‘Noelene . . .’ Rincewind mused. That’s an unusual name for a . . .’
‘Darleen said you wouldn’t understand.’ Neilette stared into the middle distance. ‘I think my brother worked in the factory too long,’ she mused. ‘He always was very impressionable. Anyway, I—’
‘Oh, I get it, he’s a female impersonator,’ said Rincewind. ‘Oh, I know about those. Old pantomime tradition. A couple of balloons, a straw wig and a few grubby jokes. Why, when I was a student, at Hogswatch parties old Farter Carter and Really Pants would put on a turn where—’
He was aware that she was giving him one of those long, slow looks.
Tell me,’ she said. ‘Do you get about much?’
‘You’d be amazed,’ said Rincewind.
‘And you meet all kinds of people?’
‘Generally the nastier kind, I have to admit.’
‘Well, some men . . .’ Neilette stopped. ‘Really Pants? That was someone’s name?’
‘Not exactly. He was called Ronald Pants, so of course when anyone heard that they said—’
‘Oh, is that all?’ said Neilette. She stood up and blew her nose. ‘I told the others I’d leave when we got to the Galah, so they’ll understand. Being a . . . female impersonator is no job for a woman, which is what I am, incidentally. I’d hoped it was obvious, but in your case I thought I’d better mention it. Can you get us out of here, Trunkie?’
The Luggage wandered over to the wall at the end of the alley and kicked it until there was a decent-sized hole. On the way back it clogged a watchman who was unwise enough to stir.
‘Er, I call him the Luggage,’ said Rincewind helplessly.
‘Really? We call her Trunkie.’
The wall opened up into a dark room. Crates were packed against the walls, covered with cobwebs.
‘Oh, we’re in the old brewery,’ said Neilette. ‘Well, the new one, really. Let’s find a door.’
‘Good idea,’ said Rincewind, eyeing the spider-webs. ‘New brewery? Looks pretty old to me . . .’
Neilette rattled a door. ‘Locked,’ she said. ‘Come on, we’ll find another one. Look, it’s the new brewery because we built it to replace the one over the river. But it never worked. The beer went flat, or something. They all said it was haunted. Everyone knows that, don’t they? We went back to the old brewery. My dad lost nearly all his money.’
‘Why?’
‘He owned it. Just about broke his heart, that did. He left it to me,’ she tried another door, ‘because, well, he never got on with Noelene, what with the, well, you know, or rather, obviously you don’t . . . but it ruined the business, really. And Roo Beer used to be the best there was.’
‘Can’t you sell it? The site, I mean.’
‘Here? A place where beer goes flat within five seconds? Can’t give it away.’
Rincewind peered up at the big metal vats. ‘Perhaps it was built on some old religious site,’ he said. That sort of thing can happen, you know. Back home there was this fish restaurant that got built on a—’
Neilette rattled another unbudging door. That’s what everyone thought,’ she said. ‘But apparently Dad asked all the local tribes and they said it wasn’t. They said it wasn’t any kind of sacred site. They said it was an unsacred site. Some chief went to prison to see the prime minister and said, ‘Mate, your mob can dig it all up and drop it over the edge of the world, no worries.” ‘
‘Why did he have to go to prison?’
‘We put all our politicians in prison as soon as they’re elected. Don’t you?’
‘Why?’
It saves time.’ She tried an unrelenting handle. ‘Damn! And the windows are too high . . .’
The ground trembled. Metal jangled, somewhere in the darkness. Dust moved in strange little waves across the floor.
‘Oh, not again,’ said Neilette.
Now not only the dust moved. Tiny shapes scuttled across it, flowed around Rincewind’s feet and sped under the locked door.
The spiders are leaving!’ said Neilette.
‘Fine by me!’ said Rincewind.
This time the tremor made the wall creak.
‘It’s never been this bad,’ Neilette muttered. ‘Find a ladder, we’ll give the windows a go.’
Above them a ladder parted company from the wall and folded itself into a metal puzzle on the floor.
This may not seem a good time to ask,’ said Rincewind, ‘but are you a kangaroo, by any chance?’
