It was some days later.
The ship rose and fell gently by the dock. The water around it was red with suspended silt in which a few leaves and twigs floated.
‘A week or two to NoThingfjord and we’re practically home,’ said Ridcully.
‘Practically on the same continent, anyway,’ said the Dean.
‘Quite an int’resting long vacation, really,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
‘Probably the longest ever,’ said Ponder. ‘Did Mrs Whitlow like her stateroom?’
‘I for one will quite enjoy bunking down in the hold,’ said the Senior Wrangler loyally.
‘The bilges, actually,’ said Ponder. ‘The hold’s full. Of opals, beer, sheep, wool and bananas.’
‘Where’s the Librarian?’ said Ridcully.
‘In the hold, sir.’
‘Yes, I suppose it was silly of me to ask. Still, nice to see him his old self again.’
‘I think it may have been the lightning, sir. He’s certainly very lively now.’
And Rincewind sat on the Luggage, down on the dock.
Somehow, he felt, something should be happening. The worst time in your life was when nothing much was going on, because that meant that something bad was about to hit you. For some strange reason.
He could be back in the University Library in a month or so, and then ho! for a life of stacking books. One dull day after another, with occasional periods of boredom. He could hardly wait. Every minute not being a minute wasted was, well, a minute wasted. Excitement? That could happen to other people.
He’d watched the merchants loading the ship. It was pretty low in the water, because there would be so many Ecksian things the rest of the world wanted. Of course, it’d come back light, because it was hard to think of any bloody thing it could bloody import that was better than any bloody thing in EcksEcksEcksEcks.
There were even a few more passengers willing to see the world, and most of them were young.
‘Hey, aren’t you one of the foreign wizards?’
The speaker was a young man carrying a very large knapsack topped by a bedroll. He seemed to be the impromptu leader of a small group of similarly overloaded people, with wide, open faces and slightly worried expressions.
‘You can tell, can’t you?’ said Rincewind. ‘Er . . . you wanted something?’
‘D’yew think we can buy a cart in this place NoThingfjord?’
‘Yes, I should think so.’
‘Only me and Clive and Shirl and Gerleen were thinkin’ of picking one up and driving to—’ He looked around.
‘Ankh-Morpork,’ said Shirl.
‘Right, and then selling it, and gettin’ a job for a while, having a look round, y’know . . . for a while. That’d be right?’
Rincewind glanced at the others trooping up the gangplank. Since the invention of the dung beetle, which had in fact happened not too far away, it was probable that no creature had ever carried so much weight.
‘I can see it catching on,’ he said.
‘No worries!’
‘But . . . er . . .’
‘Yes, mate?’
‘Do you mind not humming that tune? It was only a sheep, and I didn’t even steal it . . .’
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Neilette. Letitia and Darleen were standing behind her, grinning. It was ten in the morning. They were wearing sequinned evening gowns.
‘Budge up,’ she said, and settled down beside him. ‘We just thought . . . well, we’ve come to say, you know, thanks and everything. Letitia and Darleen are coming in with me and we’re going to open up the brewery again.’
Rincewind glanced up at the ladies.
‘I’ve had enough beer thrown at me, I ought to know something about it,’ said Letitia. ‘Although I do think we could make it a more attractive colour. It’s so . . .’ she waved a large, be-ringed hand irritably, ‘. . . aggressively masculine.’
‘Pink would be nice,’ said Rincewind. ‘And you could put in a pickled onion on a stick, perhaps.’
‘Bloody good suggestion!’ said Darleen, slapping him so hard on the back that his hat fell over his eyes.
‘You wouldn’t like to stay?’ said Neilette. ‘You look like someone with ideas.’
Rincewind considered this attractive proposition, and then shook his head.
‘It’s a nice offer, but I think I ought to stick to what I do best,’ he said.
‘But everyone says you’re no good at magic!’ said Neilette.
‘Er . . . yes, well, being no good at magic is what I do best,’ said Rincewind. Thanks all the same.’
‘At least let me give you a big wet sloppy kiss,’ said Darleen, grabbing his shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye Rincewind saw Neilette’s foot stamp down.
