Rincewind stalked down the darksome, pre-dawn alleys of the Shades muttering angrily - but not to himself. The luggage was right at his heels, multiple feet scurrying to keep up, somehow managing to project an air of sympathetic interest.
"How many times have I saved the disc now, four or five? But do they say, 'good old Rincewind, he's done enough. let's pick on somebody else now' no they do not!" The wizzard ranted. "An attack on Dunmanifestin? A chronophagus creature from the Dungeon Dimension putting the munch on time? A mad wizard out to destroy the world - get Rincewind!" Long arms waved as his voice rose indignantly. "Never mind Rincewind's got no magic! Never mind he doesn't know which end of a sword to grab! Got something suicidaly dangerous to do? Send for Rincewind!"
"The penalty of success, I'm afraid."
Rincewind jumped half a foot, twisted round in mid-air and came down hard, spraining an ankle. "Owwww!"
The Luggage pivoted on its axis towards the voice, growling aggressively in defense of its master. Marie-Suzette, wrapped in her faintly luminous swan feather cloak, sat on a barrel at the far end of the lane. She hopped down and walked towards them. The Luggage's manner changed abruptly as it recognized her. It gamboled to meet the princess and bumped, purring, against her legs.
Rincewind glared, hopping on one foot as he rubbed his ankle. "Don't do that!"
"Sorry." She shoved the Luggage out of the way and took his arm. "Here, lean on me."
"I don't suppose a broken ankle gets me out of fighting mad wizards? No of course not!"
"Don't be silly, Rincewind, if it'd broken we'd have heard the snap," Marie-Suzette replied. "Can't be worse than a sprain. I'll wrap it up when we get back to the University and you'll be good as new."
"You're about thirty years too late for that!"
She laughed, then asked; "Still no sign?"
"No. Too much to hope the fellow decided to go elsewhere - of course it is!"
"I'm afraid so." She shot a curious, sidelong look at her companion. "You're a strange man, Rincewind."
He snorted. "For wanting a quiet life? I don't think so!"
"Not that. You've faced down Dark Lords, Evil Gods, Grand Viziers and Sourcerors. You've been through hell and the Dungeon Dimension, and are on a first name basis with Death." A thought struck. "What is your first name, Rincewind?"
"Professor," he answered grimly.
Marie-Suzette laughed. " My point is, after surviving all that how can you possibly be afraid of anything?"
"Because I want to go on surviving, that's why!"
"Good answer." She turned serious. "Well if it's any comfort to you we've got one less worry, Duke Vimes knows all about our problem."
"Our problem? Your problem, missy, I'm a reluctant conscript!" Rincewind paused, frowned. "I thought you wanted to keep the Watch out of this?"
Marie-Suzette shrugged. "I did. Duke Vimes asked me a direct question, what could I do but tell all?"
"Nothing." Rincewind knew Vimes, and knew much better than to cross him.
"He's a remarkable man," she said thoughtfully. "As remarkable as you in his way. He may be very helpful."
Rincewind failed to see any resemblance whatsoever between himself and Sam Vimes. "How? by arresting this Soothsayer of yours?" He thought again, Vimes had arrested a dragon, and two armies and Vetinari. Maybe...
"He knows the truth of himself," Marie-Suzette answered. "As you do, my friend, meaning the Soothsayer has no weapon against either of you."
"He can still blast us," Rincewind said gloomily.
----
Now he had a plan John Point saw no reason to let the grass grow under their feet. To say his gang was taken aback by this would be to indulge in understatement.
"Today?" Ishmale repeated, stunned.
"This very morning," Point answered emphatically. "Why not? You all know what to do."
"But - in broad daylight?" Ishmale stammered.
"I know you're used to working by night," Point conceded but in this case day is better. The Night Watch is tougher and they expect trouble. Their colleagues on the dayshift are more easygoing."
"And Captain Carrot, the sergeants and especially Commander Vimes will be getting some sleep after the excitement last night," Elisie mused.
Point beamed at her. Clever girl, she had a real future in the guild! "Exactly."
"The master's got a good point there, Mr. Ishmale," Cosher said.
"I can see that." Ishmale grimaced. "It's just the paradigm shift is making me dizzy."
-----
"Do you feel like somebody's watching us, Nicht?"
"Canna say that I do," the pictsie answered, lazily opening his eyes. He was lounging on his partner's shoulder, back resting against her neck. "You're still on edge, lassie, relax."
