Sourcery by Terry Pratchett Page B

wizardry you happen to be addressing.’
    â€˜You carry it, then,’ she said.
    â€˜Hey, look,’ said Rincewind, scrambling along after her as she swept down the alleys, crossed a narrow street and entered another alley between a couple of houses that leaned together so drunkenly that their upper storeys actually touched. She stopped.
    â€˜Well?’ she snapped.
    â€˜You’re the mystery thief, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘Everyone’s been talking about you, how you’ve taken things even from locked rooms and everything. You’re different than I imagined . . .’
    â€˜Oh?’ she said coldly. ‘How?’
    â€˜Well, you’re . . . shorter.’
    â€˜Oh, come on .’
    The street cressets, not particularly common in this part of the city in any case, gave out altogether here. There was nothing but watchful darkness ahead.
    â€˜I said come on,’ she repeated. ‘What are you afraid of?’
    Rincewind took a deep breath. ‘Murderers, muggers, thieves, assassins, pickpockets, cutpurses, reevers, snigsmen, rapists and robbers,’ he said. ‘That’s the Shades you’re going into!’ 8
    â€˜Yes, but people won’t come looking for us in here,’ she said.
    â€˜Oh, they’ll come in all right, they just won’t come out,’ said Rincewind. ‘Nor will we. I mean, a beautiful young woman like you . . . it doesn’t bear thinking about . . . I mean, some of the people in there . . .’
    â€˜But I’ll have you to protect me,’ she said.
    Rincewind thought he heard the sound of marching feet several streets away.
    â€˜You know,’ he sighed, ‘I knew you’d say that.’
    Down these mean streets a man must walk, he thought. And along some of them he will break into a run.
    It is so black in the Shades on this foggy spring night that it would be too dark to read about Rincewind’s progress through the eerie streets, so the descriptive passage will lift up above the level of the ornate rooftops, the forest of twisty chimneys, and admire the few twinkling stars that manage to pierce the swirling billows. It will try to ignore the sounds drifting up from below – the patter of feet, the rushes, the gristly noises, the groans, the muffled screams. It could be that some wild animal is pacing through the Shades after two weeks on a starvation diet.
    Somewhere near the centre of the Shades – the district has never been adequately mapped – is a small courtyard. Here at least there are torches on the walls, but the light they throw is the light of the Shades themselves: mean, reddened, dark at the core.
    Rincewind staggered into the yard and hung on to the wall for support. The girl stepped into the ruddy light behind him, humming to herself.
    â€˜Are you all right?’ she said.
    â€˜Nurrgh,’ said Rincewind.
    â€˜Sorry?’
    â€˜Those men,’ he bubbled, ‘I mean, the way you kicked his . . . when you grabbed them by the . . . when you stabbed that one right in . . . who are you?
    â€˜My name is Conina.’
    Rincewind looked at her blankly for some time.
    â€˜Sorry,’ he said, ‘doesn’t ring a bell.’
    â€˜I haven’t been here long,’ she said.
    â€˜Yes, I didn’t think you were from around these parts,’ he said. ‘I would have heard.’
    â€˜I’ve taken lodgings here. Shall we go in?’
    Rincewind glanced up at the dingy pole just visible in the smoky light of the spitting torches. It indicated that the hostelry behind the small dark door was the Troll’s Head.
    It might be thought that the Mended Drum, scene of unseemly scuffles only an hour ago, was a seedy disreputable tavern. In fact it was a reputable disreputable tavern. Its customers had a certain rough-hewn respectability – they might murder each other in an easygoing way, as between equals, but they didn’t do it vindictively.