‘All right, all right!’ said Darleen, letting go and hopping away. ‘It wasn’t as if I was going to bite him, miss!’
Neilette gave Rincewind a peck on the cheek.
‘Well, drop in whenever you’re passing,’ she said.
‘Certainly will!’ said Rincewind. ‘I’ll look for the pubs with the mauve umbrellas outside, shall I?’
Neilette gave him a wave and Darleen made an amusing gesture as they walked away, almost bumping into a group of men in white. One of them shouted, ‘Hey, there he is . . . Sorry, ladies . . .’
‘Oh, hello, Charley . . . Ron . . .’ said Rincewind, as the chefs bore down on him.
‘Heard you wuzzas was leavin’,’ said Ron. ‘Wouldn’t be fair to let you go without shaking you by the hand, Charley said.’
The Peach Nellie went down a treat,’ said Charley, beaming broadly.
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Rincewind. ‘Good to see you looking so cheerful.’
‘It gets better!’ said Ron. There’s a new soprano just been taken on and she’s a winner if I’m any judge and . . . no, Charley, you tell him her name . . .’
‘Germaine Trifle,’ said Charley. A wider grin would have resulted in the top of his head slipping off.
‘I’m very happy for you,’ said Rincewind. ‘Start whipping that cream right now, y’hear?’
Ron patted him on the shoulder. ‘We could always do with another hand in the kitchens,’ he said. ‘Just say the word, mate.’
‘Well, it’s very kind of you, and when I pull another tissue out of a box I’ll always remember you blokes at the Opera House, but—’
‘There he is!’
The gaoler and the captain of the guard were jogging along the quay. The gaoler was waving encouragingly at him.
‘Nah, nah, it’s all right, you don’t have to run!’ he shouted. ‘We’ve got a pardon for you!’
‘Pardon?’ said Rincewind.
‘That’s right!’ The gaoler reached him, and fought for breath. ‘Signed . . . by . . . the prime minister,’ he managed. ‘Says you’re a . . . good bloke and we’re not to . . . hang you . . .’ He straightened up. ‘Mind you, we wouldn’t do that anyway, not now. Best bloody escape we’ve ever bloody had since Tinhead Ned!’
Rincewind looked down at the writing on the official lined prison notepaper.
‘Oh. Good,’ he said weakly. ‘At least someone thinks I didn’t steal the damn thing.’
‘Oh, everyone knows you stole it,’ said the gaoler happily. ‘But after that escape, we-ell . . . and that chase, eh? Bluey here says he’s never seen anyone run like you, and that’s a fact!’
The guard punched Rincewind playfully on the arm. ‘Good on yer, mate,’ he said, grinning. ‘But we’ll catch yer next time!’
Rincewind looked blankly at the pardon. ‘You mean I’m getting this for being a good sport?’
‘No worries!’ said the gaoler. ‘And there’s a queue of farmers sayin’ if you want to steal one of their sheep next time that’d be bonza, just so long as they get a verse in the ballad.’
Rincewind gave up. ‘What can I say?’ he said. ‘You keep one of the best condemned cells I’ve ever stayed in, and I’ve been in a few.’ He looked at the glow of admiration in their faces and decided that, since fortune had been kind, it was time to give something back. ‘Er . . . I’d take it kindly, though, if you’d never ever redecorate that cell.’
‘No worries. Here, I thought we ought to give you this,’ said the gaoler, handing him a little giftwrapped package. ‘Got no use for it now, eh?’
Rincewind unwrapped the hempen rope.
‘I’m lost for words,’ he said. ‘How thoughtful. I’m bound to find lots of uses for it. And what’s this . . . sandwiches?’
‘Y’know that sticky brown stuff you made? Well, all the lads tried it and they all went “yukk” and then they all wanted some more, so we tried cooking up a batch,’ said the gaoler. ‘I was thinking of going into business. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No worries. Be my guest.’
‘Good on yer!’
Someone else wandered up as he watched them hurry away.
‘I heard you were going back,’ said Bill Rincewind. ‘Want to stay on here? I had a word with your Dean. He gave you a bloody good reference.’