'It's the Plan,' said Cohen. 'Well, I'll be f—' Truckle began. 'The list, Mr Uncivil, only the words on the list,' snapped Mr Saveloy. 'Listen, I bow to your expertise when it comes to crossing wildernesses, but this is civilization and you must use the right words. Please?'
'Better do what he says, Truckle,' said Cohen. With bad grace, Truckle fished a grubby piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. ' “Dang”?' he said. 'Wassat mean? And what's this “darn” and “heck”?'
'They are . . . civilized swearwords,' said Mr Saveloy. 'Well, you can take 'em and—'
'Ah?' said Mr Saveloy, raising a cautionary finger. 'You can shove them up—'
'Ah?'
'You can—'
'Ah?'
Truckle shut his eyes and clenched his fists. 'Dang it all to heck!' he shouted. 'Good,' said Mr Saveloy. 'That's much better.' He turned to Cohen, who was grinning happily at Truckle's discomfort. 'Cohen,' he said, 'there's an apple stall over there. Do you fancy an apple?'
'Yeah, might do,' Cohen conceded, in the cautious manner of someone giving a conjuror his watch while remaining aware that the man is grinning and holding a hammer. 'Right. Now, then, cla— I mean, gentlemen. Ghenghiz wants an apple. There's a stall over there selling fruit and nuts. What does he do?' Mr Saveloy looked hopefully at his charges. 'Anyone? Yes?'
'Easy. You kill that little' - there was a rustle of unfolding paper again - 'chap behind the stall, then—'
'No, Mr Uncivil. Anyone else?'
'Whut?'
'You set fire to—'
'No, Mr Vincent. Anyone else . . . ?'
'You rape—'
'No, no, Mr Ripper,' said Mr Saveloy. 'We take out some muh - muh—?' He looked at them expectantly. '—money—' chorused the Horde. '—and we . . . What do we do? Now, we've gone through this hundreds of times. We . . .' This was the difficult bit. The Horde's lined faces creased and puckered still further as they tried to force their minds out of the chasms of habit. 'Gi . . . ?' said Cohen hesitantly. Mr Saveloy gave him a big smile and a nod of encouragement. 'Give? . . . it . . . to . . .' Cohen's lips tensed around the word '. . . him?'
'Yes! Well done. In exchange for the apple. We'll talk about making change and saying “thank you” later on, when you're ready for it. Now then, Cohen, here's the coin. Off you go.' Cohen wiped his forehead. He was beginning to sweat.
'How about if I just cut him up a bit—'
'No! This is civilization.' Cohen nodded uncomfortably. He threw back his shoulders and walked over to the stall, where the apple merchant, who had been eyeing the group suspiciously, nodded at him. Cohen's eyes glazed and his lips moved silently, as if he were rehearsing a script. Then he said: 'Ho, fat merchant, give me all your . . . one apple . . . and I will give you . . . this coin . . .' He looked around. Mr Saveloy had his thumb up. 'You want an apple, is that it?' said the apple merchant. 'Yes!' The apple merchant selected one. Cohen's sword had been hidden in the wheelchair again but the merchant, in response to some buried acknowledgement, made sure it was a good apple. Then he took the coin. This proved a little difficult, since his customer seemed loath to let go of it. 'Come on, hand it over, venerable one,' he said. Seven crowded seconds passed. Then, when they were safely around the corner, Mr Saveloy said, 'Now, everyone: who can tell me what Ghenghiz did wrong?'
wind was ready for this old trick. 'No,' he said. 'Never heard of him, never heard of the street.' Disembowel-Meself-Honourably Dibhala grinned happily. 'If I yell “foreign devil” loud enough you won't get three steps,' he said in conversational tones. 'The guards will drag you off to the Forbidden City where there's this special thing they do with—'
'I've heard about it,' said Rincewind. 'Five Tongs has been the district commissioner for three years and the Street of Heavens is the man street,' said Disembowel-Meself-Honourably. 'I've always wanted to meet a blood- sucking foreign ghost. Have a rice cake.' Rincewind's gaze darted this way and that. But strangely enough the situation didn't seem dangerous, or at least inevitably dangerous. It seemed that danger was negotiable. 'Supposing I was to admit I was from behind the Wall?' he said, keeping his voice as low as possible. Dibhala nodded. One hand reached into his robe and, in a quick movement, revealed and then concealed the corner of something which Rincewind was not entirely surprised to see was entitled WHAT I DID . . . 'Some people say that beyond the Wall there's nothing but deserts and burning wastes and evil ghosts and terrible monsters,' said Dibhala, 'but I say what about the merchandizing opportunities? A man with the right contacts . . . Know what I mean, shogun? He could go a long way in the land of blood-sucking ghosts.' Rincewind nodded. He didn't like to point out that if you turned up in Ankh-Morpork with a handful of gold then about three hundred people would turn up with a handful of steel. 'The way I see it, what with all this uncertainty about the Emperor and talk of rebels and that - Long Live His Excellency The Son Of Heaven, of course - there might just be a nitch for the open-minded trader, am I right?'
'Nitch?'
'Nitch. Like . . . we've got this stuff - he leaned closer - 'comes out of a caterpillar's [unidentified pictogram]. 'S called . . . silk. It's—'
'Yes, I know. We get it from Klatch,' said Rincewind. 'Or, well, there's this bush, see, you dry the leaves but then you put it in hot water and you drin—'
'Tea, yes,' said Rincewind. 'That comes from Howondaland.' D. M. H. Dibhala looked taken aback.
'Well . . . we've got this powder, you put it in rubes—'
'Fireworks? Got fireworks.'
'How about this really fine china, it's so—'
'In Ankh-Morpork we've got dwarfs that can make china you can read a book through,' said Rincewind. 'Even if it's got tiny footnotes in it.' Dibhala frowned. 'Sounds like you are very clever blood-sucking ghosts,' he said, backing away. 'Maybe it's true and you are dangerous.'
'Us? Don't worry about us,' said Rincewind. 'We hardly ever kill foreigners in Ankh- Morpork. It makes it so hard to sell them things afterwards.'