, I expect,’ said Rincewind. ‘I mean, no-one wants a shampoo-and-beheading.’
‘It’s just that every time I see a manicure set I get this terrible urge to lay about me with a double-handed cuticle knife. I mean sword,’ said Conina.
Rincewind sighed. ‘I know how it is,’ he said. ‘I wanted to be a wizard.’
‘But you are a wizard.’
‘Ah. Well, of course, but-’
‘Quiet!’
Rincewind found himself rammed against the wall, where a trickle of condensed mist inexplicably began to drip down his neck. A broad throwing knife had mysteriously appeared in Conina’s hand, and she was crouched like a jungle animal or, even worse, a jungle human.