More fanfic I promised I would not write.
Not long ago, Sir Robert of somewhere near Scrope arrived in Ankh Morpork, and was assaulted by an orang-utan. He amazed the watch by being able to leave at all, and has found himself at large. Now Read On...
Nodger Sykes, the famous jewel thief, was watching the shop of the dwarf artificer Humboldt Cummerbundaxe. This was easy, as the shop itself did not move, but nevertheless, he watched the building and not the people going in or out. A proper dwarven workshop had good stonework, and plenty of vents. He looked to his companion, a big man too simple to be bored by the waiting. "If you can pull out the hatch cover, I can do the rest," he said certainly.
His companion ignored him, and Nodger was bright enough to follow the direction of his gaze. When a Hublander stares, screams get pencilled onto the agenda.
A man in bloodstained armour was riding towards the workshop, holding one hand to his side like he was wounded there. "Just a mercenary," said Nodger, and then froze. The man had reined in his horse and was looking directly at the pair who should have been hidden in the deepest shadows that could be provided by the winter sun and the cheerful Morporkian distrust of anything resembling a building code.
"He hasn't seen us," said Nodger without moving his lips. "He's just bluffing."
"Eyy, you two," came a thickly accented voice. "I'm lukin' fer a place to set me head while I sleep." Beside him, Nodger's companion lifted his massive head and tilted it thoughtfully, then stepped forward. Nodger muttered a word that was too ashamed of its parentage to be heard out loud, and let the two muscle-bound idiots approach each other.
"I'm Sir Robert of Chester," said the one on horseback. "You might have heard of me."
"Mjight," admitted the other. "Mjight nott. Hrun."
"The barbarian?" said Robert as his eyes widened. "I'm your biggest fan!"
* * *
Hrun and Robert sat in the darkest corner of the Ink and Pen, drinking the local beer.
"This isn't bad," said Robert after a precautionary sip. "Tha can't 'ardly taste the 'orse-piss."
"Mjind jou don't leak," said Hrun innocently. His brain was too simple to make it into a pun*.
Robert looked down at the matted blood on his clothes. "I don't understand that. I en't drunk enough to feel better yit, but I want ter tek on the world."
"Narrative causality," rumbled Hrun. Robert looked at him.
"Thawhat?"
"Narrative Causality. Jou are a hero ljike me. Heros only die when it makes a gudd saga."
"Oh. And, erh, someone who comes to rely on that instead of chirurgery?"
"In Ankj Morporke? They arje ahead of the game."
"Heh. So, these rules about when someone can be a hero and when he can't? I feel a pressing need to speak to a man about 'is whippet, an' if I stand up?"
"Trjy jt."
Hrun watched as Sir Robert stood up carefully, declared, "Alright so far," and passed out in a neat pile on the floor. He looked down at the unconscious form, and slow-moving neurones collided.
"Hublander," he decided out loud. "One of the pansy ones."
---
* With two men in leather and metal at table, it had potential as a straight line.
Nodger Sykes, the famous jewel thief, was watching the shop of the dwarf artificer Humboldt Cummerbundaxe. This was easy, as the shop itself did not move, but nevertheless, he watched the building and not the people going in or out. A proper dwarven workshop had good stonework, and plenty of vents. He looked to his companion, a big man too simple to be bored by the waiting. "If you can pull out the hatch cover, I can do the rest," he said certainly.
His companion ignored him, and Nodger was bright enough to follow the direction of his gaze. When a Hublander stares, screams get pencilled onto the agenda.
A man in bloodstained armour was riding towards the workshop, holding one hand to his side like he was wounded there. "Just a mercenary," said Nodger, and then froze. The man had reined in his horse and was looking directly at the pair who should have been hidden in the deepest shadows that could be provided by the winter sun and the cheerful Morporkian distrust of anything resembling a building code.
"He hasn't seen us," said Nodger without moving his lips. "He's just bluffing."
"Eyy, you two," came a thickly accented voice. "I'm lukin' fer a place to set me head while I sleep." Beside him, Nodger's companion lifted his massive head and tilted it thoughtfully, then stepped forward. Nodger muttered a word that was too ashamed of its parentage to be heard out loud, and let the two muscle-bound idiots approach each other.
"I'm Sir Robert of Chester," said the one on horseback. "You might have heard of me."
"Mjight," admitted the other. "Mjight nott. Hrun."
"The barbarian?" said Robert as his eyes widened. "I'm your biggest fan!"
* * *
Hrun and Robert sat in the darkest corner of the Ink and Pen, drinking the local beer.
"This isn't bad," said Robert after a precautionary sip. "Tha can't 'ardly taste the 'orse-piss."
"Mjind jou don't leak," said Hrun innocently. His brain was too simple to make it into a pun*.
Robert looked down at the matted blood on his clothes. "I don't understand that. I en't drunk enough to feel better yit, but I want ter tek on the world."
"Narrative causality," rumbled Hrun. Robert looked at him.
"Thawhat?"
"Narrative Causality. Jou are a hero ljike me. Heros only die when it makes a gudd saga."
"Oh. And, erh, someone who comes to rely on that instead of chirurgery?"
"In Ankj Morporke? They arje ahead of the game."
"Heh. So, these rules about when someone can be a hero and when he can't? I feel a pressing need to speak to a man about 'is whippet, an' if I stand up?"
"Trjy jt."
Hrun watched as Sir Robert stood up carefully, declared, "Alright so far," and passed out in a neat pile on the floor. He looked down at the unconscious form, and slow-moving neurones collided.
"Hublander," he decided out loud. "One of the pansy ones."
---
* With two men in leather and metal at table, it had potential as a straight line.