perhapsh a nice slab of limeshtone for aftersh...

I heard someone shay it’s becosh they’re a shilicashe – a shillycaysheou – Cohen paused, and wiped his beard,
’made out of rocks.
Rincewind nodded. Trolls were not unknown in Ankh-Morpork, of course,
where they often got employment as bodyguards. They tended to be a bit expen-
sive to keep ntil they learned about doors and didn’t simply leave the house by
walking aimlessly through the nearest wall.
As they gathered firewood Cohen went on, Trollsh teeth, that’sh the thingsh.’
’Why?’ said Bethan.
’Diamonds. Got to be, you shee. Only thing that can shtand the rocksh, and
they shtill have to grow a new shet every year.’
’Talking of teeth—’ said Twoflower.
’Yesh?’
’I can’t help noticing —’
’Yesh?’
’Oh, nothing,’ said Twoflower.
’Yesh? Oh. Let’sh get thish fire going before we loshe the light. And then,’
Cohen’s face fell, ’I supposhe we’d better make some shoop.’
’Rincewind’s good at that,’ said Twoflower enthusiastically. ’He knows all
about herbs and roots and things.’
Cohen gave Rincewind a look which suggested that he, Cohen, didn’t believe
that.
’Well, the Horshe people gave us shome horse jerky,’ he said. ’If you can find
shome wild onionsh and stuff, it might make it tashte better.’
’But I—’ Rincewind began, and gave up. Anyway, he reasoned, I know what
an onion looks like, it’s a sort of saggy white thing with a green bit sticking out of the top, should be fairly conspicuous.
’I’ll just go and have a look, shall I?’ he said.
’Yesh.’
’Over there in all that thick, shadowy undergrowth?’
’Very good playshe, yesh.’
’Where all the deep gullies and things are, you mean?’
’Ideal shpot, I’d shay.’
’Yes, I thought so,’ said Rincewind bitterly. He set off, wondering how you
attracted onions. After all, he thought, although you see them hanging in ropes on market stalls they probably don’t grow like that, perhaps peasants or whatever use onions hounds or something, or ing songs to attract onions.
There were a few early stars out as he started to poke aimlessly among the
leaves and grass. Luminous fungi, unpleasantly organic and looking like marital
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aids for gnomes, squished under his feet. Small flying things bit him. Other things, fortunately invisible, hopped or slithered away under the bushes and croaked reproachfully at him.
’Onions?’ whispered Rincewind. ’Any onions here?’
’There’s a patch of them by that old yew tree,’ said a voice beside him.
’Ah,’ said Rincewind. ’Good.’
There was a long silence, except for the buzzing of the mosquitoes around
Rincewind’s ears.
He was standing perfectly still. He hadn’t even moved his eyes.
Eventually he said, ’Excuse me.’
’Yes?’
’Which one’s the yew?’
’Small gnarly one with the little dark green needles.’
’Oh, yes. I see it. Thanks again.’
He didn’t move. Eventually the voice said conversationally, ’Anything more I
can do for you?’
’You’re not a tree, are you?’ said Rincewind, still staring straight ahead.
’Don’t be silly. Trees can’t talk.’
’Sorry. It’s just that I’ve been having a bit of difficulty with trees lately, you know how it is.’
’Not really. I’m a rock.’
Rincewind’s voice hardly changed.
’Fine, fine,’ he said slowly. ’Well, I’ll just be getting those onions, then.’
’Enjoy them.’
He walked forward in a careful and dignified fashion, spotted a clump of
stringy white things huddling in the undergrowth, uprooted them carefully, and
turned around.
There was a rock a little way away. But there were rocks everywhere, the very
bones of the Disc were near he surface here.
He looked hard at the yew tree, just in case it had been speaking. But the yew,
being a fairly solitary tree, hadn’t heard about Rincewind the arborial saviour, and in any case was asleep.
’If that was you, Twoflower, I knew it was you all along,’ said Rincewind. His
voice sounded suddenly clear and very alone in the gathering dusk.
Rincewind remembered the only fact he knew for sure about trolls, which was
that they turned to stone when exposed to sunlight, so that anyone who employed
trolls to work during daylight had to spend a fortune in barrier cream.
But now that he came to think about it, it didn’t say anywhere what happened to them after the sun had gone down again. . .
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The last of the daylight trickled out of the landscape. And there suddenly seemed to be a great many rocks about.
’He’s an awful long time with those onions,’ said Two-flower. ’Do you think
we’d better go and look for him?’
’Wishards know how to look after themshelves,’ said Cohen. ’Don’t worry.’
He winced. Bethan was cutting his toenails.
’He’s not a terribly good wizard, actually,’ said Twoflower, drawing nearer the
fire. ’I wouldn’t say this to his face, but’ – he leaned towards Cohen – ’I’ve never actually seen him do any magic.’
’Right, let’s have the other one,’ said Bethan.
’Thish is very kind of you.’
’You’d have quite nice feet if only you’d look after them.’
’Can’t sheem to bend down like I used to,’ said Cohen, sheepishly. ’Of cour-
she, you don’t get to meet many chiropodishts in my line of work. Funny, re-
ally. I’ve met any amount of snake prieshts, mad godsh, warlordsh, never any