Far above them metal creaked and went on creaking, in a long-drawn wail of inorganic pain. Rincewind looked up, and saw the dome of the brewery gently dissolve into a hundred falling pieces of glass.
And, dropping through the middle of it, some of its lamps still burning, the grinning shape of the Roo Beer kangaroo.
‘Trunkie! Open up!’ Neilette yelled.
‘No—’ Rincewind began, but she grabbed him and dragged him and in front of him was an opening lid . . .
The world went dark.
There was wood underneath him. He tapped it. very carefully. And wood in front of him. And w—
‘Excuse me.’
‘We’re inside the Luggage?’
‘Why not? That’s how we got out of Cangoolie last week! Y’know, I think it may be a magic box.’
‘Do you know some of the things that have been inside it?’
‘Letitia kept her gin in it, I know that.’
Rincewind felt upwards, gingerly.
Maybe the Luggage had more than one inside.
He’d suspected as much. Maybe it was like one of those conjuror’s boxes where, after you’d put a penny in, the drawer miraculously slid around and it had gone. Rincewind had been given one of those as a toy when he was a kid. He’d lost almost two dollars before he gave up and threw the thing away . . .
His fingers touched what might have been a lid, and he pushed upwards.
They were still in the brewery. This came as some relief, considering where you might end up if you got into the Luggage. There was still the bowel-disturbing rumble, punctuated by clangs and tinkles as bits of rusted metal crashed down with lethal intent.
The big kangaroo sign was well alight.
In the smoke that rose from it were some pointy hats.
That is, the curls swirling and billowing around holes in the air looked very much like the three-dimensional silhouettes of a group of wizards.
Rincewind stepped out of the Luggage. ‘Oh, no, no, no,’ he mumbled. ‘I only got here a couple of months ago. It’s not my fault!’
They look like ghosts,’ said Neilette. ‘Do you know them?’
‘No! But they’re all mixed up with these earthquakes! And something called The Wet, whatever that was!’
That’s just some old story, isn’t it? Anyway, Mister Wizard, it might have escaped your notice that the place is filling up with smoke!
Which way did we come in?’
Rincewind looked around desperately. Smoke obscured everything.
‘Has this place got cellars?’ he said.
‘Yeah! I used to play Mothers and Mothers with Noelene in them when we were kids. Look for hatches in the floor!’
And it was three minutes later that the ancient wooden hatchcover in the alley finally gave way under the Luggage’s insistent pounding. Several rats poured out, followed by Rincewind and Neilette.
No one paid them any attention. A column of smoke was rising over the city. Watchmen and citizens were already forming a bucket chain and men with a battering ram were trying to break open the brewery’s main doors.
‘We’re well out of that,’ Rincewind observed. ‘Oh, boy, yes.’
‘Hey, what’s going on? Where’s the bloody water gone?’
The cry came from a man working the handle of a pump out on the street, just as the pump gave a groan and the handle went limp. A watchman grabbed his arm.
‘There’s another one in the yard over there! Gei a wiggle on, mate!’
A couple of men tried the other pump. It made a choking noise, spat out a few drops of water and some damp rust, and gave up.
Rincewind swallowed. ‘I think the water’s gone,’ he said, flatly.
‘What do you mean, gone?’ said Neilette. There’s always water. Huge great seas of it underground!’
‘Yes, but . . . it doesn’t get filled up much, does it? It doesn’t rain here.’
‘There you go aga—’ She stopped. ‘What’s it you know? You’re looking shifty, Mister Wizard.’
Rincewind stared glumly up at the tower of smoke. There were twirling, tumbling sparks in it, rising in the heat and showering down over the city. Everything will be bone dry, he thought. It doesn’t rain here. It— Hang on . . .
‘How do you know I’m a wizard?’ he said.
‘It’s written on your hat,’ she said. ‘Badly.’
‘You know what a wizard is? This is a serious question. I’m not pushing a prawn.’
‘Everyone knows what a wizard is! We’ve got a university full of the useless mongrels!’