Interesting Times Read Online Free PDF

operating by reflex action.
    “Er. What have I just eaten?”
    “Er. Three of Mr. Dibbler’s finest sausages,” said Ridcully. “Well, when I say finest, I mean ‘most typical,’ don’tcheknow.”
    “I see. And who just hit me?”
    “Thieves’ Guild apprentices out trainin’.”
    Rincewind blinked. “This is Ankh-Morpork, isn’t it?”
    “Yes.”
    “I thought so.” Rincewind blinked, slowly. “Well,” he said, just as he fell forward, “I’m back.”

    Lord Hong was flying a kite. It was something he did perfectly.
    Lord Hong did everything perfectly. His watercolors were perfect. His poetry was perfect. When he folded paper, every crease was perfect. Imaginative, original, and definitely perfect. Lord Hong had long ago ceased pursuing perfection because he already had it nailed up in a dungeon somewhere.
    Lord Hong was twenty-six, and thin, and handsome. He wore very small, very circular steel-rimmed spectacles. When asked to describe him, people often used the word “smooth” or even “lacquered.” * And he had risen to the leadership of one of the most influential families in the Empire by relentless application, total focusing of his mental powers, and six well-executed deaths. The last one had been that of his father, who’d died happy in the knowledge that his son was maintaining an old family tradition. The senior families venerated their ancestors, and saw no harm in prematurely adding to their number.
    And now his kite, the black kite with the two big eyes, plunged out of the sky. He’d calculated the angle, needless to say, perfectly. Its string, coated with glue and ground glass, sawed through those of his fellow contestants and sent their kites tumbling.
    There was genteel applause from the bystanders. People generally found it advisable to applaud Lord Hong.
    He handed the string to a servant, nodded curtly at the fellow flyers, and strode towards his tent.
    Once inside, he sat down and looked at his visitor. “Well?” he said.
    “We sent the message,” said the visitor. “No one saw us.”
    “On the contrary,” said Lord Hong. “Twenty people saw you. Do you know how hard it is for a guard to look straight ahead and see nothing when people are creeping around making a noise like an army and whispering to one another to be quiet? Frankly, your people do not seem to possess that revolutionary spark. What is the matter with your hand?”
    “The albatross bit it.”
    Lord Hong smiled. It occurred to him that it might have mistaken his visitor for an anchovy, and with some justification. There was the same fishy look about the eyes.
    “I don’t understand, o lord,” said the visitor, whose name was Two Fire Herb.
    “Good.”
    “But they believe in the Great Wizzard and you want him to come here?”
    “Oh, certainly. I have my…people in”—he tried the alien syllables—“Ankh-More-Pork. The one so foolishly called the Great Wizzard does exist. But, I might tell you, he is renowned for being incompetent, cowardly, and spineless. Quite proverbially so. So I think the Red Army should have their leader, don’t you? It will…raise their morale.”
    He smiled again. “This is politics,” he said.
    “Ah.”
    “Now go.”
    Lord Hong picked up a book as his visitor left. But it was hardly a real book; pieces of paper had simply been fastened together with string, and the text was handwritten.
    He’d read it many times before. It still amused him, mainly because the author had managed to be wrong about so many things.
    Now, every time he finished a page, he ripped it out and, while reading the next page, carefully folded the paper into the shape of a chrysanthemum.
    “Great Wizard,” he said, aloud. “Oh, indeed. Very great.”

    Rincewind awoke. There were clean sheets and no one was saying “Go through his pockets,” so he chalked that up as a promising beginning.
    He kept his eyes shut, just in case there was anyone around who, once he was seen to be awake, would