Sourcery by Terry Pratchett Page A

centuries.
    What’s it like, being dead? he thought.
    Death is but a sleep , said the dead mages.
    But what does it feel like? Rincewind thought.
    You will have an unrivalled chance to find out when those war canoes get here, Rincewind .
    With a yelp of terror he thrust upwards and forced the hat off his head. Real life and sound flooded back in, but since someone was frantically banging a gong very close to his ear this was not much of an improvement. The canoes were visible to everyone now, cutting through the water with an eerie silence. Those black-clad figures manning the paddles should have been whooping and screaming; it wouldn’t have made it any better, but it would have seemed more appropriate. The silence bespoke an unpleasant air of purpose.
    â€˜Gods, that was awful,’ he said. ‘Mind you, so is this.’
    Crew members scurried across the deck, cutlasses in hand. Conina tapped Rincewind on the shoulder.
    â€˜They’ll try to take us alive,’ she said.
    â€˜Oh,’ said Rincewind weakly. ‘Good.’
    Then he remembered something else about Klatchian slavers, and his throat went dry.
    â€˜You’ll – you’ll be the one they’ll really be after,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard about what they do—’
    â€˜Should I know?’ said Conina. To Rincewind’s horror she didn’t appear to have found a weapon.
    â€˜They’ll throw you in a seraglio!’
    She shrugged. ‘Could be worse.’
    â€˜But it’s got all these spikes and when they shut the door—’ hazarded Rincewind. The canoes were close enough now to see the determined expressions of the rowers.
    â€˜That’s not a seraglio. That’s an Iron Maiden. Don’t you know what a seraglio is?’
    â€˜Um...’
    She told him. He went crimson.
    â€˜Anyway, they’ll have to capture me first,’ said Conina primly. ‘It’s you who should be worrying.’
    â€˜Why me?’
    â€˜You’re the only other one who’s wearing a dress.’
    Rincewind bridled. ‘It’s a robe—’
    â€˜Robe, dress. You better hope they know the difference.’
    A hand like a bunch of bananas with rings on grabbed Rincewind’s shoulder and spun him around. The captain, a Hublander built on generous bear-like lines, beamed at him through a mass of facial hair.
    â€˜Hah!’ he said. ‘They know not that we aboard a wizard have! To create in their bellies the burning green fire! Hah?’
    The dark forests of his eyebrows wrinkled as it became apparent that Rincewind wasn’t immediately ready to hurl vengeful magic at the invaders.
    â€˜Hah?’ he insisted, making a mere single syllable do the work of a whole string of blood-congealing threats.
    â€˜Yes, well, I’m just – I’m just girding my loins,’ said Rincewind. ‘That’s what I’m doing. Girding them. Green fire, you want?’
    â€˜Also to make hot lead run in their bones,’ said the captain. ‘Also their skins to blister and living scorpions without mercy to eat their brains from inside, and—’
    The leading canoe came alongside and a couple of grapnels thudded into the rail. As the first of the slavers appeared the captain hurried away, drawing his sword. He stopped for a moment and turned to Rincewind.
    â€˜You gird quickly,’ he said. ‘Or no loins. Hah?’
    Rincewind turned to Conina, who was leaning on the rail examining her fingernails.
    â€˜You’d better get on with it,’ she said. ‘That’s fifty green fires and hot leads to go, with a side order for blisters and scorpions. Hold the mercy.’
    â€˜This sort of thing is always happening to me,’ he moaned.
    He peered over the rail to what he thought of as the main floor of the boat. The invaders were winning by sheer weight of numbers, using nets and ropes to tangle the struggling crew. They worked in