New chapter! Mister Find encounters AM delicacies for the first time. Learning experiences, eh?

Discworld and characters (save Derek Find) property of Terry Pratchett.


"Meat pies! Karrak onna stick! Sausages! Inna bun! C'mon Guvnor, sticks to your ribs like no other!"

Derek stopped. He'd already been physically assaulted by the Smell of the sewage - er, river, upon entering, had been 'legally' robbed, and had various attempts at mayhem made on him. He whirled to regard the source of the voice behind him, hand going toward the throwing-axe at his hip.

He looked downward, at a small, greasy man in a white hat.1 Beady eyes looked up from above a small, greasy moustache, below which was a large, toothy grin. The grin seemed to falter as the eyes scanned his face, but grew wide again in nothing flat.

"Whaddya say, guv, how about a nice sausage inna bun? Best value in the whole city, or I'm cutting me own throat!"

Just then, the smell of the various food items on the small man's tray struck his nose. Already stunned by the smells of the city so far, this new one sent him reeling backwards before he could stop himself. "Dear Gods!"2 he burst out, then caught himself with a start.

Careful, don't blow your cover.

"New to our fair city, then?" said the man with an enthusiasm that seemed as greasy as his face. "Dibbler here. Throat Dibbler." Derek found that the small man had already grasped and shaken his hand even before he realized it, and suddenly found one of the 'sausages' in his hand.

"I didn't ask for..."

"Nonsense! Onna house! Always glad to meet new people!" Derek noticed that a few people had stopped and were glancing there way. He heard a snicker.

"What's going on here?"

Throat scowled around at the small group of people that had begun to form around them. "Hey! I can be charitable too! Now if ya ain't buying anything, scram!"

He turned back, a smile on his face and a pot of an incredibly pungent mustard in his hand. "Mustard?"

"No, th-"

A voice came drifting up to him. "Trust me, you'll want the mustard." He looked around toward where the voice had come from, but there was only a small... well, doglike thing. He turned back to Throat. Swallowed.

"Yes, I would like some mustard, please."

"Polite, too! I like that!" The mustard was ladled on with a manky-looking tin spoon, and replaced, with the pot, on the small greasy tray. Throat stepped back with a flourish. "Enjoy!" He turned and lost himself in the crowd.

Derek steeled himself, and took a bite.

He began to chew. Gods. What was in this thing? But it really was a good thing he had taken the mustard.

He swallowed. He heard an intake of breath from those watching.

Was this some kind of test? He felt a little queasy.

He smiled and waved-

The first pain hit.

"Erch..." He doubled over, sweat already pouring from his face. His vision doubled. He wasn't sure, but he could hear someone, far off...

"All right, all right, break it up!"

A helmeted shape, which on closer approach looked like a blurry dwarf, approached. "One of Dibbler's sausages, eh? Well, you're doing better than the last one who had one for the first time. Help me with his arms!"

This last was shouted at another, blurrier figure. Things were looking greyer.

He felt cool stone hands grasp his shoulders. Troll..?

Everything went black.


1 Well, mostly white. In fact, mostly not white. But you get the point.

2 Spoken in Uberwaldean.