'Shutupshutupshutup!' Rincewind pulled D. M. H. Dibhala into the shadows by a tent. The trader looked at the anguished face framed between a eunuch outfit and a big straw hat. 'It's the Wizard, isn't it? How are—?'

'You know how you seriously wanted to become very rich in international trade?' Rincewind said. 'Yes? Can we start?'

'Soon. Soon. But there's something you must do. You know this rumour about the army of invisible vampire ghosts that's heading this way?' D. M. H. Dibhala's eyes swivelled nervously. But it was part of his stock in trade never to appear to be ignorant of anything except, perhaps, how to give correct change. 'Yes?' he said. 'The one about there being millions of them?' said Rincewind. 'And very hungry on account of not having eaten on the way? And made specially fierce by the Great Wizard?'

'Um . . . yes?'

'Well, it's not true.'

'It's not?'

'You don't believe me? After all, I ought to know.'

'Good point.'

'And we don't want people to panic, do we?'

'Very bad for business, panic,' said D. M. H., nodding uncomfortably. 'So make sure you tell people there's no truth in this rumour, will you? Set their minds at rest.'

'Good idea. Er. These invisible vampire ghosts . . . Do they carry money of any sort?'

'No. Because they don't exist.'

'Ah, yes. I forgot.'

'And there are not 2,300,009 of them,' said Rincewind. He was rather proud of this little detail. 'Not 2,300,009 of them . . .' said D. M. H., a little glassy-eyed. 'Absolutely not. There are not 2,300,009 of them, no matter what anyone says. Nor has the Great Wizard made them twice as big as normal. Good man. Now I'd better be off—' Rincewind hurried away. The trader stood in thought for a while. It stole over him that he'd probably sold enough things for now, and he might as well go home and spend a quiet night in a barrel in the root cellar with a sack over his head. His route led him through quite a large part of the camp. He made sure that soldiers he met knew there was no truth in the rumour, even though this invariably meant that, first of all, he had to tell them what the rumour actually was. A toy rabbit squeaked nervously. 'And I'm afraid of the big inwisible wampire ghosts!' sobbed Favourite Pearl. The soldiers around this particular campfire tried to comfort her but, unfortunately, there was no-one to comfort them. 'An' I heard they alweady et some men!' One or two soldiers looked over their shoulders. There was nothing to be seen in the darkness. This wasn't, however, a reassuring sign. The Red Army moved obliquely from campfire to campfire. Rincewind had been very specific. He'd spent all his adult life - at least, those parts of it where he wasn't being chased by things with more legs than teeth - in Unseen University, and he felt he knew what he was talking about here. Don't tell people anything, he said. Don't tell

them. You didn't get to survive as a wizard in UU by believing what people told you. You believed what you were not told. Don't tell them. Ask them. Ask them if it's true. You can beg them to tell you it's not true. Or you can even tell them you've been told to tell them it's not true, and that is the best of all. Because Rincewind knew very well that when the four rather small and nasty Horsemen of Panic ride out there is a good job done by Misinformation, Rumour and Gossip, but they are as nothing compared to the fourth horseman, whose name is Denial. After an hour Rincewind felt quite unnecessary. There were conversations breaking out everywhere, particularly in those areas on the edge of the camps, where the night stretched away so big and dark and, so very obviously, empty. 'All right, so how come they're saying there's not 2,300,009 of them, eh? If there's none of them, then why's there a number?'

'Look, there's no such thing as invisible vampire ghosts, all right?'

'Oh yeah? How do you know? Have you ever seen any?'

'Listen, I went and asked the captain and he says he's certain there's no invisible ghosts out there.'

'How can he be certain if he can't see them?'

'He says there's no such things as invisible vampire ghosts at all.'

'Oh? How come he's saying that all of a sudden? My grandfather told me there's millions of them outside the—'

'Hold on . . . What's that out there . . . ?'

'What?'

'Could've sworn I heard something . . .'

'I can't see anything.'

'Oh, no!' Things must have filtered through to High Command because, getting on towards midnight, trumpets were sounded around the camps and a special proclamation was read out. It confirmed the reality of vampire ghosts in general but denied their existence in any specific, here-and-now sense. It was a masterpiece of its type, particularly since it brought the whole subject to the ears of soldiers the Red Army hadn't been able to reach yet.

An hour later the situation had reached the point of criticality and Rincewind was hearing things he personally hadn't made up and, on the whole, would much rather not hear. He'd chat with a couple of soldiers and say: 'I'm sure there's no huge hungry army of vampire ghosts' and get told, 'No, there's seven old men.'

'Just seven old men?'

'I heard they're very old,' said a soldier. 'Like, too old to die. I heard from someone at the palace that they can walk through walls and make themselves invisible.'

'Oh, come on,' said Rincewind. 'Seven old men fighting this whole army?'

'Makes you think, eh? Corporal Toshi says the Great Wizard is helping them. Stands to reason. I wouldn't be fighting a whole army if I didn't have a lot of magic on my side.'

'Er. Anyone know what the Great Wizard looks like?' said Rincewind. 'They say he's taller than a house and got three heads.' Rincewind nodded encouragingly. 'I heard,' said a soldier, 'that the Red Army is going to fight on their side, too.'

'So what? Corporal Toshi says they're just a bunch of kids.'

'No, I heard . . . the real Red Army . . . you know . . .'

'The Red Army ain't gonna side with barbarian invaders! Anyway, there's no such thing as the Red Army. That's just a myth.'

