'Really? So it's all right for me to touch it? Thank you! Get one of them to pick it up!' The laundry men backed away, the Hunghungese habit of obedience evaporating like morning dew. The soldiers weren't the only ones to have heard rumours. 'Not us!'
'Got a rush order for socks!' The guard turned. A peasant was stumbling out of one of the pigsties, carrying a sack, his face covered by his big straw hat. 'Hey, you!' The man dropped to his knees and banged his head on the ground. 'Don't kill me!' The guards exchanged a glance. 'We ain't going to kill you,' said one of them. 'We just want you to try and pick up that hat over there.'
'What hat, o mighty warrior?'
'That hat there! Right now!' The man crawled crabwise across the cobbles. 'This hat, o great lord?'
'Yes!' The man's fingers crept over the stones and prodded the hat's ragged brim. Then he screamed. 'Your wife is a big hippo! My face is melting! My race is meltinnnnggg!' Rincewind waited until the sound of fleeing sandals had quite faded, and then stood up, dusted off his hat, and put it in the sack. That had gone a lot better than he'd expected. So there was another valuable thing to know about the Empire: no-one looked at peasants. It must be the clothes and the hat. No-one but the common people dressed like that, so anyone dressed like that must be a common person. It was the advertising principle of a wizard's hat, but in reverse. You were careful and polite around people in a pointy hat, in case they took a very physical offence, whereas someone in a big straw hat was a suitable target for a 'Hey, you!' and a— It was at exactly this point that someone behind him shouted, 'Hey, you!' and hit Rincewind across the shoulders with a stick. The irate face of a servant appeared in front of him. The man waved a finger in front of Rincewind's nose. 'You are late! You are a bad man! Get inside right now!'
'I—' The stick hit Rincewind again. The servant pointed at a distant doorway. 'Insolence! Shame! Go to work!' Rincewind's brain prepared the words: Oh, so we think we're Clever-san just because we've got a big stick, do we? Well, I happen to be a great wizard and you know what you can do with your big stick. Somewhere between the brain and his mouth they became: 'Yessir! Right away!'
The Horde were left alone. 'Well, gentlemen, we did it,' said Mr Saveloy eventually. 'You have the world on a plate.'
'All the treasure we want,' said Truckle. 'That's right.'
'Let's not hang around, then,' said Truckle. 'Let's get some sacks.'
'There's no point,' said Mr Saveloy. 'You'd only be stealing from yourselves. This is an Empire. You don't just shove it in a bag and divvy it up at the next campfire!'
'How about the ravishing?' Mr Saveloy sighed. There are, I understand, three hundred concubines in the imperial harem. I'm sure they will be very pleased to see you, although matters will be improved if you take your boots off.' The old men wore the puzzled look such as might be worn by fish trying to understand the concept of the bicycle. 'We ought to take just small stuff,' said Boy Willie at last. 'Rubies and emeralds, for preference.'
'And chuck a match on the place as we go out,' said Vincent. 'These paper walls and all this lacquered wood should go up a treat.'
'No, no, no!' said Mr Saveloy. 'The vases in this room alone are priceless!'
'Nah, too big to carry. Can't get 'em onna horse.'
'But I've shown you civilization!' said Mr Saveloy. 'Yeah. It's all right to visit. Ain't that so, Cohen?' Cohen was hunched down in the throne, glaring at the far wall. 'What's that?'
'I'm saying we take everything we can carry and head off back home, right?'
'Home . . . yeah . . .'
'That was the Plan, yeah?' Cohen didn't look at Mr Saveloy's face. 'Yeah . . . the Plan . . .' he said.
'It's a good plan,' said Truckle. 'Great idea. You move in as boss? Fine. Great scam. Saves trouble. None of that fiddling with locks and things. So we'll all be off home, OK? With all the treasure we can carry?'
'What for?' said Cohen. 'What for? It's treasure.' Cohen seemed to reach a decision. 'What did you spend your last haul on, Truckle? You said you got three sacks of gold and gems from that haunted castle.' Truckle looked puzzled, as if Cohen had asked what purple smelled like. 'Spend it on? ,' dunno. You know how it is. What's it matter what you spend it on? It's loot. Anyway . . . what do you spend yours on?' Cohen sighed. Truckle gaped at him. 'You're not thinking of really staying here?' He glared at Mr Saveloy. 'Have you two been cooking up something?' Cohen drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne. 'You said go home,' he said. 'Where to?'
'Well . . . wherever . . .'
'And Hamish there—'
'Whut? Whut?'
'I mean . . . he's a hundred and five, right? Time to settle down, maybe?'
'Whut?'
'Settle down?' said Truckle. 'You tried it once. Stole a farm and said you was goin' to raise pigs! Gave it up after . . . What was it? . . . three hours?'
'Whutzeesayin'? Whutzeesayin'?'
'He said IT'S TIME YOU SETTLED DOWN, Hamish.'
'Bugrthat!'
The kitchens were in uproar. Half the court had ended up there, in most cases for the first time. The place was as crowded as a street market, through which the servants tried to go about their business as best they could. The fact that one of them seemed a little unclear as to what his business actually consisted of was quite unnoticed in the turmoil. 'Did you smell him?' said Lady Two Streams. 'The stink!'