'Yes, I know. We get it from Klatch,' said Rincewind. 'Or, well, there's this bush, see, you dry the leaves but then you put it in hot water and you drin—'
'Tea, yes,' said Rincewind. 'That comes from Howondaland.' D. M. H. Dibhala looked taken aback.
'Well . . . we've got this powder, you put it in rubes—'
'Fireworks? Got fireworks.'
'How about this really fine china, it's so—'
'In Ankh-Morpork we've got dwarfs that can make china you can read a book through,' said Rincewind. 'Even if it's got tiny footnotes in it.' Dibhala frowned. 'Sounds like you are very clever blood-sucking ghosts,' he said, backing away. 'Maybe it's true and you are dangerous.'
'Us? Don't worry about us,' said Rincewind. 'We hardly ever kill foreigners in Ankh- Morpork. It makes it so hard to sell them things afterwards.'
'What've we got that you want, though? Go on, have a rice cake. On the pagoda. Wanna try some pork balls? Onna chopstick?' Rincewind selected a cake. He didn't like to ask about the other stuff. 'You've got gold,' he said. 'Oh, gold. It's too soft to do much with,' said Dibhala. 'It's all right for pipes and putting on roofs, though.'
'Oh . . . I daresay people in Ankh-Morpork could find a use for some,' said Rincewind. His gaze returned to the coins in Dibhala's tray. A land where gold was as cheap as lead . . . 'What's that?' he said, pointing to a crumpled rectangle half covered with coins. D. M. H. Dibhala looked down. 'It's this thing we have here,' he said, speaking slowly. 'Of course, it's probably all new to you. It's called mon-ey. It's a way of carrying around your—'
'I meant the bit of paper,' said Rincewind. 'So did I,' said Dibhala. 'That's a ten-rhinu note.'
'What does that mean?' said Rincewind. 'Means what it says,' said Dibhala. 'Means it's worth ten of these.' He held up a gold coin about the size of a rice cake. 'Why'd you want to buy a piece of paper?' said Rincewind. 'You don't buy it, it's for buying things with,' said Dibhala.
Rincewind looked blank. 'You go to a mark-et stall,' said Dibhala, getting back into the slow-voice-for-the-hard-of- thinking, 'and you say, “Good morn-ing, but-cher, how much for those dog noses?” and he says, “Three rhinu, shogun,” and you say, “I've only got a pony, OK?” (look, there's an etch- ing of a pony on it, see, that's what you get on ten-rhinu notes) and he gives you the dog noses and seven coins in what we call “change”. Now, if you had a monkey, that's fifty rhinu, he'd say “Got anything smal-ler?” and—'
'But it's only a bit of paper!' Rincewind wailed. 'It may be a bit of paper to you but it's ten rice cakes to me,' said Dibhala. 'What do you foreign bloodsuckers use? Big stones with holes in them?' Rincewind stared at the paper money. There were dozens of papermills in Ankh-Morpork, and some of the craftsmen in the Engravers' Guild could engrave their name and address on a pinhead. He suddenly felt immensely proud of his countrymen. They might be venal and greedy, but by heaven they were good at it and they never assumed that there wasn't any more to learn. 'I think you'll find,' he said, 'that there's a lot of buildings in Ankh-Morpork that need new roofs.'
'Really?' said Dibhala. 'Oh, yes. The rain's just pouring in.'
'And people can pay? Only I heard—' Rincewind looked at the paper money again. He shook his head. Worth more than gold . . . 'They'll pay with notes at least as good as that,' he said. 'Probably even better. I'll put in a good word for you. And now,' he added hurriedly, 'which way is out?' Dibhala scratched his head. 'Could be a bit tricky,' he said. 'There's armies outside. You look a bit foreign with that hat. Could be tricky—' There was a commotion further along the alley or, rather, a general increase in the commotion. The crowd parted in that hurried way common to unarmed crowds in the presence of weaponry, and a group of guards hurried towards Disembowel-Meself- Honourably. He stepped back and gave them the friendly grin of one happy to sell at a discount to anyone with a knife.
A limp figure was being dragged between two of the guards. As it went past it raised a slightly bloodstained head and said, 'Extended Duration to the—' before a gloved fist smacked across its mouth. And then the guards were heading down the street. The crowd flowed back. 'Tch, tch,' said D. M. H. 'Seems to be - Hello? Where'd you go?' Rincewind reappeared from around a corner. D. M. H. looked impressed. There had actually been a small thunderclap when Rincewind moved. 'See they got another of 'em,' he said. Tutting up wall posters again, I expect.'
'Another one of who?' said Rincewind. 'Red Army. Huh!'
'Oh.'
'I don't pay much attention,' said D. M. H. 'They say some old legend's going to come true about emperors and stuff. Can't see it myself.'
'He didn't look very legendary,' said Rincewind. 'Ach, some people will believe anything.'
'What'll happen to him?'
'Difficult to say, with the Emperor about to die. Hands and feet cut off, probably.'
'What? Why?'
' 'Cos he's young. That's leniency. A bit older and it's his head on a spike over one of the gates.'
'That's punishment for putting up a poster?'
'Stops 'em doing it again, see,' said D. M. H. Rincewind backed away. 'Thank you,' he said, and hurried off. 'Oh, no,' he said, pushing his way through the crowds. 'I'm not getting mixed up in people's heads getting chopped off—' And then someone hit him again. But politely. As he sank to his knees, and then to his chin, he wondered what had happened to the good, old-fashioned 'Hey, you!'
The Silver Horde wandered through the alleys of Hunghung. 'I don't call this bloody well sweeping through a city, slaughtering every bugger,' muttered Truckle. 'When I was riding with Bruce the Hoon, we never walked in through a front gate like a bunch of soppy mother—'
'Mr Uncivil,' said Mr Saveloy hurriedly, 'I wonder if this might be a good time to refer you to that list I drew up for you?'
'What bloody list?' said Truckle, sticking out his jaw belligerently. 'The list of acceptable civilized words, yes?' He turned to the others. 'Remember I was telling you about civ-il-ized be-hav-iour. Civilized behaviour is vital to our long-term strategy.'
'What's a long-term strategy?' said Caleb the Ripper. 'It's what we're going to do later,' said Cohen. 'And what's that, then?'