The two nobles stared fixedly at the glistening mounds. 'Looks good to me,' said Cohen conversationally. 'The way you're looking at it, any one'd think there was something wrong with it.' Nine Mountains gingerly put a piece of pork into his mouth. 'Extremely good,' he said, indistinctly. 'Now swallow,' said Cohen. The mandarin gulped. 'Marvellous,' he said. 'And nnw, if your excellency will excuse me, I—'
'Don't rush off,' said Cohen. 'We don't want you accidentally sticking your fingers down your throat or anything like that, do we?' Nine Mountains hiccuped. Then he hiccuped again. Smoke appeared to be rising from the bottom of his robe. The Horde dived for cover just as the explosion removed an area of floorboards, a circular part of the ceiling and all of Lord Nine Mountains. A black hat with a ruby button on it spun around on the floor for a moment. 'That's just like me and pickled onions,' said Vincent. Lady Two Streams was standing with her eyes shut. 'Not hungry?' said Cohen. She nodded. Cohen leaned back. 'One Big Mother?'
'It's “River”, Cohen,' said Mr Saveloy, as the guard lumbered forward. 'Take her with you and put her in one of the dungeons. See that she has plenty to eat, if you know what I mean.'
'Yes, excellency.'
'And Mr Chamberlain here can push off down to the kitchen again and tell the chef he's going to share what we eat this time, and he's gonna eat it first, all right?'
'Yes indeed, excellency.'
'Call this living?' Caleb burst out, as the Lord Chamberlain scuttled away. 'This is being Emperor, is it? Can't even trust the food? We'll probably be murdered in our beds!'
'Can't see you being murdered in your bed,' said Truckle. 'Yeah, 'cos you're never in it,' said Cohen. He walked over to the big jar and gave it a kick. 'You getting all this?'
'Yessir,' said the jar. There was some laughter. But it had an edge of nervousness. Mr Saveloy realized that the Horde weren't used to this. If a true barbarian wanted to kill someone during a meal, he'd invite him in with all his henchmen, sit them down, get them drunk and sleepy and then summon his own men from hiding places to massacre them instantly in a straight-forward, no-nonsense and honourable manner. It was completely fair. The 'get them drunk and butcher the lot of them' stratagem was the oldest trick in the book, or would have been if barbarians bothered with books. Anyone falling for it would be doing the world a favour by being slaughtered over the pudding. But at least you could trust the food. Barbarians didn't poison food. You never knew when you might be short of a mouthful yourself. 'Excuse me, your excellency,' said Six Beneficent Winds, who had been hovering, 'I think Lord Truckle is right. Er. I know a little history. The correct method of succession is to wade to the throne through seas of blood. That is what Lord Hong is planning to do.'
'You say? Seas of blood, right?'
'Or over a mountain of skulls. That's an option, too.'
'But . . . but . . . I thought the Imperial crown was handed down from father to son,' said Mr Saveloy. 'Well, yes,' said Six Beneficent Winds. 'I suppose that could happen in theory.'
'You said once we were at the top of the pyramid every one'd do what we said,' said Cohen to Mr Saveloy. Truckle looked from one to the other. 'You two planned this?' he said accusingly. 'This is what it's all been about, isn't it? All that learnin' to be civilized? And right at the start you just said it was going to be a really big theft! Eh? I thought we were just going to nick a load of stuff and push off! Loot and pillage, that's the way—'
'Oh, loot and pillage, loot and pillage, I've had it up to here with loot and pillage!' said Mr Saveloy. 'Is that all you can think of, looting and pillaging?'
'Well, there used to be ravishing, too,' said Vincent wistfully.
'I hate to tell you, but they've got a point, Teach,' said Cohen. 'Fightin' and lootin' . . . that's what we do. I ain't happy with all this bowing and scraping business. I ain't sure if I was cut out for civilization.' Mr Saveloy rolled his eyes. 'Even you, Cohen? You're all so . . . dim-witted!' he snapped. 'I don't know why I bother! I mean, look at you! You know what you are? You're legends!' The Horde stepped back. No-one had ever seen Teach lose his temper before. 'From legendum, which means “something written down”,' said Mr Saveloy. 'Books, you know. Reading and writing. Which incidentally is as alien to you as the Lost City of Ee—' Truckle's hand went up, a little nervously. 'Actually, I once discovered the Lost City of—'
'Shut up! I'm saying . . . What was I saying? . . . yes . . . you don't read, do you? You never learned to read? Then you've wasted half your life. You could have been accumulating pearls of wisdom instead of rather shoddy gems. It's just as well people read about you and don't meet you face to face because, gentlemen, you are a big disappointment!' Rincewind watched, fascinated, waiting for Mr Saveloy to have his head cut off. But this didn't seem about to happen. He was possibly too angry to be beheaded. 'What have you actually done, gentlemen? And don't tell me about stolen jewels and demon lords. What have you done that's real?' Truckle raised a hand again. 'Well, I once killed all four of the—'
'Yes, yes, yes,' said Mr Saveloy. 'You killed this and you stole that and you defeated the giant man-eating avocados of somewhere else, but . . . it's all . . . stuff. It's just wallpaper, gentlemen! It never changes anything! No-one cares! Back in Ankh-Morpork I've taught boys who think you are myths. That's what you've achieved. They don't believe you ever really existed. They think someone made you up. You're stories, gentlemen. When you die no-one will know, because they think you're already dead.' He paused for breath, and then continued more slowly. 'But here . . . here you could be real. You could stop playing at your lives. You could take this ancient and somewhat rotten Empire back into the world. At least. . .' he trailed off. 'That's what I'd hoped. I really thought that, perhaps, we might actually achieve something . . .' He sat down. The Horde stood staring at its various feet or wheels. 'Um. Can I say something? The warlords will all be against you,' said Six Beneficent Winds. 'They're out there now, with their armies. Normally they'd fight amongst themselves, but they'll all fight you.'
'They'd rather have some poisoner like this Hong instead of me?' said Cohen. 'But he's a bastard!'
'Yes, but . . . he's their bastard, you see.'
'We could hold out here. This place has got thick walls,' said Vincent. 'The ones not made of paper, that is.'
'Don't think about that,' said Truckle. 'Not a siege. Sieges are messy. I hate eating boots and rats.'
'Whut?'
'He said WE DON'T WANT A SIEGE WHERE WE HAVE TO EAT BOOTS AND RATS, Hamish.'
'Run outa legs, have we?'
'How many soldiers have they got?' said Cohen. 'I think . . . six or seven hundred thousand,' said the taxman. 'Excuse us,' said Cohen, getting off the throne. 'I have to join my Horde.' The Horde went into a huddle. There was an occasional 'Whut?' in the hoarse whispered interchanges. Then Cohen turned round. 'Seas of blood, wasn't it?' he said. 'Er. Yes,' said the taxman. The huddle resumed. After some further exchanges Truckle's head poked up. 'Did you say mountain of skulls?' he said. 'Yes. Yes, I think that's what I said,' said the taxman. He glanced nervously at Rincewind and Mr Saveloy, who shrugged. Whisper, whisper, Whut . . . 'Excuse me?'
'Yes?'
'About how big a mountain? Skulls don't pile up that well.'
'I don't know how big a mountain! A lot of skulls!'
'Just checking.'