Free Interesting Times by Terry Pratchett Page A

the informant says the Great Wizard magicked it away…” The messenger crouched lower.
    Lord Hong merely sighed again. Magic. It had fallen out of favor in the Empire, except for the most mundane purposes. It was uncultured . It put power in the hands of people who couldn’t write a decent poem to save their lives, and sometimes hadn’t.
    He believed in coincidence a lot more than he did in magic.
    “This is most vexing,” said Lord Hong.
    He stood up and took his sword off the rack. It was long and curved and had been made by the finest sword-maker in the Empire, who was Lord Hong. He’d heard it took twenty years to learn the art, so he had stretched himself a little. It had taken him three weeks. People never concentrated , that was their trouble…
    The messenger groveled.
    “The officer concerned has been executed?” he said.
    The messenger tried to scrabble through the floor and decided to let truth stand in for honesty.
    “Yes!” he piped.
    Lord Hong swung. There was a hiss like the fall of silk, a thump and clatter as of a coconut hitting the ground, and the tinkle of crockery.
    The messenger opened his eyes. He concentrated on his neck region, fearful that the slightest movement might leave him a good deal shorter. There were dire stories about Lord Hong’s swords.
    “Oh, do get up,” said Lord Hong. He wiped the blade carefully and replaced the sword. Then he reached across and pulled a small black bottle from the robe of the tea girl.
    Uncorked, it produced a few drops that hissed when they hit the floor.
    “Really,” said Lord Hong. “I wonder why people bother.” He looked up. “Lord Tang or Lord McSweeney has probably stolen the Dog to vex me. Did the Wizard escape?”
    “So it seems, o lord.”
    “Good. See that harm almost comes to him. And send me another tea girl. One with a head.”
     
    There was this to be said about Cohen. If there was no reason for him to kill you, such as you having any large amount of treasure or being between him and somewhere he wanted to get to, then he was good company. Rincewind had met him a few times before, generally while running away from something.
    Cohen didn’t bother overmuch with questions. As far as Cohen was concerned, people appeared, people disappeared. After a five-year gap he’d just say, “Oh, it’s you.” He never added, “And how are you?” You were alive, you were upright, and beyond that he didn’t give a damn.
    It was a lot warmer beyond the mountains. To Rincewind’s relief a spare horse didn’t have to be eaten because a leopardly sort of creature dropped off a tree branch and tried to disembowel Cohen.
    It had a rather strong flavor.
    Rincewind had eaten horse. Over the years he’d nerved himself to eat anything that couldn’t actually wriggle off his fork. But he was feeling shaken enough without eating something you could call Dobbin.
    “How did they catch you?” he said, when they were riding again.
    “I was busy.”
    “Cohen the Barbarian? Too busy to fight? ”
    “I didn’t want to upset the young lady. Couldn’t help meself. Went down to a village to pick up some news, one thing led to another, next thing a load of soldiers were all over the place like cheap armor, and I can’t fight that well with my arms shackled behind my back. Real nasty bugger in charge, face I won’t forget in a hurry. Half a dozen of us wererounded up, made to push the Barking Dog thing all the way out here, then we were chained to that tree and someone lit the bit of string and they all legged it behind a snowdrift. Except you came along and vanished it.”
    “I didn’t vanish it. Not exactly, anyway.”
    Cohen leaned across towards Rincewind. “I reckon I know what it was,” he said, and sat back looking pleased with himself.
    “Yes?”
    “I reckon it was some kind of firework. They’re very big on fireworks here.”
    “You mean the sort of things where you light the blue touch paper and stick it up your nose?” *
    “They