scurried past staring intently at the scenes of mud dynamics or bovine bowel movement happening in the fields.
Rincewind would be the first to admit that he was a slow thinker. * But he’d been around long enough to spot the signs. These people weren’t paying him any attention because they didn’t see people on horseback.
They were probably descended from people who learned that if you look too hard at anyone on horseback you receive a sharp stinging sensation such as might be obtained by a stick around the ear. Not looking up at people on horseback had become hereditary. People who stared at people on horseback in what was considered to be a funny way never survived long enough to breed.
He decided to try an experiment. The next wheelbarrow that trundled past was carrying not mud but people, about half a dozen of them, on seats either side of the huge central wheel. The method of propulsion was secondarily by a small sail erected to catch the wind but primarily by that pre-eminent source of motive power in a peasant community, someone’s great-grandfather, or at least someone who looked like someone’s great-grandfather.
Cohen had said, “There’s men here who can push a wheelbarrow for thirty miles on a bowl of millet with a bit of scum in it. What does that tell you? It tells me someone’s porking all the beef.”
Rincewind decided to explore the social dynamics and also try out the language. It had been years since he’d last used it, but he had to admit that Ridcully had been right. He did have a gift for languages. Agatean was a language of few basic syllables. It was really all in the tone, inflection, and context. Otherwise, the word for military leader was also the word for long-tailed marmot, male sexual organ, and ancient chicken coop.
“Hey there, you!” he shouted. “Er…to bend bamboo? An expression of disapproval? Er…I mean…Stop!”
The barrow slewed to a halt. No one looked at him. They looked past him, or around him, or towards his feet.
Eventually the wheelbarrow-pusher, in the manner of a man who knows he’s in for it no matter what he does, mumbled, “Your honor commands?”
Rincewind felt very sorry, later, for what he said next.
He said, “Just give me all your food and…unwilling dogs, will you?”
They watched him impassively.
“Damn. I mean…arranged beetles?…variety of waterfall?…Oh, yes… money .”
There was a general fumbling and shifting among the passengers. Then the wheelbarrow-pusher sidled towards Rincewind, head down, and held up his hat. It contained some rice, some dried fish, a highly dangerous-looking egg. And about a pound of gold, in big round coins.
Rincewind stared at the gold.
Gold was as common as copper on the Counterweight Continent. That was one of the few things everyone knew about the place. There was no point in Cohen trying any kind of big robbery. There was a limit to what anyone could carry. He might as well rob one peasant village and live like a king for the rest of his life. It wouldn’t be as if he’d need that much…
The “later” suddenly caught up with him, and he did indeed feel quite ashamed. These people had hardly anything, apart from loads of gold.
“Er. Thanks. Thank you. Yes. Just checking. Yes. You can all have it back now. I’ll…er…keep…the elderly grandmother…to run sideways…oh, damn… fish .”
Rincewind had always been on the bottom of the social heap. It didn’t matter what size heap it was. The top got higher or lower, but the bottom was always in the same place. But at least it was an Ankh-Morpork heap.
No one bowed to anyone in Ankh-Morpork. And anyone who tried what he’d just tried in Ankh-Morpork would, by now, be scrabbling in the gutter for his teeth and whimpering about the pain in his groin and his horse would already have been repainted twice and sold to a man who’d be swearing he’d owned it for years.
He felt oddly proud of the fact.
Something strange welled up from the
Rincewind would be the first to admit that he was a slow thinker. * But he’d been around long enough to spot the signs. These people weren’t paying him any attention because they didn’t see people on horseback.
They were probably descended from people who learned that if you look too hard at anyone on horseback you receive a sharp stinging sensation such as might be obtained by a stick around the ear. Not looking up at people on horseback had become hereditary. People who stared at people on horseback in what was considered to be a funny way never survived long enough to breed.
He decided to try an experiment. The next wheelbarrow that trundled past was carrying not mud but people, about half a dozen of them, on seats either side of the huge central wheel. The method of propulsion was secondarily by a small sail erected to catch the wind but primarily by that pre-eminent source of motive power in a peasant community, someone’s great-grandfather, or at least someone who looked like someone’s great-grandfather.
Cohen had said, “There’s men here who can push a wheelbarrow for thirty miles on a bowl of millet with a bit of scum in it. What does that tell you? It tells me someone’s porking all the beef.”
Rincewind decided to explore the social dynamics and also try out the language. It had been years since he’d last used it, but he had to admit that Ridcully had been right. He did have a gift for languages. Agatean was a language of few basic syllables. It was really all in the tone, inflection, and context. Otherwise, the word for military leader was also the word for long-tailed marmot, male sexual organ, and ancient chicken coop.
“Hey there, you!” he shouted. “Er…to bend bamboo? An expression of disapproval? Er…I mean…Stop!”
The barrow slewed to a halt. No one looked at him. They looked past him, or around him, or towards his feet.
Eventually the wheelbarrow-pusher, in the manner of a man who knows he’s in for it no matter what he does, mumbled, “Your honor commands?”
Rincewind felt very sorry, later, for what he said next.
He said, “Just give me all your food and…unwilling dogs, will you?”
They watched him impassively.
“Damn. I mean…arranged beetles?…variety of waterfall?…Oh, yes… money .”
There was a general fumbling and shifting among the passengers. Then the wheelbarrow-pusher sidled towards Rincewind, head down, and held up his hat. It contained some rice, some dried fish, a highly dangerous-looking egg. And about a pound of gold, in big round coins.
Rincewind stared at the gold.
Gold was as common as copper on the Counterweight Continent. That was one of the few things everyone knew about the place. There was no point in Cohen trying any kind of big robbery. There was a limit to what anyone could carry. He might as well rob one peasant village and live like a king for the rest of his life. It wouldn’t be as if he’d need that much…
The “later” suddenly caught up with him, and he did indeed feel quite ashamed. These people had hardly anything, apart from loads of gold.
“Er. Thanks. Thank you. Yes. Just checking. Yes. You can all have it back now. I’ll…er…keep…the elderly grandmother…to run sideways…oh, damn… fish .”
Rincewind had always been on the bottom of the social heap. It didn’t matter what size heap it was. The top got higher or lower, but the bottom was always in the same place. But at least it was an Ankh-Morpork heap.
No one bowed to anyone in Ankh-Morpork. And anyone who tried what he’d just tried in Ankh-Morpork would, by now, be scrabbling in the gutter for his teeth and whimpering about the pain in his groin and his horse would already have been repainted twice and sold to a man who’d be swearing he’d owned it for years.
He felt oddly proud of the fact.
Something strange welled up from the
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