He looked hard at Rincewind, who reddened.
'Why does everyone look at me?' he said. 'I don't know 107 what it is, maybe it's a comet or something.'
'Will we all be burned up?' said Bethan.
'How should I know? I've never been hit by a comet before.'
They were riding in single file across the brilliant snow-field. The Horse people, who seemed to hold Cohen in high regard, had given them their mounts and directions to the River Smarl, a hundred miles rimward, where Cohen reckoned Rincewind and Twoflower could find a boat to take them to the Circle Sea. He had announced that he was coming with them, on account of his chilblains.
Bethan had promptly announced that she was going to come too, in case Cohen wanted anything rubbed.
Rincewind was vaguely aware of some sort of chemistry bubbling away. For one thing, Cohen had made an effort to comb his beard.
'I think she's rather taken with you,' he said. Cohen sighed.
If I wash twenty yearsh younger,' he said wistfully.
'Yes?'
'I'd be shixty-sheven.'
'What's that got to do with it?'
'Well – how can I put it? When I wash a young man, carving my name in the world, well, then I liked my women red-haired and fiery.'
'Ah.'
'And then I grew a little older and for preference I looked for a woman with blonde hair, and the glint of the world in her eye.'
'Oh? Yes?'
'But then I grew a little older again and I came to see the point of dark women of a sultry nature.'
He paused. Rincewind waited.
'And?' he said. 'Then what? What is it that you look for in a woman now?'
Cohen turned one rheumy blue eye on him.
'Patience,' he said.
'I can't believe it!' said a voice behind them. 'Me riding ith Cohen the Barbarian!'
It was Twoflower. Since early morning he had been like a monkey with the key to the banana plantation after discovering he was breathing the same air as the greatest hero of all time.
'Is he perhapsh being sharcashtic?' said Cohen to Rincewind.
'No. He's always like that.'
Cohen turned in his saddle. Twoflower beamed at him, and waved proudly. Cohen turned back, and grunted.
'He's got eyesh, hashn't he?'
'Yes, but they don't work like other people's. Take it from me. I mean – well, you know the Horse people's yurt, where we were last night?'
'Yesh.'
'Would you say it was a bit dark and greasy and smelt like a very ill horse?'