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’
Death
,
sir
?
’
said
Rincewind
,
backing
against
the
wall
.
Tall
,
skeletal
,
blue
eyes
,
stalks
,
TALKS
LIKE
THIS
.
.
.
Death
.
Seen
him
lately
?
’
Rincewind
swallowed
.
’
Not
lately
,
sir
.
’
’
Well
,
I
want
him
.
This
nonsense
has
got
to
stop
.
I
’
m
going
to
stop
it
now
,
see
?
I
want
the
eight
most
senior
wizards
assembled
here
,
right
,
in
half
an
hour
with
all
the
necessary
equipment
to
perform
the
Rite
of
AshkEnte
,
is
that
understood
?
Not
that
the
sight
of
you
lot
gives
me
any
confidence
.
Bunch
of
pantywaisters
the
lot
of
you
,
and
stop
trying
to
hold
my
hand
!
’
’
Oook
.
’
’
And
now
I
’
m
going
to
the
pub
,
’
snapped
Albert
.
’
Do
they
sell
any
halfway
decent
cat
’
s
piss
anywhere
these
days
?
’
There
’
s
the
Drum
,
sir
,
’
said
Rincewind
.
’
The
Broken
Drum
?
In
Filigree
Street
?
Still
there
?
’
’
Well
,
they
change
the
name
sometimes
and
rebuild
it
completely
but
the
site
has
been
,
er
,
on
the
site
for
years
.
I
expect
you
’
re
pretty
dry
,
eh
,
sir
?
’
Rincewind
said
,
with
an
air
of
ghastly
camaraderie
.
’
What
would
you
know
about
it
?
’
said
Albert
sharply
.
