Chapter 3: We Had a Blast

As off-duty corporal of the City Watch Nobby Nobbs approached the Pink Pussycat Club that evening, there was a tremendous explosion. Glass was blown out of the windows. Women screamed. Men shouted. The roof was lifted off the back part of the building, flew high into the air, turned a half summersault, and fell back down, landing with a crash.

His darling Tawnee was in there! Nobby rushed forward, only to have to jump back as a flaming assistant cook ran screaming out the front door.

The screaming assistant cook ran for the River Anhk to put out the flames. He reached the edge of the river. He jumped. He bounced. He looked around stunned to find that he was on top of the water - - and was still on fire. He began screaming again and rolled around to put out the flames.

City folk came running up.

From the Devil Wind, Ali Badhboi, Oh-Oh, and the ship's hunchbacked doctor Igor(1) came running down the gangplank and rushed over to help.

The rolling around had put out the poor man's flames (although in a couple of places, small fires still flickered from the water itself). He started back in, but of course, it was then that he started to sink. It was like slowly submerging into really thick quicksand.

"Help!"

Ali Badhboi was smart enough not to jump in the river himself. He looked around, found a coil of rope, and holding one end, threw it to the man. The assistant cook grabbed it, and Ali Badhboi started reeling the man in.

The rope began hissing, smoldering and dissolving.

"Pull faster! Faster!" shouted the assistant cook. Only the gods knew what this river water was doing to his pants.

Ali Badhboi pulled and pulled, and at last they got the man to shore. They'd barely helped him back onto firm ground, where he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Igor examined him. "He'th badly burned," the hunchback said. "I'll have to graft him with a new thkin. Doth anyone know if there'th a morgue nearby, or lacking that, a themetery?"

۞

It was Sergeant Angua who took the booking report. "No assassin's license?"

The Black Vulture protested, "I don't need one! I'm just a tourist who was out for a late-night stroll."

"Across the tops of buildings? While dressed in black?"

"See? It's not even black! It's dark gray-green."

"That's even worse. Lance-Corporal Crestbeam-on-Hooper, show this gentleman to a cell."

"Wait! Wait. Maybe I do have an assassin's license. Let me check." He pulled out his wallet and began thumbing through the useless pieces of paper which gather and breed in there. "Ah, yes, here." He handed one over to Angua.

She glanced at it and then choked on a giggle. "Ephebe? What do assassins do there, strangle people to death with short lengths of twisted logic? Stab them in the heart with pointed arguments? Or maybe just plain talk them to death?" She fought to regain her professional attitude, but an Ephebean assassin was about as silly as a troll ballet dancer. Finally, she was able to gaze coolly at the card. "There are two problems with this membership card, Mr. . . . Black Vulture, if that's your real name. First, it was issued in Ephebe, not in Anhk-Morpork. And second, it's expired."

"Well, uh, er, um . . ."

Angua handed the card back. "Be glad our gargoyle caught you. If he'd had been a member of our assassin's guild, right now, you wouldn't be on your way to a jail cell. You'd be on your way to a coffin."

۞

Sloe Djinn Fez must have solidified while he was knocked out because, when he came to, the bony hand of a man helped him back up into a sitting position. The djinni felt so light headed.

He looked into the eyes of his rescuer, and found himself looking at a cowled skeleton holding a scythe. The eyes which looked back at him were like distant blue-white galaxies.

"What are you doing here?"

I WORK HERE, replied Death.

"But I can't be dead. I'm, I'm an immortal!"

3,022 YEARS IS FAR FROM AN ETERNITY. I'M AFRAID THE TIME HAS COME FOR YOU TO MOVE ONTO THE NEXT WORLD.

"And what am I supposed to do there?"

Death shrugged. ANYTHING YOU WANT.

"What?"

ANYTHING YOU WANT.

"Anything I want?" Sloe Djinn Fez goggled. "My wish is my command? Oh, why didn't I die sooner? Woo hooooo!"

۞

Amir the Corsair, spyglass still in one hand, swung down from the crow's nest and landed softly on the deck next to Sheik Rattlenrol. "By the Fanged Teeth of Offler, did you see that?"

