him,â said Conina, firmly.
âWhyâs he covered in snow?â
She stopped and turned around, arms thrust into her sides, one foot tapping impatiently on the damp cobbles.
âRincewind, Iâve known you for an hour and Iâm astonished youâve lived even that long!â
âYes, but I have, havenât I? Iâve got a sort of talent for it. Ask anyone. Iâm an addict.â
âAddicted to what?â
âLife. I got hooked on it at an early age and I donât want to give it up and take it from me, this doesnât look right!â
Conina looked back at the figure surrounded by the glowing blue aura. It seemed to be looking at something in its hands.
Snow was settling on its shoulder like really bad dandruff. Terminal dandruff. Rincewind had an instinct for these things, and he had a deep suspicion that the man had gone where shampoo would be no help at all.
They sidled along a glistening wall.
âThereâs something very strange about him,â she conceded.
âYou mean the way heâs got his own private blizzard?â
âDoesnât seem to upset him. Heâs smiling.â
âA frozen grin, Iâd call it.â
The manâs icicle-hung hands had been taking the lid off the box, and the glow from the hatâs octarines shone up into a pair of greedy eyes that were already heavily rimed with frost.
âKnow him?â said Conina.
Rincewind shrugged. âIâve seen him around,â he said. âHeâs called Larry the Fox or Fezzy the Stoat or something. Some sort of rodent, anyway. He just steals things. Heâs harmless.â
âHe looks incredibly cold.â Conina shivered.
âI expect heâs gone to a warmer place. Donât you think we should shut the box?â
Itâs perfectly safe now , said the hatâs voice from inside the glow. And so perish all enemies of wizardry .
Rincewind wasnât about to trust what a hat said.
âWe need something to shut the lid,â he muttered. âA knife or something. You wouldnât have one, would you?â
âLook the other way,â Conina warned.
There was a rustle and another gust of perfume.
âYou can look back now.â
Rincewind was handed a twelve-inch throwing knife. He took it gingerly. Little particles of metal glinted on its edge.
âThanks.â He turned back. âNot leaving you short, am I?â
âI have others.â
âIâll bet.â
Rincewind reached out gingerly with the knife. As it neared the leather box its blade went white and started to steam. He whimpered a little as the cold struck his hand â a burning, stabbing cold, a cold that crept up his arm and made a determined assault on his mind. He forced his numb fingers into action and, with great effort, nudged the edge of the lid with the tip of the blade.
The glow faded. The snow became sleet, then melted into drizzle.
Conina nudged him aside and pulled the box out of the frozen arms.
âI wish there was something we could do for him. It seems wrong just to leave him here.â
âHe wonât mind,â said Rincewind, with conviction.
âYes, but we could at least lean him against the wall. Or something.â
Rincewind nodded, and grabbed the frozen thief by his icicle arm. The man slipped out of his grasp and hit the cobbles.
Where he shattered.
Conina looked at the pieces.
âUrg,â she said.
There was a disturbance further up the alley, coming from the back door of the Trollâs Head. Rincewind felt the knife snatched from his hand and then go past his ear in a flat trajectory that ended in the doorpost twenty yards away. A head that had been sticking out withdrew hurriedly.
âWeâd better go,â said Conina, hurrying along the alley. âIs there somewhere we can hide? Your place?â
âI generally sleep at the University,â said Rincewind, hopping along behind