Chapter 1: The Politics Of Bounty Hunting
Rincewind was miserable.
Granted, this wasn’t uncommon, in his case. The
only difference between his current misery and the sort of miserable tent
under which he constantly huddled was that he had a much more distinct
reason to be miserable than the fact that he was born. He looked across
the innocent-looking stretch of bare dirt on the forest floor. His eyes
travelled from the spot of dirt to the rusty, pitted sword that lay beside
it.
the dirt sort of burped in a contented manner. The luggage shifted
its weight from one set of feet to another, resulting in a thoughtful creaking
sound.
I SAY, GOOD SHOW. Complimented death from his perch
in a nearby tree. He whipped a small notebook from within his robes, along
with a pen, NOW, WHAT WAS THAT? NUMBER THREE IN AS MANY DAYS?
“go away.” Said Rincewind, turning away from the
spot of dirt which had, until quite recently been occupied by a thick,
muscular barbarian-type who waved around a rusy, pitted sword and uttered
dreadful threats in Rincewind’s direction.
REALLY, I’VE NEVER SEEN THE LIKE, continued Death
amiably, THAT’S THREE PROFFESIONAL ASSASSINS DISPATCHED IN AS MANY DAYS.
YOU SEEM TO HAVE A TALENT FOR THIS. IF ANYONE WANTS A DANGEROUS PERSON
BUMPED OFF, ALL THEY NEED DO IS SEND HIM AFTER YOU.
“I didn’t mean to!” Rincewind whined, “I jumped
over the quick-dirt, he stepped in it and sank. It’s not my fault!”
BUT STILL, THIS MUST BE SOME KIND OF RECORD. JUST LOOK AT MY NOTEBOOK,
Death thrust the dog-eared little spiral-bound notebook toward Rincewind
who could see that it was just packed with Death’s neat handwriting. A
COMPLETE ACCOUNT OF THE NUMBER OF TIMES YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED, BUT DIDN’T.
TRULY INTREGUING. . .
“please leave me alone now.” Rincewind pleaded with
the spectre that walked in time with him.
VERY WELL. HOWEVER, I WOULD PONDER THIS ASSASSIN
PROBLEM, IF I WERE YOU. VERY IRREGULAR.
“I’ll do that. Leave now.”
AS YOU WISH. Death gave a whistle which sounded
like wind through leaf-bare branches, and his magnificent white charger
trotted toward him. Swinging himself into binky’s saddle, Death silently
rode into the sky.
“he’s right, you know.” Said Rincewind to no one
in particular, “three assassins in three days is strange.” He sighed. For
the upteenth time that day he asked himself “why me?”
the luggage snapped its lid on a bug, seeming content
to simply amble along beside its master and enjoy what was truly a beautiful
afternoon. The sun was out, it wasn’t too warm, and a breeze played tag
among the tree branches.
Rincewind pondered his life for the past month.
Everything seemed like a blur. One minute he was enjoying the rank smell
of Ankh-Morpork, the next he had fallen afoul of some shady characters
he’d met in an equally shady bar, and the moment he poked his head into
the city, it was liable to be chopped off. It was certainly possible that
the gang had been responsible for the recent attempts on his life, but
these were people who, though able to navigate Ankh-Morpork unarmed for
an entire night, without ending up with a knife in their backs, would probably
run screaming at the first site of a tree. City-slickers to the core.
So now here he was, wandering through the forest, grabbing food when
he could, tightening his belt when he couldn’t, and talking to himself
frequently.
After walking a bit more, he decided he was tired
of it, and slumped down against a tree. The sun was approaching the horizon
and, though the weather was still mildly warm, it had the smell of approaching
night and a drop in temperature. The luggage settled down, creaking and
squeaking, beside him.
Chilly, miserable and alone (as usual), he eventually
fell asleep. He was awakened after what seemed like a rediciulously short
time by a nearby crash, crunch and several swears.
Sitting bolt upright, he stared hard into the blackness,
waiting for the scarce moonlight to reach his eyes and allow them to adjust
accordingly.
“gods damn it all!”
“er. . . pardon?” answered Rincewind hesitantly.
“what?”
“what?”
“shit. Of all the stupid. . .”
“um?”
“look, just. . . just stay where you are. I’ll be
right over.”
Rincewind stayed put obediently, after weighing
the possibility of being impaled on a sharp object if he ran blindly into
the woods.
There was a blinding flash of light. When the spots
had cleared, Rincewind’s eyes were drawn to a globe-shaped lantern sputtering
to life. “there it is. Ah. That’s better. next time, I stay on the ground.”
The person who spoke was rather short and perhaps a little strange-looking.
She looked like a girl of perhaps 16, though decidedly short for her age.
Her eyes were a yellow-green. Her hair, which hung below her shoulders,
was pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck. Two streaks of bright-blue
traveled back from her temples. She was dressed in loose breeches, practical
leather boots, a loose shirt and fitted vest. A belt which looked, on the
whole, much to thick for her hips hung from them, and from it hung two
longish knives as well as several pouches and pockets. She would have been
entirely unintimidating, even with the knives, except for the fact that,
strapped across her back, was a long-handled, large-headed mallet.
