"About how deep is the sea here, would you say? Approximately?" he said.

"About a dozen fathoms, I believe."

"Then I could probably swim about a dozen fathoms, whatever they are."

"Stop trembling like that, I nearly had your ear off," Conina snapped. She glared at a pa.s.sing seaman and waved her scissors. "What's the matter, you never saw a man have a haircut before?"

Someone up in the rigging made a remark which caused a ripple of ribald laughter in the topgallants, unless they were forecastles.

"I shall pretend I didn't hear that," said Conina, and gave the comb a savage yank, dislodging numerous inoffensive small creatures.

"Ow!"

"Well, you should keep still!"

"It's a little difficult to keep still knowing who it is that's waving a couple of steel blades around my head!"

And so the morning pa.s.sed, with scudding wavelets, the creaking of the rigging, and a rather complex layer cut. Rincewind had to admit, looking at himself in a shard of mirror, that there was a definite improvement.

The captain had said that they were bound for the city of Al Khali, on the hubward coast of Klatch.

"Like Ankh, only with sand instead of mud," said Rincewind, leaning over the rail. "But quite a good slave market."

"Slavery is immoral," said Conina firmly.

"Is it? Gosh," said Rincewind.

"Would you like me to trim your beard?" said Conina, hopefully.

She stopped, scissors drawn, and stared out to sea.

"Is there a kind of sailor that uses a canoe with sort of extra bits on the side and a sort of red eye painted on the front and a small sail?" she said.

"I've heard of Klatchian slave pirates," said Rincewind, "but this is a big boat. I shouldn't think one of them would dare attack it."

"One of them wouldn't," said Conina, still staring at the fuzzy area where the sea became the sky, "but these five might."

Rincewind peered at the distant haze, and then looked up at the man on watch, who shook his head.

"Come on," he chuckled, with all the humor of a blocked drain. "You can't really see anything out there. Can you?"

"Ten men in each canoe," said Conina grimly.

"Look, a joke's a joke-"

"With long curvy swords."

"Well, I can't see a-"

"-their long and rather dirty hair blowing in the wind-"

"With split ends, I expect?" said Rincewind sourly.

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"Me?"

"And here's me without a weapon," said Conina, sweeping back across the deck. "I bet there isn't a decent sword anywhere on this boat."

"Never mind. Perhaps they've just come for a quick shampoo."

While Conina rummaged frantically in her pack Rincewind sidled over to the Archchancellor's hatbox and cautiously raised the lid.

"There's nothing out there, is there?" he asked.

How should I know? Put me on.

"What? On my head?"

Good grief.

"But I'm not an Archchancellor!" said Rincewind. "I mean, I've heard of cool-headed, but-"

I need to use your eyes. Now put me on. On your head.

"Um."

Trust me.

Rincewind couldn't disobey. He gingerly removed his battered gray hat, looked longingly at its disheveled star, and lifted the Archchancellor's hat out of its box. It felt rather heavier than he'd expected. The octarines around the crown were glowing faintly.

He lowered it carefully onto his new hairstyle, clutching the brim tightly in case he felt the first icy chill.

In fact he simply felt incredibly light. And there was a feeling of great knowledge and power-not actually present, but just, mentally speaking, on the tip of his metaphorical tongue.

Odd sc.r.a.ps of memory flickered across his mind, and they weren't any memories he remembered remembering before. He probed gently, as one touches a hollow tooth with the tongue, and there they were- Two hundred dead Archchancellors, dwindling into the leaden, freezing past, one behind the other, watched him with blank gray eyes.

That's why it's so cold, he told himself, the warmth seeps into the dead world. Oh, no...

When the hat spoke, he saw two hundred pairs of pale lips move.

Who are you?

Rincewind, thought Rincewind. And in the inner recesses of his head he tried to think privately to himself...help.

He felt his knees begin to buckle under the weight of centuries.

What's it like, being dead? he thought.

Death is but a sleep, said the dead mages.

But what does it feel feel like? Rincewind thought. 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.

"G.o.ds, that was awful," he said. "Mind you, so is this."

Crew members scurried across the deck, cutla.s.ses in hand. Conina tapped Rincewind on the shoulder.

"They'll try to take us alive," she said.

"Oh," said Rincewind weakly. "Good."

Then he remembered something else about Klatchian slavers, and his throat went dry.

"You'll-you'll be the one they'll be after," he said. "I've heard about what they do-"

"Should I know?" said Conina. To Rincewind's horror she didn't appear to have found a weapon.

"They'll throw you in a seraglio!"

She shrugged. "Could be worse."

"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.

"That's not a seraglio. That's an Iron Maiden. Don't you know what a seraglio is?"

"Um..."

She told him. He went crimson.

"Anyway, they'll have to capture me first," said Conina primly. "It's you who should be worrying."

"Why me?"

"You're the only other one who's wearing a dress."

Rincewind bridled. "It's a robe-"

"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 ma.s.s of facial hair.

"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.

"Hah?" he insisted, making a mere single syllable do the work of a whole string of blood-congealing threats.

"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?"

"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.

"You gird quickly," he said. "Or no loins. Hah?"

Rincewind turned to Conina, who was leaning on the rail examining her fingernails.

"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."

"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 absolute silence, clubbing and dodging, avoiding the use of swords wherever possible.

"Musn'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 percent 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.

"What are you waiting for? Let's go while they're occupied," he said to Conina.

"I need a sword," she said.

"You'll be spoiled for choice in a minute."

"One will be enough."

Rincewind kicked the Luggage.

"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.

"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.

"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."

"A wizard? Wizards don't make good strong slaves," mused the leader.

"Absolutely right," said Rincewind. "So if you'll just see your way clear to letting me go-"

The leader turned back to Conina and signaled to one of his companions. He jerked a tattooed thumb toward Rincewind.

"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?"