"Gaspode?"

"Hmm?" Gaspode squirms in Hum's arms so that he faces the boy. Hum is rocking back and forth on his little cot. He's maybe seven, maybe eight.

"Did the nice monkey-wizard send you? He promised me he would help me."

"Word of advice, kid. Never say the m-word around him. 'nfact, 's probably safer if yew din't use it 'tall." Gaspode shakes his back leg wildly. A colony of mice living beneath the chair hurry underground to wait out the snow. The youngest and weakest of them is caught off-guard buried under a mass of salty, oily flakes. Hum hears its pitiful squeaks and brushes the dandruff away, lifting the tiny, shivering creature up to eye level. He whispers to it, then gently lowers it to the floor. It looks up at him, dull eyes now aglow with a strange fire, whiskers twitching, then seems to nod, and scurries away, out the tent flap, and out into the cold, cold world.

"Watchoo tell it?" Gaspode asks.

Hum stares after it. "I told him to go out and live."

The Beedle and Bailer Three Carriage Circus had been reduced to the Beedle and Bailer Two-Carriage Circus, owing to a sudden rock-slide high in the Lancre mountains. Hum, of course, was the only one who noticed Bill the gorilla hooting "Free! Freeeeeee!" as the carriage, laden with Bill, Opie the kangaroo, and Hatchet the albino zebra, skidded down the mountain side.

Bailer and Beedle conversed furiously at the fore of the caravan. Every once in a while, Bailer would crack his sharp-toothed whip absentmindedly, or Beedle would kick a passing Rockturtle of the side of the mountain.

Hum stared off into the misty sky from his seat atop the second carriage, his eyes glazing over. Besides him, Happenstance Rappenstein Kirkeldach Malor Ffleece the III, or Fleecy, as everyone called him, held the reins, talking animatedly with Gypsum the troll.

"She don't want any good old troll gifts," Gypsum said miserably. "All she want is "Gold, gold, gold" So I smash her over head wid gold, but she scream and tell me is bent an' ruined!"

"I'm no expert on dwarfish culture," Fleecy said, absently twitching the reins so that the carriage slammed into the cliff face, almost jolting the passengers of the side, "but I believe you're meant to give her the gold. That's what humans do, anyways, right, Hum? Hum?"

Gypsum waved a craggy hand in front of Hum's face, but there was no response. " I fink 'e's dead."

Fleecy shook his head. "No, he's fine. Just give him a slap."

Gypsum narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Won't dat hurt?"

Fleecy kept his eyes on the narrow mountain pass, jerking the reins just before they ran over Miles the bear, who had stopped to sniff a dangerous-looking rock. "That's the pint. Go on, he'll be fine."

Gypsum shrugged and drew back his quarter-ton fist. "Awright."

Hum flew off the roof, sailing over the caravan to land right before Bailer and Beedle. The circus screeched to a halt as the pair stopped and stared at the boy dumbly. Hum lay limp on the stone ground, one cheek a massive blue-black bruise and lines with scratches. Beedle kneeled down besides the prone body.

"What the hell…?"

In the back, Gypsum craned his head, trying to see where Hum had landed. "Was dat too 'ard, Fleecy?"

Fleecy stared straight into the mist-shrouded sun, not seeming to hear Gypsum's remark.

"Fleecy? Yore startin' at smoke."

"Filthy habit, never go near a roll," Fleecy said dimly. Gypsum waved the faint gray smoke from his friend's steadily-blistering face. Fleecy looked away and blinked dumbly. "What was that, Gypsum?"

The troll scratched his moss-covered head. "Dunno. I fergot. Summin' about Hum."

Fleecy threw down the reins. "Well, we seem to have stopped for some reason. I'll take this time to go change my suit. Every time I look, it seems to be smoldering! How odd. Must be the silk." He hopped down and popped inside the carriage.

Gypsum looked around in dismay. "Where'd Hum go?"

King Verence of Lancre massaged his temples exhaustedly. "And you're sure they're coming?"

Nanny Ogg nodded briskly before taking another swig from the huge canteen clipped to her considerable belt. "Lost a carriage, they did, but they're jus' enterin' Lancre, sure 's whiskey. Speakin' o' which, yew! Fill up me canteen with whiskey, good old whiskey too, none o' that watered-down horse-piss Magrat - oops, 'er Magersty - drinks, yew hear." The serving-girl nodded quickly and sped off.

Magrat sighed. "Oh, Nanny, I told you, it's not good for a woman your age to drink so much! Verence and I never drink, and we're nearly half your age!'

Nanny shook a hefty finger in Magrat's direction. "Th' day I stop drinkin' is the day I stop breathin', an' don't fergit it! Anyway, Granny 'n me figure they'll be 'ere by early tomorrow morning."

Verence shook his head. "The last time they heard, that troll almost burned the castle down!"

Anny belched hugely, flinging aside the remnants of her turkey drumstick. "Aye, an' that Beedle fellow wouldn't take 'I eye off poor Greebo. Poor thing was scared for weeks! Only brought down a couple deer and one bear a whole month."

"Quite," Verence said dryly. He clapped his hands. "Well, we must prepare for their arrival."

Nanny snorted. "Set up th' barricades, yew mean."

"Mrs. Ogg, while Beedle and his crew are here, they are my guests, and that means that they are under my protection." Verence glared at her.

Nanny's face was the picture of innocence. "Me, yer majesty? Why, I won't so much as harm a hair on their 'eads."