"The whole place just exploded!"

"It must be the fury of Offler Himself! I understand that establishment was a den of the most grievous of sins."

Mica al-Moor, bin Dere-dun-Dat and Badi Badhbad came up behind them. "What kind of sins?" one of them asked.

"Scantily clad women cavorting, the drinking of fermented beverages, games of chance, and, dare I say it? - - the playing of music!"

The others shook their heads in disgust. "No wonder Offler destroyed it."

"Wait! There're some people still moving around in there. The great and merciful Offler must have, in His endless compassion, spared some."

"If He, in his great holiness, spared them, can we turn our backs on them?"

More Klatchians had come up behind them, Ali al-Khali, No-Fear Nimr and Jibbar Rich. "Never. We must obey the will of Offler."

Sheik Rattlenrol turned and shouted, "Hakim Hawkface, Big Wali, Kasbah Bill, come! We have a mission of mercy! Ferrari, gather your men! We turn guard duty over to you!"

Then Sheik Rattlenrol, Amir the Corsair, Ali al-Khali, No-Fear Nimr, bin Dere-dun-Dat, Badi Badhbad, Mica al-Moor, Jibbar Rich, Hakim Hawkface, Big Wali and Kasbah Bill all raced across the plaza towards the ravaged building.

Ferrari came out onto deck rubbing the sleep from his eye. "Hmmm? What?"

۞

"Excuse me, sir," said Reg Shoe. "What are you doing?"

"Me, thir?" asked Igor, shovel in hand, squinting up at the zombie officer of the Watch. The hunchback was standing about one-foot deep in a partially dug-up, freshly-dug grave.

"Are you grave robbing, sir?"

"Oh, not robbing, thir. Never robbing. I'm jutht borrowing, thir. Taking a little thkin, well all of it really, and thwithing it with thome damaged thkin. Thith fellow no longer hath need of hith, y'know, and there'th thith guy down by the river. . . By the way, do you happen to know if he'th a 38-regular? For thome reathon, themeterieth never put thizeth on grave thtoneth. I don't know why that ith."

"I think you should come with me, sir."

"But the man by the river."

"You are under arrest, sir."

"Arretht? Whatever for?"

"Attempted body snatching."

"An Igor doth not thnatch bodieth, thir. We thimply rearrange them."

"Very good, sir. Come along, please."

۞

Irene Ironfist went into the wardroom and began rolling up the Carpet.

"What are you doing?" asked the Carpet.

"You're filthy. I'm taking you up on deck where I can beat the dust out of you." She hoisted the Carpet up onto her shoulder.

"What? Are you crazy? Putmedown, kid! Putmedown! Putmedown! I'm going to fall! I'm going to fall!"

"You're a couple of feet off the floor, and I have you."

"Pleeeeease! I'm slipping! Slipping! Can't you feel me? I'm going to fall to my doom! Help! Helllllp!"

"Aren't you supposed to be some kind of flying carpet?"

"Me? Fly? Are you outta your mind! Put me down!"

She headed for the door. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Just plummeting to my death! I'm falling! Help! I'm falling! Falling!"

"You are not!"

"Someone save me! Help! Someone save me!"

۞

"Name?" said Angua, as she reached for yet another booking form.

"Igor."

Her eyes flickered up to find a badly-scarred guileless face smiling at her. "No last name, I suppose?"

"Don't be thilly."

"Er, how do you Igors ever tell one from another?"

"It'th eathy. It'th the thcarring. We're all unique."

"But you all have the same name."

"Ith that a problem?"

"For our files, yes." She glanced back down at the form. "Address?"

"13 Dethert Tomb Road, al-Khali, Klatch."

"Oh, so you're not from around here?"

"I wouldn't think tho, no."

"Any identifying marks - - let's get back to that one, okay? I'll need to get some more paper first. Um, offense?"

Reg Shoe spoke up. "Attempted body snatching."

"I wuth going to put everything back," grumbled Igor.

"But not where you found it."

"Well, whatever would be the point of that?"

1 "Doc" wasn't a medical doctor. People just began calling him "Doc" as a way of reminding themselves to never, ever play cards with him again. Ever.