‘Kleptomania? Recidivist?’ he hazarded.
‘Begins with an H.’
‘Hedonism?’ said Rincewind desperately.
‘Herrydeterry,’ said Conina. ‘This witch explained it to me. My mother was a temple dancer for some mad god or other, and father rescued her, and - they stayed together for a while. They say I get my looks and figure from her.’
‘And very good they are, too,’ said Rincewind, with hopeless gallantry.
She blushed. ‘Yes, well, but from him I got sinews you could moor a boat with, reflexes like a snake on a hot tin, a terrible urge to steal things and this dreadful sensation every time I meet someone that I should be throwing a knife through his eye at ninety feet. I can, too,’ she added with a trace of pride.
‘Gosh.’
‘It tends to put men off.’
Well, it would,’ said Rincewind weakly.
‘I mean, when they find out, it’s very hard to hang on to a boyfriend.’
‘Except by the throat, I imagine,’ said Rincewind.
‘Not what you really need to build up a proper relationship.’
‘No. I can see,’ said Rincewind. ‘Still, pretty good if you want to be a famous barbarian thief.’
But not,’ said Conina, ‘if you want to be a hairdresser.’
‘Ah.’
They stared into the mist.
‘Really a hairdresser?’ said Rincewind.
Conina sighed.
‘Not much call for a barbarian hairdresser, I expect,’ said Rincewind. ‘I mean, no-one wants a shampoo-and-beheading.’
‘It’s just that every time I see a manicure set I get this terrible urge to lay about me with a double-handed cuticle knife. I mean sword,’ said Conina.
Rincewind sighed. ‘I know how it is,’ he said. ‘I wanted to be a wizard.’
‘But you are a wizard.’
‘Ah. Well, of course, but-’
‘Quiet!’
Rincewind found himself rammed against the wall, where a trickle of condensed mist inexplicably began to drip down his neck. A broad throwing knife had mysteriously appeared in Conina’s hand, and she was crouched like a jungle animal or, even worse, a jungle human.
‘What-’ Rincewind began.
‘Shut up!’ she hissed. ‘Something’s coming!’
She stood up in one fluid movement, spun on one leg and let the knife go.
There was a single, hollow, wooden thud.
Conina stood and stared. For once, the heroic blood that pounded through her veins, drowning out all chances of a lifetime in a pink pinny, was totally at a loss.