Ymor held the man’s gaze until Broadman twitched in fear and embarrassment. Then the thiefmaster laughed.
‘This worm-eaten old tinder pile?’ he said. “The man must be mad! ‘
“Yes, but mad with money. He says now he’s got the – can’t remember the word, begins with a P, it’s what you might call the stake money- the people he workS for in the Agatean Empire will pay up. If the Broken Drum burns down. Not that I hope it does.
Burn down. The Broken Drum, I mean. I mean, it’s like a home to me, is the Drum . . .’
“Not entirely stupid, are you?’ said Ymor, and pushed the innkeeper away.
The door slammed back on its hinges and thudded into the wall.
“Hey, that’s my door. ‘ screamed Broadman . Then he realised who was standing at the top of the steps, and ducked behind the table a mere shaving of time before a short black dart sped across the room and thunked into the woodwork.
Ymor moved his hand carefully, and poured out another flagon of beer.
“Won’t you join me, Zlorf?’ he said levelly. “and put that sword away , Siren. Zlorf Flannelfoot is our Side 31
Pratchett, Terry – Discworld 01 – The Colour of Magic friend ‘
The president of the Assassins’ Guild spun his short blowgun dexterously and slotted it into its holster in one smooth movement.
‘Siren!’ said Ymor.
The black-clad thief hissed, and sheathed his sword. But he kept his hand on the hilt, and his eyes on the assassin.
That wasn’t easy. Promotion in the Assassins’
Guild was by competitive examination, the Practical being the most important – indeed, the only – part Thus Zlorf’s broad, honest face was a welter of scar tissue, the result of many a close encounter. It probably hadn’t been all that good-looking in any case- it was said that Zlorf had chosen a profession in which dark hoods, cloaks and nocturnal prowlings figured largely because there was a day-fearing trollish streak in his parentage. People who said this in earshot of Zlorf tended to carry their ears home in their hats.
He strolled down the stairs, followed by a number of assassins. When he was directly in front of Ymor he said: “i’ve come for the tourist.’
is it any of Your business, Zlorf?’
“Yes. Gringo, Urmond – take him.’
Two of the assassins stepped forward. Then Siren was in front of them, his sword appearing to materialise an inch from their throats without having to pass through the intervening aiR.
“Possibly I could only kill one of you,’ he murmured, “but I suggest you ask yourselves which one?’
“Look up, Zlorf,’ said Ymor.
A row of yellow, baleful eyes looked down from the darkness among the rafters.
“one step more and you’ll leave here with fewer eyes than you came with
So sit downn and have a drink
Said the thiefmaster.
, Zlorf, and let’s talk about thiS Sensibly. I thought we had an agreement.
You don’t rob- I don’t kill. Not for payment, that is,’
he added after a pause.
Zlorf took the proffered beer.
.So?’ he said. “i’ll kill him. Then you rob him. Is he that funny looking one over there?’
“Yes.’
Zlorf Stared at Twoflower, who grinned at him.
He shrugged. He seldom wasted time wondering why people wanted other people dead. It was just a living. “Who is your client, may I ask?’ said Ymor.
Zlorf held up a hand. “Please!’ he protested.
“Professional etiquette.’
“of course. By the way-‘
“Yes?’
‘I believe I have a couple of guards outside’
“Had.’
“And some others in the doorway across the street- ”
“Formerly.’
“and two bowmen on the roof.’
Side 32
Pratchett, Terry – Discworld 01 – The Colour of Magic A flicker of doubt passed across Zlorfs face, like the last shaft of sunlight over a badly ploughed field.
The door flew open, badly damaging the assassin who was standing beside it.
‘Stop doing that!’ shrieked Broadman, from under his table.
Zlorf and Ymor stared up at the figure on the threShold. It was short, fat and richly dressed. Very richly dreSSed. There were a number of tall, big shapes looming behind it. Very big, threatening shapes.
‘Who’s that?’ said Zlorf.
“I know him,’ said Ymor. “His name’s Rerpf. He runS the Groaning Platter tavern down by Brass Bridge. Siren – remove him.’
