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of… surprise —”
    Ten seconds later he turned to Rincewind.
    “All right, Mister Wizard. You can open your eyes now.”
    One guard was upside-down in a tree, one was a pair of feet sticking out of a snowdrift, two were slumped against rocks, and one was…generally around the place. Here and there. Certainly hanging out.
    Cohen sucked his wrist thoughtfully.
    “I reckon that last one came within an inch of getting me,” he said. “I must be getting old.”
    “Why are you h—” Rincewind paused. One packet of curiosity overtook the first one. “How old are you, exactly?”
    “Is this still the Century of the Fruitbat?”
    “Yes.”
    “Oh, I dunno. Ninety? Could be ninety. Maybe ninety-five?” Cohen fished the keys out of the snow and ambled over to the group of men, who were cowering even more. He unlocked the first set of manacles and handed the shocked prisoner the keys.
    “Bugger off, the lot of you,” he said, not unkindly. “And don’t get caught again.”
    He strolled back to Rincewind.
    “What brings you into this dump, then?”
    “Well—”
    “Interestin’,” said Cohen, and that was that. “But can’t stay chatting all day, got work to do. You coming, or what?”
    “What?”
    “Please yourself.” Cohen tied the chain around his waist as a makeshift belt and wedged a couple of swords in it.
    “Incidentally,” he said, “what did you do with the Barking Dog?”
    “What dog?”
    “I expect it doesn’t matter.”
    Rincewind scuttled after the retreating figure. It wasn’t that he felt safe when Cohen the Barbarian was around. No one was safe when Cohen the Barbarian was around. Something seemed to have gone wrong with the ageing process there. Cohen had always been a barbarian hero because barbaric heroing was all he knew how to do. And while he got old he seemed to get harder, like oak.
    But he was a known figure, and therefore comforting. He just wasn’t in the right place.
    “No future in it, back around the Ramtops,” said Cohen, as they trudged through the snow. “Fences and farms, fences and farms everywhere . You kill a dragon these days, people complain . You know what? You know what happened?”
    “No. What happened?”
    “Man came up to me, said my teeth were offensive to trolls. What about that, eh?”
    “Well, they are made of—”
    “I said they never complained to me .”
    “Er, did you ever give them a cha—”
    “I said, I see a troll up in the mountains with a necklace o’ human skulls, I say good luck to him. Silicon Anti-Defamation League, my bottom. It’s the same all over. So I thought I’d try my luck the other side of the icecap.”
    “Isn’t it dangerous, going around the Hub?” said Rincewind.
    “Used to be,” said Cohen, grinning horribly.
    “Until you left, you mean?”
    “’S right. You still got that box on legs?”
    “On and off. It hangs around. You know.” Cohen chuckled.
    “I’ll get the bloody lid off that thing one day, mark my words. Ah. Horses.”
    There were five, looking depressed in a small depression.
    Rincewind looked back at the freed prisoners, who seemed to be milling around aimlessly.
    “We’re not taking all five horses, are we?” he said.
    “Sure. We might need ’em.”
    “But…one for me, one for you…What’s the rest for?”
    “Lunch, dinner, and breakfast?”
    “It’s a little…unfair, isn’t it? Those people look a bit…bewildered.”
    Cohen sneered the sneer of a man who has never been truly imprisoned even when he’s been locked up.
    “I freed ’em,” he said. “First time they’ve ever been free. Comes as a bit of a shock, I expect. They’re waiting for someone to tell ’em what to do next.”
    “Er…”
    “I could tell ’em to starve to death, if you like.”
    “Er…”
    “Oh, all right . You lot! Formee uppee right now toot sweet chop chop!”
    The small crowd hurried over to Cohen and stood expectantly behind his horse.
    “I tell you, I don’t regret it. This is the