Precious looked around as well as she could without moving her head and spilling Nicht. It was half past nine in Marbletown and the high and mighty merchants were finally bestirring themselves. Carriages rolled past on their way to dockside offices. High bred Klatchian riding horses minced daintily in the opposite direction carrying elegantly habited equestriennes to Hide Park for the requisite morning ride. The sidewalks on the other hand were almost empty, the early flood of butchers, bakers and other delivery men having dried up until late afternoon. Precious couldn't see anybody given them so much as a second glance. These days coppers were an accepted part of the landscape anywhere in Ankh-Morpork. But the little hairs on her nape kept prickling.
"Maybe you're right, Nicht," she said finally. She sighed; "This used to be such a nice quiet beat, now you never know what's going to happen next."
"Don't go borrowing trouble, lass, says I."
"I know," said Precious.
A few hundred feet in front of them a bright blue carriage with an elaborate coat of arms emblazoned on the doors made a sharp u-turn cutting off a pretentious equipage lavishly decorated with gilt. A fur hatted head stuck itself out of the window of the second coach to shout at the blue one. A hand emerged to make a rude gesture emphasized by a fluttering lace cuff. Traffic began to pile up behind both.
"Uh oh." Precious picked up her pace as Nicht came upright on her shoulder. "Looks like trouble's found us."
----
At nine fifty-five sharp Melville Ishmale marched into the Kingsway Watchhouse, a stunning vision of sartorial perfection from the top of his tall beaver hat to the toes of his patent leather boots, dragging a sobbing Banty Joe roughly by the arm with an equally indignant and overdressed Elisie Meeram right behind. The coppers, criminals and distressed citizens at the side desks looked up with interest.
The dwarf corporal behind the tall duty desk frowned. "Yes, sir? What seems to be the problem."
"The problem," Ishmale said, shaking Banty Joe by her arm. "Is this bit of skirt tried to pick my lady's pocket and she hasn't got a thief's license!"
"I do - I do! I just dropped it when this bastard grabbed me," cried Banty Joe. "That's assault that is - and on a guild member in good standing."
"We'll need some proof of that," said the corporal. "And far as I can remember there's nothing that says a victim's got to submit to being robbed if he or she feels otherwise."
-----
Myrtle street was like a keg of oil, all it took was a match to make it blow. A clot of carriages, some overturned, others missing wheels and horses, clogged the road with fancy dressed foreign merchants throwing punches around, in and on top of them cheered on by native Morporkian coach and footmen.
Precious waded through the fray, her eye fixed on the lace cuffed Serapian who had started it all. Cosher Berk saw her coming, slashed the harness of a horse already near hysteria and gave it a sharp poke to send it charging and trampling in Precious's path.
"Look out, Presh!" Nicht cried as the beast came at them. She looked around to find she was completely hemmed in by coaches, one on it's side. Before she could do anything about it the horse had reached them. Nicht covered his eyes.
It reared high, hooves clawing sky, and kept right on going up. Precious' jaw fell in the other direction as she saw it was being lifted, right off its hooves, by a heavily muscled young barbarian. He raised the frantically thrashing animal high over his head, exposed muscles rippled and strained as he held the pose. Everybody froze mid-punch and kick to stare in disbelief. Then the barbarian moved, hurling the horse over the downed cart to land with crash in somebody's rose bushes. The battle resumed
Precious saw the animal scramble to its feet, whinnying indignantly, then the breath exited her lungs with a whoosh as the barbarian slung her over his shoulder and carried her right out of the fray. Nicht, dislodged by the impact sailed in a high arch over a number of fur and silk hats to land on the back of the horse, now tranquilly munching sweetpeas and pansies in the garden. It threw up its head with a start.
Nicht looked frantically around for his partner but she and the barbarian had disappeared into the fray. He scrambled up the horse's neck to grab it by the ear. "C'mon you great beastie, I need a ride!"
----
"Speaking of licenses," Banty Joe said pointing rudely at Elisie. "Where's the whore's?"
Elisie inflated like a multi-colored balloon. "What did you call me?"
"Whore!" the girl shouted back. "And in the middle of the morning too!"
Elisie gave a shriek and launched herself at Banty Joe. Ishmale hastily let go of the girl's arm and the two rolled over and over on the floor, tearing at each other's hair and clothes.
"Modiste!" cried Ishmale, wringing his hands, then to the desk corporal; "Do something!"
At that exact moment the doors were smashed open by a panting, foaming black gelding with Nicht clinging to its forelock. "Riot!" he cried. "Riot on Myrtle!"
The corporal grabbed the axe leaning against the side of his desk and hurtled over it. "Follow me!"
In the twinkle of a steel helmet the room was empty of coppers. Seeing that the perpetrators and honest citizens left behind were completely absorbed in Elisie and Banty Joe's catfight - they were down to their frilly undergarments and it looked like those would go flying at any moment - Ishmale calmly walked behind the duty desk and opened the key cabinet.
