'Twoflower?'
'What are you doing here?' said Rincewind. 'Rotting in a dungeon!'
'Me too!'
'Good grief! How long has it been?' said the muffled voice of Twoflower. 'What? How long has what been?'
'But you . . . why are . . .'
'You wrote that damn book!'
'I just thought it would be interesting for people!'
'Interesting? Interesting?'
'I thought people would find it an interesting account of a foreign culture. I never meant it to cause trouble.' Rincewind leaned against his side of the wall. No, of course, Twoflower never wanted to cause any trouble. Some people never did. Probably the last sound heard before the Universe folded up like a paper hat would be someone saying, 'What happens if I do this?'
'It must have been Fate that brought you here,' said Twoflower. 'Yes, it's the sort of thing he likes to do,' said Rincewind. 'You remember the good times we had?'
'Did we? I must have had my eyes shut.'
'The adventures!'
'Oh, them. You mean hanging from high places, that sort of thing . . . ?'
'Rincewind?'
'Yes? What?'
'I feel a lot happier about things now you're here.'
'That's amazing.' Rincewind enjoyed the comfort of the wall. It was rust rock. He felt he could rely on it. 'Everyone seems to have a copy of your book,' he said. 'It's a revolutionary document. And I do mean copy. It looks as though they make their own copy and pass it on.'
'Yes, it's called samizdat.'
'What does that mean?'
'It means each one must be the same as the one before. Oh, dear. I thought it would just be entertainment. I didn't think people would take it seriously. I do hope it's not causing too much bother.' Well, your revolutionaries are still at the slogan-and-poster stage, but I shouldn't think that'll count for much if they're caught.'
'Oh, dear.'
'How come you're still alive?'
'I don't know. I think they may have forgotten about me. That tends to happen, you know. It's the paperwork. Someone makes the wrong stroke with the brush or forgets to copy a line. I believe it happens a lot.'
'You mean that there's people in prison and no-one can remember why?'
'Oh, yes.'
'Then why don't they set them free?'
'I suppose it is felt that they must have done something. All in all, I'm afraid our government does leave something to be desired.'
'Like a new government.'
'Oh, dear. You could get locked up for saying things like that.' People slept, but the Forbidden City never slept. Torches flickered all night in the great Bureaux as the ceaseless business of Empire went on. This largely involved, as Mr Saveloy had said, moving paper. Six Beneficent Winds was Deputy District Administrator for the Langtang district, and good at a job which he rather enjoyed. He was not a wicked man. True, he had the same sense of humour as a chicken casserole. True, he played the accordion for amusement, and disliked cats intensely, and had a habit of dabbing his upper lip with his napkin after his tea ceremony in a way that had made Mrs Beneficent Winds commit murder in her mind on a regular basis over the years. And he kept his money in a small leather shovel purse, and counted it out very thoroughly whenever he made a purchase, especially if there was a queue behind him. But on the other hand, he was kind to animals and made small but regular contributions to charity. He frequently gave moderate sums to beggars in the street, although he made a note of this in the little notebook he always carried to remind him to visit them in his official capacity later on.
And he never took away from people more money than they actually had. He was also, unusually for men employed in the Forbidden City after dark, not a eunuch. Guards were not eunuchs, of course, and people had got around this by classifying them officially as furniture. And it had been found that tax officials also needed every faculty at their disposal to combat the wiles of the average peasant, who had this regrettable tendency to avoid paying taxes. There were much nastier people in the building than Six Beneficent Winds and it was therefore just his inauspicious luck that his paper and bamboo door slid aside to reveal seven strange-looking old eunuchs, one of them in a wheeled contrivance. They didn't even bow, let alone fall on their knees. And he not only had an official red hat but it had a white button on it! His brush dropped from his hands when the men wandered into his office as if they owned it. One of them started poking holes in the wall and speaking gibberish. 'Hey, the walls are just made of paper! Hey, look, if you lick your finger it goes right through! See?'