Rerpf held up a beringed hand. Siren Withel hesitated halfway to the door as several very large trolls ducked under the doorway and stood on either side of the fat man, blinking in the light. Muscles the size of melons bulged in forearms like flour sacks. Each troll held a double-headed axe. Between thumb and forefinger.
Broadman erupted from cover, his face Suffused with rage.
“out!’ he screamed. “Get those trolls out of here!’ No-one moved. The room was suddenly quiet.
Broadman looked around quickly. It began to dawn on him just what he had said, and to whom. A whimper escaped from hiS lips, glad to be free.
He reached the doorway to his cellars just as one of the trolls, with a lazy flick of one ham-sized hand, sent his axe whirling across the room. The slam of the door and its subsequent splitting as the axe hit it merged into one sound.
“Bloody hell!’ exclaimed Zlorf Flannelfoot.
“What do you want?’ said Ymor.
“I am here on behalf of the Guild of Merchants and Traders,’ said Rerpf evenly. “to protect our interests, you might say. Meaning the little man.’
Ymor wrinkled his brows.
“i’m sorry,’ he said. “i thought I heard you say the Guild of Merchants?’
“And traders,’ agreed Rerpf. Behind him now, in addition to more trolls, were several humans that Ymor vaguely recognized. He had seen them, maybe, behind counters and bars. Shadowy figures, usually – easily ignored, easily forgotten. At the back of his mind a bad feeling began to grow. He thought about how it might be to be, say, a fox confronted with an angry sheep. A sheep, moreover, that could afford to employ wolves.
‘How long has this – Guild – been in existence, may I ask?’ he said.
“Since this afternoon,’ said Rerpf. “I’m viceguildmaster in charge of tourism, you know.’
“What is this touriSm of which you Speak?’
.Uh – we are not quite sure . . .’ said Rerpf. An old beaded man poked his head over the guildmaster’s shoulder and cackled, ‘Speaking on behalf of the winesellers of Morpork, Tourism means Business See?’ “Well?’ said Ymor coldly.
“Well,’ said Rerpf, “we’re protecting our interests, like I said.’
“Thieves OUT, Thieves OUT! ‘ cackled his elderly Side 33
Pratchett, Terry – Discworld 01 – The Colour of Magic companion. Several others took up the chant. Zlorf grinned. “and assassins,’ chanted the old man.
Zlorf growled.
“Stands to reason,’ said Rerpf. ‘People robbing and murdering all over the place, what sort of impression are visitors going to take away? You come all the way to see our fine city with its many points of historical and civic interest, also many quaint customS, and you wake up dead in some back alley or as it might be floating down the Ankh, how are you going to tell all your friends what a great time you’re having? Let’s face it, you’ve got to move with the timeS.’
Zlorf and Ymor met each other’s gaze.
“We have, have we?’ said Ymor.
“Then let us move,’brother,’ agreed Zlorf. In one movement he brought his blowgun to his mouth and sent a dart hissing towards the nearest troll. It spun around, hurling its axe, which whirred over the assassin’s head and buried itself in a luckless thief behind him.
Rerpf ducked, allowing a troll behind him to raise itS huge iron crossbow and fire a spear-length quarrel into the nearest assassin. That was the start . . .
It has been remarked before that those who are sensitive to radiations in the far octarine – the eighth colour, the pigment of the imagination- can see things that others cannot.
Thus it was that Rincewind, hurrying through the crowded, flare-lit evening bazaars of Morpork With the luggage trundling behind him, jostled a tall dark figure, turned to deliver a few suitable curses, and beheld Death.
It had to be Death. No-one else went around with empty eye sockets and, of course, the scythe over one shoulder was another clue. As Rincewind stared in horror a courting couple, laughing at some private joke, walked straight through the apparition without appearing to notice it.
Death, insofar as it was possible in a face with no movable features, looked surprised.
RINCEWIND? Death said, in tones as deep and heavy as the slamming of leaden doors, far underground.
“Um,’ said Rincewind, trying to back away from that eyeless stare.
BUT WHY ARE YOU HERE? ( Boom, boom went crypt lids, in the worm-haunted fastnesses under old mountains . . .)
“Um, why not?’ said Rincewind. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ve got lots to do, so if you’ll just-‘