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Right, he said. I m ready.
You re coming with me?
As far as the city gates, if you don t mind, he said. You can t blame me, can
you?
No. But leave the axe behind.
They stepped out into the afternoon sun and a deserted street. When Cohen
opened his mouth little pinpoints of bright light illuminated all the shadows.
I ve got some friends around here to pick up, he said, nd added, I hope
they re all right. What s your name?
Lackjaw.
Is there anywhere around here where I can Cohen paused lovingly, savour-
ing the words where I can get a steak?
The star people have closed all the inns. They said it s wrong to be eating and
drinking when
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I know, I know, said Cohen. I think I m beginning to get the hang of it.
Don t they approve of anything?
Lackjaw was lost in thought for a moment. Setting fire to things, he said
at last. They re quite good at that. Books and stuff. They have these great big
bonfires.
Cohen was shocked.
Bonfires of books?
Yes. Horrible, isn t it?
Right, said Cohen. He thought it was appalling. Someone who spent his
life living rough under the sky knew the value of a good thick book, which ought
to outlast at least a season of cooking fires if you were careful how you tore the
pages out. Many a life had been saved on a snowy night by a handful of sodden
kindling and a really dry book. If you felt like a smoke and couldn t find a pipe, a
book was your man every time.
Cohen realised people wrote things in books. It had always seemed to him to
be a frivolous waste of paper.
I m afraid if your friends met them they might be in trouble, said Lackjaw
sadly as they walked up the street.
They turned the corner and saw the bonfire. It was in the middle of the street.
A couple of star people were feeding it with books from a nearby house, which
had its door smashed in and had been daubed with stars.
News of Cohen hadn t spread too far yet. The book burners took no notice as
he wandered up and leaned against the wall. Curly flakes of burnt paper bounced
in the hot air and floated away over the rooftops.
What are you doing? he said.
One of the star people, a woman, pushed her hair out of her eyes with a soot-
blackened hand, gazed intently t Cohen s left ear, and said, Ridding the disc of
wickedness.
Two men came out of the building and glared at Cohen, or at least at his ear.
Cohen reached out and took the heavy book the woman was carrying. Its
cover was crusted with strange red and black stones that spelled out what Cohen
was sure was a word. He showed it to Lackjaw.
The Necrotelecomnicon, said the dwarf. Wizards use it. It s how to contact
the dead, I think.
That s wizards for you, said Cohen. He felt a page between finger and thumb;
it was thin, and quite soft. The rather unpleasant organic-looking writing didn t
worry him at all. Yes, a book like this could be a real friend to a man
Yes? You want something? he said to one of the star men, who had gripped
his arm.
All books of magic must be burned, said the man, but a little uncertainly,
because something about Cohen s teeth was giving him a nasty feeling of sanity.
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Why? said Cohen.
It has been revealed to us. Now Cohen s smile was as wide as all outdoors,
and rather more dangerous.
I think we ought to be getting along, said Lackjaw nervously. A party of star
people had turned into the street behind them.
I think I would like to kill someone, said Cohen, still smiling.
The star directs that the Disc must be cleansed, said the man, backing away.
Stars can t talk, said Cohen, drawing his sword.
If you kill me a thousand will take my place, said the man, who was now
backed against the wall.
Yes, said Cohen, in a reasonable tone of voice, but that isn t the point, is it?
The point is, you ll be dead.
The man s adam s apple began to bob like a yoyo. He squinted down at Co-
hen s sword.
There is that, yes, he conceded. Tell you what how bout if we put the fire
out? Good idea, said Cohen.
Lackjaw tugged at his belt. The other star people were running towards them.
There were a lot of them, many of them were armed, and it began to look as
though things would become a little more serious.
Cohen waved his sword at them defiantly, and turned and ran. Even Lackjaw
had difficulty in keeping up.
Funny, he gasped, as they plunged down another alley, I thought for a
minute you d want to stand and fight them.
Blow that for a lark.
As they came out into the light at the other end of the alley Cohen flung himself
against the wall, drew his sword, stood with his head on one side as he judged the
approaching footsteps, and then brought the blade around in a dead flat sweep at
stomach height. There was an unpleasant noise and several screams, but by then
Cohen was well away up the street, moving in the unusual shambling run that
spared his bunions.
With Lackjaw pounding along grimly beside him he turned off into an inn
painted with red stars, jumped onto a table with only a faint whimper of pain, ran
along it while, with almost perfect choreography, Lackjaw ran straight under-
neath without ducking jumped down at the other end, kicked his way through
the kitchens, and came out into another alley.
They scurried around a few more turnings and piled into a doorway. Cohen
clung to the wall and wheezed until the little blue and purple lights went away.
Well, he panted, what did you get?
Um, the cruet, said Lackjaw.
Just that?
Well, I had to go under the table, didn t I? You didn t do so well yourself.
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Cohen looked disdainfully at the small melon he had managed to skewer in
his flight.
This must be pretty tough here, he said, biting through 159 the rind.
Want some salt on it? said the dwarf.
Cohen said nothing. He just stood holding the melon, with his mouth open.
Lackjaw looked around. The cul de sac they were in was empty, except for an
old box someone had left against a wall.
Cohen was staring at it. He handed the melon to the dwarf without looking
at him and walked out into the sunlight. Lackjaw watched him creep stealthily
around the box, or as stealthily as is possible with joints that creaked like a ship
under full sail, and prod it once or twice with his sword, but very gingerly, as if he
half-expected it to explode.
It s just a box, the dwarf called out. What s so special about a box?
Cohen said nothing. He squatted down painfully and peered closely at the lock
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