'He did?'

'And you gave him whole meat, even though Four Big Sandal is only of the pung class.'

'I did?'

'And you have your hat.'

'Yes, yes, got my hat.'

'And yet,' said the girl, 'you don't look like a Great Wizard.'

'Ah. Well, the fact is—'

The girl looked as fragile as a flower. But she had just pulled out, from somewhere in the folds of her costume, a small but perfectly serviceable knife.

Rincewind had picked up an instinct for this sort or thing. This was probably not the time to deny Great Wizardry.

'The fact is...' he repeated, 'that....ow do I know I can trust you?'

The girl looked indignant. 'Do you not have amazing wizardly powers?'

'Oh, yes. Yes! Certainly! But—'

'Say something in wizard language!'

'Er. Stercus, stercus, stercus, moriturus sum,' said Rincewind, his eye on the knife.

' "O excrement, I am about to die?" '

'It's... er... a special mantra I say to raise the magical fluxes.'

The girl subsided a little.

'But it takes it out of you, wizarding,' said Rincewind. 'Flying on dragons, magically turning old mer into warriors... I can only do so much of that sort of thing before it's time for a rest. Right now I'm very weak on account of the tremendous amounts of magic I've just used, you see.'

She looked at him with doubt still in her eyes.

'All the peasants believe in the imminent arrival of the Great Wizard,' she said. 'But, in the words of the great philosopher Ly Tin Wheedle, "When many expect a mighty stallion they will find hooves on an ant." '

She gave him another calculating look.

'When you were on the road,' she said, 'you grovelled in front of District Commissioner Kee. You could have blasted him with terrible fire.'

Biding my time, spying out the land, not wanting to break my cover,' Rincewind gabbled. 'Er. No good revealing myself straight away, is there?'

'You are maintaining a disguise?'

'Yes.'

'It is a very good one.'

'Thank you, because—'

'Only a great wizard would dare to look like such a pathetic piece of humanity.'

'Thank you. Er... how did you know I was on the road?'

'They would have killed you there and then if I had not told you what to do.'

'You were the guard?'

'We had to catch up with you quickly. It was sheer luck you were seen by Four Big Sandal.'

'We?'

She ignored the question. 'They are only provincial soldiers. I would not have got away with it in Hung-hung. But I can play many roles.' She put away the knife, but Rincewind had a feeling that he hadn't talked her into believing him, only into not killing him.

He groped for a straw.

'I've got a magic box on legs,' he said, with a touch of pride. 'It follows me around. It seems to have got itself mislaid right now, but it's quite an amazing thing.'

The girl gave him a wooden look. Then she reached down with a delicate hand and hauled him upright.

'Is it,' she said, 'something like this?'

She twitched aside the curtains at the rear of the cart.

Two boxes were trundling along in the dust. They were more battered and cheaper looking than the Luggage, but recognizably the same general species, if you could apply the word to travel accessories.

'Er. Yes.'

She let go. Rincewind's head hit the floor.

'Listen to me,' she said. 'A lot of bad things are happening. I don't believe in great wizards, but other people do, and sometimes people need something to believe in. And if these other people die because we've got a wizard who is not so very great, then he will be a very unlucky wizard indeed. You may be the Great Wizard. If you are not, then I suggest you study very hard to be great. Do I make myself clear?'

'Er. Yes.'

Rincewind had been faced with death on numerous occasions. Often there was armour and swords involved. This occasion just involved a pretty girl and a knife, but somehow managed to be among the worst. She sat back.

'We are a travelling theatre,' she said. 'It is convenient. Noh actors are allowed to move around.'

'Aren't they?' said Rincewind.

'You do not understand. We are Noh actors.'

'Oh, you weren't too bad.'

'Great Wizard, "Noh" is a non-realist symbolic form of theatre employing archaic language, stylized gestures and an accompaniment of flutes and drums. Your pretence of stupidity is masterly. So much so that I could even believe that you are no actor.'

'Excuse me, what is your name?' Rincewind said.

'Pretty Butterfly.'

'Er. Yes?'

She glared at him and slipped away towards the front of the cart.

It rumbled on. Rincewind lay with his head in a sack smelling of onions and methodically cursed things. He cursed women with knives, and history generally, and the entire faculty of Unseen University, and his absent Luggage, and the population of the Agatean Empire. But right now, at the top of the list, was whoever had designed this cart. By the feel of it, whoever had thought that rough, splintery wood was the right surface for a floor was also the person who thought 'triangular' was a nice shape for a wheel.

The Luggage lurked in a ditch, watched without much interest by a man holding a water buffalo on the end of a piece of string.

It was feeling ashamed, and baffled, and lost. It was lost because everywhere around it was... familiar. The light, the smells, the feel of the soil... But it didn't feel owned.

It was made of wood. Wood is sensitive to these things.

One of its many feet idly traced an outline in the mud. It was a random, wretched pattern familiar to anyone who's had to stand in front of the class and be scolded.

Finally, it reached something that was probably as close as timber can get to a decision.

It had been given away. It had spent many years trailing through strange lands, meeting exotic creatures and jumping up and down on them. Now it was back in the country where it had once been a tree. Therefore, it was free.

It was not the most logical chain of thought, but pretty good when all you've got to think with are knotholes.

And there was something it very much wanted to do.

'When you're ready, Teach?'

'Sorry, Ghenghiz. I'm just finishing...' Cohen sighed. The Horde were taking advantage of the rest to sit in the shade of a tree and tell one another lies about their exploits, while Mr Saveloy stood on top of a boulder squinting through some kind of home-made device and doodling on his maps.

Bits of paper ruled the world now, Cohen told himself. It certainly ruled this part of it. And Teach... well, Teach ruled bits of paper. He might not be traditional barbarian hero material, despite his deeply held belief that all headmasters should be riveted to a cowshed door, but the man was amazing with bits of paper.

And he could speak Agatean. Well, speak it better than Cohen, who'd picked it up in a rough and ready way. He said he'd learned it out of some old book. He said it was amazing how much interesting stuff was in old books.

Cohen struggled up alongside him.

'What exactly you plannin', Teach?' he said.

Mr Saveloy squinted at Hunghung, just visible on the dusty horizon.

'Do you see that hill behind the city?' he said. 'The huge round mound?'

'Looks like my dad's burial mound to me,' said Cohen.

'No, it must be a natural formation. It's far too big. There's some kind of pagoda on top, I see. Interesting. Perhaps, later, I shall take a closer look.'

Cohen peered at the big round hill. It was a big round hill. It wasn't threatening him and it didn't look valuable. End of saga as far as he was concerned. There were more pressing matters.

'People appear to be entering and leaving the outer city,' Mr Saveloy continued. 'The siege is more a threat than a reality. So getting inside should not be a problem. Of course, getting into the Forbidden City itself will be a lot more difficult.'