Sourcery by Terry Pratchett Page B

absolute silence, clubbing and dodging, avoiding the use of swords wherever possible.
    â€˜Mustn’t damage the merchandise,’ said Conina. Rincewind watched in horror as the captain went down under a press of dark shapes, screaming, ‘Green fire! Green fire!’
    Rincewind backed away. He wasn’t any good at magic, but he’d had a hundred per cent success at staying alive up to now and didn’t want to spoil the record. All he needed to do was to learn how to swim in the time it took to dive into the sea. It was worth a try.
    â€˜What are you waiting for? Let’s go while they’re occupied,’ he said to Conina.
    â€˜I need a sword,’ she said.
    â€˜You’ll be spoilt for choice in a minute.’
    â€˜One will be enough.’
    Rincewind kicked the Luggage.
    â€˜Come on,’ he snarled. ‘You’ve got a lot of floating to do.’
    The Luggage extended its little legs with exaggerated nonchalance, turned slowly, and settled down beside the girl.
    â€˜Traitor,’ said Rincewind to its hinges.
    The battle already seemed to be over. Five of the raiders stalked up the ladder to the afterdeck, leaving most of their colleagues to round up the defeated crew below. The leader pulled down his mask and leered briefly and swarthily at Conina; and then he turned and leered for a slightly longer period at Rincewind.
    â€˜This is a robe,’ said Rincewind quickly. ‘And you’d better watch out, because I’m a wizard.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Lay a finger on me, and you’ll make me wish you hadn’t. I warn you.’
    â€˜A wizard? Wizards don’t make good strong slaves,’ mused the leader.
    â€˜Absolutely right,’ said Rincewind. ‘So if you’ll just see your way clear to letting me go—’
    The leader turned back to Conina, and signalled to one of his companions. He jerked a tattooed thumb towards Rincewind.
    â€˜Do not kill him too quickly. In fact—’ he paused, and treated Rincewind to a smile full of teeth. ‘Maybe . . . yes. And why not? Can you sing, wizard?’
    â€˜I might be able to,’ said Rincewind, cautiously. ‘Why?’
    â€˜You could be just the man the Seriph needs for a job in the harem.’ A couple of slavers sniggered.
    â€˜It could be a unique opportunity,’ the leader went on, encouraged by this audience appreciation. There was more broad-minded approval from behind him.
    Rincewind backed away. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, ‘thanks all the same. I’m not cut out for that kind of thing.’
    â€˜Oh, but you could be,’ said the leader, his eyes bright. ‘You could be.’
    â€˜Oh, for goodness sake,’ muttered Conina. She glanced at the men on either side of her, and then her hands moved. The one stabbed with the scissors was possibly better off than the one she raked with the comb, given the kind of mess a steel comb can make of a face. Then she reached down, snatched up a sword dropped by one of the stricken men, and lunged at the other two.
    The leader turned at the screams, and saw the Luggage behind him with its lid open. And then Rincewind cannoned into the back of him, pitching him forward into whatever oblivion lay in the multi-dimensional depths of the chest.
    There was the start of a bellow, abruptly cut off.
    Then there was a click like the shooting of the bolt on the gates of Hell.
    Rincewind backed away, trembling. ‘A unique opportunity,’ he muttered under his breath, having just got the reference.
    At least he had a unique opportunity to watch Conina fight. Not many men ever got to see it twice.
    Her opponents started off grinning at the temerity of a slight young girl in attacking them, and then rapidly passed through various stages of puzzlement, doubt, concern and abject gibbering terror as they apparently became the centre of a flashing, tightening circle of steel.
    She disposed