'What is this stuff?' said Truckle, spearing something with his chopstick. 'Er. Chow,' said Mr Saveloy. 'Yes, but what is it?'
'Chow. A kind of . . . er . . . dog.' The Horde looked at him. 'There's nothing wrong with it,' he said hurriedly, with the sincerity of a man who had ordered bamboo shoots and bean curd for himself. 'I've eaten everything else,' said Truckle, 'but I ain't eating dog. I had a dog once. Rover.'
'Yeah,' said Cohen. 'The one with the spiked collar? The one who used to eat people?'
'Say what you like, he was a friend to me,' said Truckle, pushing the meat to one side.
'Rabid death to everyone else. I'll eat yours. Order him some chicken, Teach.'
'Et a man once,' mumbled Mad Hamish. 'In a siege, it were.'
'You ate someone?' said Mr Saveloy, beckoning to the waiter. 'Just a leg.'
'That's terrible!'
'Not with mustard.' Just when I think I know them, Mr Saveloy mused . . . He reached for his wine glass. The Horde reached for their glasses too, while watching him carefully. 'A toast, gentlemen,' he said. 'And remember what I said about not quaffing. Quaffing just gets your ears wet. Just sip. To Civilization!' The Horde joined in with their own toasts. ' “Pcharn'kov!” '[22] ' “Lie down on the floor and no-one gets hurt!” '
' “May you live in interesting pants!” '
' “What's the magic word? Gimmee!” '
' “Death to most tyrants!” '
'Whut?'
'The walls of the Forbidden City are forty feet high,' said Butterfly. 'And the gates are made of brass. There are hundreds of guards. But of course we have the Great Wizard.'
'Who?'
'You.'
'Sorry, I was forgetting.'
'Yes,' said Butterfly, giving Rincewind a long, appraising look. Rincewind remembered tutors giving him a look like that when he'd got high marks in some test by simply guessing at the answers. He looked down hurriedly at the charcoal scrawls Lotus Blossom had made.
Cohen'd know what to do, he thought. He'd just slaughter his way through. It'd never cross his mind to be afraid or worried. He's the kind of man you need at a time like this. 'No doubt you have magic spells that can blow down the walls,' said Lotus Blossom. Rincewind wondered what they would do to him when it turned out that he couldn't. Not a lot, he thought, if I'm already running. Of course they could curse his memory and call him names, but he was used to that. Sticks and stones may break my bones, he thought. He was vaguely aware that there was a second half to the saying, but he'd never bothered because the first half always occupied all his attention. Even the Luggage had left him. That was a minor bright spot, but he missed that patter of little feet . . . 'Before we start,' he said, 'I think you ought to sing a revolutionary song.' The cadre liked the idea. Under cover of their chanting he sidled over to Butterfly, who gave him a knowing smile. 'You know I can't do it!'
'The Master said you were very resourceful.'
'I can't magic a hole in a wall!'
'I'm sure you'll think of something. And . . . Great Wizard?'
e on Herb to suggest such a thing!'
'Shame,' Rincewind agreed. 'Besides, he will need all of his power to enter the Forbidden City,' said Butterfly. Rincewind found himself hating the sound of her voice. 'Forbidden City,' he murmured. 'Everyone knows there are terrible snares and traps and many, many guards.'
'Snares, traps . . .'
'Why, if his magic should fail him because he did tricks for Herb, he would find himself in the deepest dungeon, dying by inches.'
'Inches . . . er . . . which particular inch—'
'So much shame to Two Fire Herb!' Rincewind gave her a sickly grin. 'Actually,' he said, 'I'm not that great. I'm a bit great,' he added quickly, as Butterfly began to frown, but not very great—'
'The writings of the Master say that you defeated many powerful enchanters and resolutely succeeded in dangerous situations.' Rincewind nodded glumly. It was more or less true. But most of the time he hadn't intended to. Whereas the Forbidden City had looked . . . well . . . forbidden. It didn't look inviting. It didn't look as though it sold postcards. The only souvenir they were likely to give you would be, perhaps, your teeth. In a bag. 'Er . . . I expect this Oxen lad is in some deep dungeon, yes?'
'The deepest,' said Two Fire Herb. 'And . . . you've never seen anyone again? Who's been taken prisoner, I mean.'