'Like the invisible vampire ghosts,' said Rincewind, giving the clockwork of anxiety another little turn. 'Er . . . yeah.' He left them arguing. No-one was deserting. Running off into a night full of non-specific terrors was worse than staying in camp. But that was all to the good, he decided. It meant that the really frightened people were staying put and seeking reassurance from their comrades. And there was nothing like someone repeating 'I'm sure there's no vampire wizards' and going to the latrine four times an hour to put backbone into a platoon. Rincewind crept back towards the city, rounded a tent in the shadows, and collided with a horse, which trod heavily on his foot. 'Your wife is a big hippo!' SORRY.

Rincewind froze, both hands clutching his aching foot. He knew only one person with a voice like a cemetery in midwinter. He tried to hop backwards, and collided with another horse. RINCEWIND, ISN'T IT? said Death. YES. GOOD EVENING. I DON'T BELIEVE YOU HAVE MET WAR. RINCEWIND, WAR. WAR, RINCEWIND. War touched his helmet in salute. 'Pleasure's all mine,' he said. He indicated the other three riders. 'Like to introduce you to m'sons, Terror and Panic. And m'daughter, Clancy.' The children chorused a 'hello'. Clancy was scowling, looked about seven years old and was wearing a hard hat and a Pony Club badge. I WASN'T EXPECTING TO SEE YOU HERE, RINCEWIND. 'Oh. Good.' Death pulled an hourglass out of his robe, held it up to the moonlight, and sighed. Rincewind craned to see how much sand was left. HOWEVER, I COULD-— 'Don't you make any special arrangement just on my account,' said Rincewind hurriedly. 'I, er . . . I expect you're all here for the battle?' YES. IT PROMISES TO BE EXTREMELY - SHORT. 'Who's going to win?' NOW, YOU KNOW I WOULDN'T TELL YOU THAT, EVEN IF I KNEW. 'Even if you knew?' said Rincewind. 'I thought you were supposed to know everything!' Death held up a finger. Something fluttered down through the night. Rincewind thought it was a moth, although it looked less fluffy and had a strange speckled pattern on its wings. It settled on the extended digit for a moment, and then flew up and away again. ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS, said Death, THE ONLY CERTAIN THING IS UNCERTAINTY. TRITE, I KNOW, BUT TRUE. Somewhere on the horizon, thunder rumbled. 'I'll, er, just be sort of going, then,' said Rincewind. DON'T BE A STRANGER, said Death, as the wizard hurried off. 'Odd person,' said War. WITH HIM HERE, EVEN UNCERTAINTY IS UNCERTAIN. AND I'M NOT SURE EVEN ABOUT THAT.

War pulled a large paper-wrapped package out of his saddlebag. 'We've got . . . let's see now . . . Egg and Cress, Chicken Tikka, and Mature Cheese with Crunchy Pickle, I think.' THEY DO SUCH MARVELLOUS THINGS WITH SANDWICHES THESE DAYS. 'Oh . . . and Bacon Surprise.' REALLY? WHAT IS SO SURPRISING ABOUT BACON? 'I don't know. I suppose it comes as something of a shock to the pig.' Ridcully had been having a long wrestle with himself, and had won. 'We're going to bring him back,' he said. 'It's been four days. And then we can send them back their bloody tube thing. It gives me the willies.' The senior wizards looked at one another. No-one was very keen on a university with a Rincewind component, but the metal dog did give them the willies. No-one had wanted to go near it. They'd piled some tables around it and tried to pretend it wasn't there. 'All right,' said the Dean. 'But Stibbons kept going on about things weighing the same, right? If we send that back, won't it mean Rincewind arrives here going very fast?'

'Mr Stibbons says he's working on the spell,' said Ridcully. 'Or we could pile some mattresses up at one end of the hall or something.' The Bursar raised a hand. 'Yes, Bursar?' said Ridcully encouragingly. 'Ho, landlord, a pint of your finest ale!' said the Bursar. 'Good,' said Ridcully. 'That's settled, then. I've already told Mr Stibbons to start looking . . .'

'On that demonic device?'

'Yes.' Then nothing can possibly go wrong,' said the Dean sourly. 'A trumpet of lobsters, if you would be so good.'

'And the Bursar agrees.'

The warlords had gathered in Lord Hong's chambers. They carefully kept a distance from one another, as befitted enemies who were in the most shaky of alliances. Once the barbarians were dealt with, the battle might still continue. But they wanted assurance on one particular point. 'No!' said Lord Hong. 'Let me make this absolutely clear! There is no invisible army of blood-sucking ghosts, do you understand? The people beyond the Wall are just like us - except vastly inferior in every respect, of course. But totally visible.' One or two of the lords did not look convinced. 'And all this talk about the Red Army?' said one of them. 'The Red Army, Lord Tang, is an undisciplined rabble that shall be put down with resolute force!'

'You know what Red Army the peasants are talking about,' said Lord Tang. 'They say that thousands of years ago it—'

'They say that thousands of years ago a wizard who did not exist took mud and lightning and made soldiers that couldn't die,' said Lord Hong. 'Yes. It's a story, Lord Tang. A story made up by peasants who did not understand what really happened. One Sun Mirror's army just had' - Lord Hong waved a hand vaguely - 'better armour, better discipline. I am not frightened of ghosts and I am certainly not afraid of a legend that probably never existed.'

'Yes, but—'

'Soothsayer!' snapped Lord Hong. The soothsayer, who hadn't been expecting it, gave a start. 'Yes, my lord?'

'How're those entrails coming along?'

'Er - they're about ready, my lord,' said the soothsayer. The soothsayer was rather worried. This must have been the wrong kind of bird, he told himself. About the only thing the entrails were telling him was that if he got out of this alive he, the soothsayer, might be lucky enough to enjoy a nice chicken dinner. But Lord Hong sounded like a man with the most dangerous kind of impatience. 'And what do they tell you?'