Rincewind blinked wordlessly.
“hallo, there. Would you mind terribly if I made
a fire? I’m hungry and since I’ve managed to botch up my job of sneaking
up on you by falling out of that godsforsaken tree, I might as well forget
about stealth.”
“um. . .”
she stuck two fingers in her mouth and gave a shrill
whistle. A large, black and brown heavy horse, laden with bags, trotted
into the clearing.
“there you are, Osten.” The girl turned toward Rincewind
sharply, causing him to give a little jump, “Osten is short for Ostentatious.
Isn’t he a beauty? I certainly think so. Nice name, don’t you think? Ostentatious?
I have no idea why it suits him, but it does, and well at that.” She gathered
dry sticks as she spoke and soon had a quaint fire crackling. She snuffed
her lantern and put it down. Unwrapping some unidentifiable meat from a
package in one of the saddlebags, she stuck a piece on a stick and held
it over the fire. “hungry?”
“um. . .”
“I’m famished myself. I’ve been searching for you
for ages, without a break! Mother always did say I was always too busy,
never did take a break. You know what I said? I said, ‘mother’, I said,
‘I’m a busy girl with things to go and places to see and people to do.’
No, wait, I said, ‘I have places to go and people to see and things to
do’. Yes, that certainly sounds appropriate, doesn’t it? yes, I should
say so.” She squinted at him across the fire, “say, you are the wizard
Rincewind, are you not?”
“um. . . yes?”
“oh good. Well, that’s a relief, I certainly would
have felt foolish if I had set myself up here only to find that you’re
a woodsman named Joe. There’s a stick in my hair, I think.”
“Joe?”
“Brian, actually.”
“pardon?”
“That’s my name. Brian. Boy, you really don’t talk
much, do you? probably the strong and silent type, though from here it
looks like the strong part is a bit of an overstatement, but really, what
do I know? I mean, we just met, it’s not like we’ve already exchanged life
stories, is it?”
“Brian?”
“short for Briannon Lucrecia Marita Gregarious Etcetera.”
“that’s your whole name?”
“yes.” Brian then buried her face in the now cooked
piece of unidentifiable meat.
“okay. Well then, very nice meeting you, I’m sure,
but I think I’ll be going now.” he stood up, and was shocked to find that
a short knife had buried itself in the tree just beside his head. He turned
around and regarded Brian, who was still barely visible over her dinner.
“I on’t fink fo.”
“pardon?”
she swallowed and paused in her eating long enough
to say “I don’t think so.”
“why not?”
she finally polished off the meat and stood up,
casually hefting her mallet, “well, there’s a price on your head, you see.
Big reward. I’m looking forward to a considerable payoff for you.”
“what?”
“there’s a price on your head and-“
“no, I heard that part!”
“well, then what’s the question?”
he paused, opening and closing his mouth several
times in confusion. He finally looked down at the luggage. It was up on
its legs and seemed to be regarding him expectantly, “er, luggage?”
“*creak*”
he pointed at the figure across from him, “sic ‘er!”
with the pounding of its tiny feet, the luggage
lurched forward, clearing the fire in a single bound, intent upon the threat
to its master.
“oh ho ho ho, that’s how you want to play it, huh?”
said Brian, deftly leaping out of the Luggage’s path, “I came prepared
for you, my friend.” Discarding her mallet she reached into one of the
pouches on her belt with one hand, and detatched from the saddle of her
grazing horse what looked like a small cage. She thrust both objects in
front of her defensively. Rincewind saw that it was a small dragon in the
cage and a sheet of sandpaper. “back off, woody, I’ve got sandpaper, and
I’m not afraid to use it! oh yeah, and I’ve got this little dragon, too,
see?” she shook the cage a bit. The little creature sneezed a small fireball
and looked reproachfully at its mistress.
Rincewind popped up to his feet, stabbing a triumphant
finger at Brian “Hah! That just shows how much you know!! Fire can’t harm
Sapient Pearwood!”
Brian danced back, putting more distance between
her and the ominously advancing luggage, “Fire from a dragon species from
Klatch, evolved in an area of magical waste can harm Sapient Pearwood!”
Rincewind gave a squeak.
The luggage shuffled back a couple feet, then shuffled forward a bit.
It repeated this several times, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Finally,
exuding an air of extreme resentment, retreated and retracted its legs,
settling comfortably on the ground.
Rincewind sputtered at it.
“alright, wizard-boy,” she snarled, a smile that
was wholly disconcerting twisting her mouth, “we can do this my way, or
the really hard and usually painful way.” She paused thoughtfully, “ Though
sometimes those two ways end up being the same. Anyway,” she continued,
shaking her head, “what do you say? Coming quietly or do I open a big can
of whup-ass on you?”