Wizzardly Accusations

Chapter Two- Runaway Rincewind

The horse galloped down the Brass Bridge, parting the crowd as it sped through. So much for inconspicuous, really. With a grim sort of clarity he realized that every member of the Watch within running distance would be there in a disturbingly short amount of time. On top of that, he'd have Assault of a Watch member, Resistance of Arrest, and gods knew what else Carrot could pull out of his little book on top of the attempted murder accusation… and this time they'd actually be able to really prove that it was him. Things were, indeed, shaping out to be a very bad day.

The Gate had opened to let in a slow-moving cart and was just ready to close. Rincewind tried to get the horse to go faster, but the blasted thing was already panicking beyond any hope of steering. It plunged blindly forward, heading in generally the right direction. Of course, with the throng of people on the Bridge, the donkey-drawn carts, and the general hubbub, the Watch would have an interesting time catching up to him on foot. Nothing parted a crowd like a stampeding horse.*

He was gaining swiftly on the Gate. The guards had, unfortunately, spotted him, and were shouting at each other. It wasn't particularly difficult, as the blasted horse was leaving a trail of confusion, chaos, destruction, and offenses behind it.

Oh, bugger… I'm just racking up the sodding offenses, aren't I? he thought grimly. If he did, by some incredible miracle, manage to get out of this with most of his limbs intact, it would be just that… a miracle.

Rincewind urged the horse on faster, hoping that he could make it to the Gate before the guards decided to close it. The Gate was two hundred yards away… one-fifty, one hundred… then only fifty yards…

"Oy! Close it! 'Urry up! Cl'se it now!"

The heavy doors began to grind shut. In desperate panic, Rincewind dug his heels further into the horse's flanks, frightening the poor beast even more. The horse was beyond being controlled- it took most of his efforts just to stay on the blasted thing.

The horse suddenly stumbled, giving Rincewind the distinct impression that the world had just dropped out from under his stomach. For a few tense moments, he was nose-to-wet nose with Angua. The look of startled surprise on his face was mirrored in a doggy way on hers. Then, her jaws opened, and she began to lunge forward, straight at Rincewind's face…

And the horse was up and running again, and put on a fresh burst of incredible speed. Its hooves pounded on the Bridge's cobblestones, sending up sparks as it went. People rushed to get to the side of the Bridge, away from the mad horse and its equally mad rider, who, due to the situation, looked like a daring desperado, his golden-brown** hair flying in the wind, a look of defiance on his face…

Well, that's how it was remembered, anyway. In truth, Rincewind looked rather like he had an awful stomachache and his blasted hair kept getting in his face. He really wanted his hat… at least it would've kept the sun out of his eyes.

Then, there was a dull boom as the Gate's doors slammed into its frame.

Unfortunately, Rincewind was only about seven yards away from the blasted thing when it closed. A closed door was, by all means, a very good way to stop a person from leaving. This, much to Rincewind's irritation, included him. Too bad the horse showed no signs of stopping- at least not until the last sodding second. Rincewind suddenly had a predictive flash. He saw himself being thrown from the horse's back when it stopped, and he saw himself ending up being very hatless, if only because he wouldn't have anything to put the hat on when Angua caught him.

So, the logical thing in that situation was to not get caught. However, that seemed to be easier said than done.

At least the horse knew what it was doing. Before the Gate, it spun, and galloped back down the Bridge, running over a few beggars as it did so. There was a general cry of protest as feet were trod on, bystanders were shoved into objects, usually hard and pointy ones, and as general chaos ensued.

Rincewind was mentally ticking off the offenses he had managed to gather up at that point. It was depressingly long. Carrot could probably nail him with a few he hadn't thought of, too, just by opening to a random page in that sodding book of his.

The horse actually managed to get back down the Bridge faster than it had originally gotten up it. It skidded around a corner, and as it did, something sliced through the air above his head, and embedded itself in the door of a shop. It was a crossbow bolt.

I'm wanted that badly, then? Rincewind thought with surprising calmness. This is definitely filed under 'Not Good'.

Filigree Street was a straight sprint. Angua, who had somehow managed to keep up with Rincewind and the mad horse, began to fall behind. Wolves were definitely sprinters, and this chase looked like it was going to go cross-country.

Rincewind passed Baker's Street, and headed for Short Street, which was right by the Mended Drum. There was always a crowd by the Drum, so the Watch might get lost in the mob, with Rincewind was lucky.

Once in the crowd, the horse had problems turning, and began to slow down, despite it being kicked in the ribs repeatedly. It had been shot at, terrified, and was tired, and wasn't about to take any lip from some smart-arse human in a pointy hat. It walked through the mob towards the stables, ignoring Rincewind's protests.

Then, Rincewind managed to snatch a well-sharpened and notably pointy sword from a random stranger… and promptly jabbed the horse in the rump.

Crude, of course, but highly effective.

With a burst of speed, the horse galloped frantically down Short Street. It flew past The Lees, blew past Smittles Way, and burst past Skittles Alley. However, it wasn't the only thing to burst past.

The Watch wasn't stupid, after all.***

Angua had taken a short-cut down Baker's Street, and, with most of the Watch, had made a well executed attempt to cut him off before the huge crowd in the upcoming markets.

Crossbow bolt whizzed through the air, startling Rincewind, the poor horse, and the random person who was just minding his own business. With a sharp tug on the reigns, Rincewind tried to pull the horse over onto God Street, where there were an impressively convenient amount of alleyways and holes for runaways to hide in.

And, through it all, he was still expecting to hear the sound of hundreds of running feet.

Where was that blasted Luggage, anyhow?

Unfortunately, that last idea didn't have much time to be considered. The horse turned so sharply that Rincewind nearly slid off the side. He clung to the horse's neck, the reigns forgotten, hoping that he just wouldn't hit the cobblestones. There was a sudden whooosh above his head, and another bolt bounced off of a brick wall.

Whooosh.

This time, however, the bolt was aimed a bit lower, and buried itself with a sickening thud in the horse's side, just in front of Rincewind's knee. The horse went down like, well, a dead horse. And Rincewind suddenly found himself flying three feet above the cobblestones, and falling.

A loud crack and a dull thud echoed down the street as Rincewind hit the cobblestones and bounced, leaving a splattering of red blood where a stone had cut him from temple to temple across his forehead…

And then, somewhere else…

"It would appear, my Lady, that your roll for reflex was not sufficient this time," Fate's endless eyes had a sparkle of amusement as he said this. It was always a pleasure to win over the Lady, even in small victories.

"The game is not won yet, lord," she replied. "Watch the game carefully. There is much that could be accomplished by the pieces."

"Yet what can a pawn do against the might of a queen?" Fate asked, turning the dice in his hands. He preferred a chess game to a game of dice. The Lady always threw the dice in the places that he couldn't quite see.

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it?" the Lady responded archly. "But now it is time to roll."

So Fate rolled… he rolled an eight.

* Unless, of course, you had many stampeding horses.

** It is a well-known fact that all brave desperados, valiant warriors, etc., had hair with adjectives attached. There's never a hero who has mouse-brown hair.

*** Well, not anymore, at least.

[A/N- I have returned! Rincewind and the Disc still belong to Pterry, unfortunately… oh well. Anyway, thanks to all the wonderful reviewers out there… And for all of you potential reviewers, give me some concrit, please! You know you want to.]