There was a brief cry of 'Oooooohhhhshhhhhh—' which ended abruptly, and this was probably just as well.

The first thing that struck Rincewind when he appeared on the Counterweight Continent was a cold sensation.'

The next things, in order of the direction of travel, were: a surprised man with a sword, another man with a sword, a third man who'd dropped his sword and was trying to run away, two other men who were less alert and didn't even see him, a small tree, about fifty yards of stunted undergrowth, a snowdrift, a bigger snowdrift, a few rocks, and one more and quite final snowdrift.

Ridcully looked at Ponder Stibbons.

'Well, he's gone,' he said. 'But aren't we supposed to get something back?'

'I'm not sure the transit time is instantaneous,' said Ponder.

'You've got to allow for zooming-through-the-occult-dimensions time?'

'Something like that. According to Hex, we might have to wait several—'

Something appeared in the octagon with a 'pop', exactly where Rincewind had been, and rolled a few inches.

It did, at least, have four small wheels such as might carry a cart. But these weren't workmanlike wheels; these were mere discs such as may be put on something heavy for those rare occasions it needs to be moved.

Above the wheels things became rather more interesting.

There was a large round cylinder, like a barrel on its side. A considerable amount of effort had been put into its construction; large amounts of brass had gone into making it look like a very large, fat dog with its mouth open. A minor feature was a length of string, which was smoking and hissing because it was on fire.

It didn't do anything dangerous. It just sat there, while the smouldering string slowly got shorter.

The wizards gathered round.

'Looks pretty heavy,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

'A statue of a dog with a big mouth,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. That's rather dull.'

'Bit of a lap-dog, too,' said Ridcully.

'Lot of work gone into it,' said the Dean. 'Can't imagine why anyone'd want to set fire to it.'

Ridcully poked his head into the wide tube.

'Some kind of big round ball in here,' he said, his voice echoing a little. 'Someone pass me a staff or something. I'll see if I can wiggle it out.'

Ponder was staring at the fizzing string.

'Er,' he said, 'I... er... think we should all just step away from it, Archchancellor. Er. We should all just step back, yes, step back a little way. Er.'

'Hah, yes, really? So much for research,' said Ridcully. 'You don't mind messing around with cogwheels and ants but when it comes to really trying to find out how things work and—'

'Getting your hands dirty,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

'Yes, getting your hands dirty, you come over all shy.'

'It's not that, Archchancellor,' said Ponder. 'But I believe it may be dangerous.'

'I think I'm working it loose,' said Ridcully, poking in the depths of the tube. 'Come on, you fellows, tip the thing up a bit...'

Ponder took a few more steps back. 'Er, I really don't think—' he began.

'Don't think, eh? Call yourself a wizard and you don't think? Blast! I've got my staff wedged now! That's what comes of listening to you when I should have been paying attention, Mr Stibbons.'

Ponder heard a scuffling behind him. The Librarian, with an animal's instinct for danger and a human's instinct for trouble, had upturned a table and was peering over the top of it with a small cauldron on his head, the handle under one of his chins like a strap.

'Archchancellor, I really do think—'

'Oh, you think, do you? Did anyone tell you it's your job to think? Ow! It's got my fingers now, thanks to you!'

It needed all Ponder's courage to say, 'I think... it might perhaps be some kind of firework, sir.'

The wizards turned their attention to the fizzling string.

'What... coloured lights, stars, that sort of thing?' said Ridcully.

'Possibly, sir.'

'Must be planning a hell of a display. Apparently they're very keen on firecrackers, over in the Empire.' Ridcully spoke in the tone of voice of a man over whom the thought is slowly stealing that he just might have done something very silly.

'Would you like me to extinguish the string, sir?' said Ponder.

'Yes, dear boy, why not? Good idea. Good thinking, that man.'

Ponder stepped forward and pinched the string.

'I do hope we haven't ruined something,' he said.

Rincewind opened his eyes.

This was not cool sheets. It was white, and it was cold, but it lacked basic sheetness. It made up for this by having vast amounts of snowosity.

And a groove. A long groove.

Let's see now... He could remember the sensation of movement. And he vaguely remembered something small but incredibly /leauy-looking roaring past in the opposite direction. And then he was here, moving so fast that his feet left this...

... groove. Yes, groove, he thought, in the easy-going way of the mildly concussed. With people lying around it groaning.

But they looked like people who, once they'd stopped crawling around groaning, were going to draw the swords they had about their persons and pay detailed attention to serious bits.

He stood up, a little shakily. There didn't seem to be anywhere to run to. There was just this wide, snowy waste with a border of mountains.

The soldiers were definitely looking a lot more conscious. Rincewind sighed. A few hours ago he'd been sitting on a warm beach with young women about to offer him potatoes, and here he was on a windswept, chilly plain with some large men about to offerr him violence.

The soles of his shoes, he noticed, were steaming.

And then someone said, 'Hey! Are you... you're not, are you... are you... whatsyername... Rincewind, isn't it?'

Rincewind turned.

There was a very old man behind him. Despite the bitter wind he was wearing nothing except a leather lioncloth and a grubby beard so long that the loincloth wasn't really necessary, at least from the point of view of decency. His legs were blue from the cold and his nose was red from the wind, giving him overall quite a patriotic look if you were from the right country. He had a patch over one eye but rather more notable than that were his teeth. They glittered.

'Don't stand there gawping like a big gawper! Get these damn things off me!'

There were heavy shackles around his ankles and wrists; a chain led to a group of more or less similarly clad men who were huddling in a crowd and watching Rincewind in terror.

'Heh! They think you're some kind of demon,' cackled the old man. 'But I knows a wizard when I sees one! That bastard over there's got the keys. Go and give him a good kicking.'

Rincewind took a few hesitant steps towards a recumbent guard and snatched at his belt.

'Right,' said the old man, 'now chuck 'em over here. And then get out of the way.'

'Why?'

' 'Cos you don't want to get blood all over you.'

'But you haven't got a weapon and there's one of you and they've got big swords and there's five of them!'

'I know,' said the old man, wrapping the chain around one of his fists in a businesslike manner. 'It's unfair, but I can't wait around all day.'

He grinned.

Gems glittered in the morning light. Every tooth in the man's head was a diamond. And Rincewind knew of only one man who had the nerve to wear troll teeth.

'Here? Cohen the Barbarian?'

'Ssh! Ingconitar! Now get out of the way, I said.' The teeth flashed at the guards, who were now vertical. 'Come on, boys. There's five of you, after all. An' I'm an old man. Mumble, mumble, oo me leg, ekcetra...'

To their credit, the guards hesitated. It was probably not, to judge from their faces, because there's something reprehensible about five large, heavily be-weaponed men attacking a frail old man. It might have been because there's something odd about a frail old man who keeps on grinning in the face of obvious oblivion.