Interesting Times: A Novel of Discworld
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
"May you live in interesting times" is the worst thing one can wish on a citizen of Discworld—especially on the distinctly unmagical sorcerer Rincewind, who has had far too much perilous excitement in his life. But when a request for a "Great Wizzard" arrives in Ankh-Morpork via carrier albatross from the faraway Counterweight Continent, it's he who's sent as emissary. Chaos threatens to follow the impending demise of the Agatean Empire's current ruler. And, for some incomprehensible reason, someone believes Rincewind will have a mythic role in the war and wholesale bloodletting that will surely ensue. (Carnage is pretty much a given, since Cohen the Barbarian and his extremely elderly Silver Horde are busily formulating their own plan for looting, pillaging, and, er, looking wistfully at girls.) However, Rincewind firmly believes there are too many heroes already in the world, yet only one Rincewind. And he owes it to the world to keep that one alive for as long as possible.
it’s gibbons,’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. ‘No, gibbons are the ones that hoot. It’s baboons if you want to see bottoms.’ ‘Well, he’s never shown me one,’ said the Archchancellor. ‘Hah, well, he wouldn’t, would he?’ said a voice from the chandelier. ‘Not with you being dominant male and everything.’ ‘Two Chairs, you come down here this minute!’ ‘I seem to be entangled, Mustrum. A candle is giving me some difficulty.’ ‘Hah!’ Rincewind shook his head and wandered away. There had
it open and, hey, there was coconut inside. That was the kind of surprise he liked. He pushed open a door. The place inside had been his room. It was a mess. There was a large and battered wardrobe, and that was about the end of it as far as proper furniture was concerned unless you wanted to broaden the term to include a wicker chair with no bottom and three legs and a mattress so full of the life that inhabits mattresses that it occasionally moved sluggishly around the floor, bumping into
sure you all know this.’ There was a snore from the Chair of Indefinite Studies, who was suddenly giving a lecture in room 3B. Rincewind was grinning. At least, his mouth had gaped open and his teeth were showing. ‘Er, excuse me,’ he said. ‘I don’t remember anyone saying anything about being sm—’ ‘Of course,’ said Ponder, ‘the subject would not, er, actually experience this—’ ‘Oh.’ ‘—as far as we know—’ ‘What?’ ‘—although it is theoretically possible for the psyche to remain present—’
Great Wizard arrived, o lord. Up in the mountains. Riding on a dragon of wind. Or so they say,’ the messenger added quickly, aware of Lord Hong’s views about superstition. ‘Good. But? I assume there is a but.’ ‘Er . . . one of the Barking Dogs has been lost. The new batch? That you commanded should be tested? We don’t quite . . . that is to say . . . we think Captain Three High Trees was ambushed, perhaps . . . our information is somewhat confused . . . the, um, the informant says the Great
Rincewind had met him a few times before, generally while running away from something. Cohen didn’t bother overmuch with questions. As far as Cohen was concerned, people appeared, people disappeared. After a five-year gap he’d just say, ‘Oh, it’s you.’ He never added, ‘And how are you?’ You were alive, you were upright, and beyond that he didn’t give a damn. It was a lot warmer beyond the mountains. To Rincewind’s relief a spare horse didn’t have to be eaten because a leopardly sort of creature