Book 5 - Page 42 (1/2)

Although it has nothing much to do with the story, it is an interesting fact that, about five hundred miles away, a small flock, or rather in this case a herd, of birds were picking their way cautiously through the trees. They had heads like a flamingo, bodies like a turkey, and legs like a Sumo wrestler; they walked in a jerky, bobbing fas.h.i.+on, as though their heads were attached to their feet by elastic bands. They belonged to a species unique even among Disc fauna, in that their prime means of defence was to cause a predator to laugh so much that they could run away before it recovered. Rincewind would have been vaguely satisfied to know that they were geas.

Custom was slow in the Mended Drum. The troll chained to the doorpost sat in the shade and reflectively picked someone out of his teeth.

Creosote was singing softly to himself. He had discovered beer and wasn’t having to pay for it, because the coinage of compliments - rarely employed by the swains of Ankh - was having an astonis.h.i.+ng effect on the landlord’s daughter. She was a large, good-natured girl, with a figure that was the colour and, not to put too fine a point on it, the same shape as unbaked bread. She was intrigued. No-one had ever referred to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as jewelled melons before.

Absolutely,’ said the Seriph, sliding peacefully off his bench, ‘no doubt about it.’ Either the big yellow sort or the small green ones with huge warty veins, he told himself virtuously.

‘And what was that about my hair?’ she said encouragingly, hauling him back and refilling his gla.s.s.

‘Oh.’ The Seriph’s brow wrinkled. ‘Like a goat of flocks that grazes on the slopes of Mount Wossname, and no mistake. And as for your ears,’ he added quickly, ‘no pink-hued sh.e.l.ls that grace the sea-kissed sands of-’

‘Exactly how like a flock of goats?’ she said.

The Seriph hesitated. He’d always considered it one of his best lines. Now it was meeting Ankh-Morpork’s famous literal-mindedness head-on for the first time. Strangely enough, he felt rather impressed.

‘I mean, in size, shape or smell?’ she went on.

‘I think,’ said the Seriph, ‘that perhaps the phrase I had in mind was exactly not like a flog of gits.’

‘Ah?’ The girl pulled the flagon towards her.

And I think perhaps I would like another drink,’ he said indistinctly, ‘and then - and then-’ He looked sideways at the girl, and took the plunge. Are you much of a raconteur?’

‘What?’

He licked his suddenly dry lips. ‘I mean, do you know many stories?’ he croaked.

‘Oh, yes. Lots.’

‘Lots?’ whispered Creosote. Most of his concubines only knew the same old one or two.

‘Hundreds. Why, do you want to hear one?’

‘What, now?’

‘If you like. It’s not very busy in here.’