‘What?’
‘You’ve got to be the son of someone,’ Nijel explained. ‘It says it here somewhere-’ He half-turned and fumbled inside a grubby fur bag, eventually bringing out a thin, torn and grubby book.
‘There’s a bit in here about selecting your name,’ he muttered.
‘How come you ended up in this pit, then?’
‘I was intending to steal from Creosote’s treasury, but I had an asthma attack,’ said Nijel, still fumbling through the crackling pages. >‘Um. Look,’ said Rincewind.
‘Yes?’ said Abrim.
‘Well, if you put it like that …’
‘You wish to make a point?’
‘It’s the Archchancellor’s hat, if you must know,’ said Rincewind. ‘The symbol of wizardry.’
‘Powerful?’
Rincewind shivered. ‘Very,’ he said.
‘Why is it called the Archchancellor’s hat?’
‘The Archchancellor is the most senior wizard, you see. The leader. But, look -
Abrim picked up the hat and turned it around and around in his hands.
‘It is, you might say, the symbol of office?’
‘Absolutely, but look, if you put it on, I’d better warn you-’
Shut up.
Abrim leapt back, the hat dropping to the floor.
The wizard knows nothing. Send him away. We must negotiate.
The vizier stared down at the glittering octarines around the hat.
‘I negotiate? With an item of apparel?’
I have much to offer, on the right head.
Rincewind was appalled. It has already been indicated that he had the kind of instinct for danger usually found only in certain small rodents, and it was currently battering on the side of his skull in an attempt to run away and hide somewhere.
‘Don’t listen!’ he shouted.
Put me on, said the hat beguilingly, in an ancient voice that sounded as though the speaker had a mouthful of felt.
If there really was a school for viziers, Abrim had come top of the class.
‘We’ll talk first,’ he said. He nodded at the guards, and pointed to Rincewind.
‘Take him away and throw him in the spider tank,’ he said.
‘No, not spiders, on top of everything else!’ moaned Rincewind.
The captain of the guard stepped forward and knuckled his forehead respectfully.