Howard was hanging upside down from a rope in the ceiling in a dungeon of some sort. It wasn’t the dungeon which bothered Howard of course, but the damn scorpions that crawled about the floor below him, only a short distance from his head.

He looked about as best he could and grimaced at the filthy walls and slime that had gathered in the corners and cracks. He had already tried to swing himself up and climb the rope, but there was nothing but a tiny hole in the ceiling for the rope to fit through. He had given up and resulted back to swinging upside down, his only annoyance being the fact that his hair was going to be full of tangles by the time he got out of this.

To the far left was a grill in the wall where a few shards of sunlight had managed to squeeze through and illuminate the red scorpions mingling on the ground. Someone had done that on purpose. They could have happily left Howard swinging upside down in a dark dungeon oblivious to the horrors below but nooooooo, they’d had to make sure that he actually saw what would happen to him if he fell.

There was also a sign on the wall in front of him which had been hung upside down so that he could read it:

Learn The Words

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Learn scorpion language so that he could make the scorpions release him? Why the heck would he even want to learn to talk to scorpions?

He had been on patrol in the city of Ankh Morpork with the Carrot guy. He had been given a helmet and armour and all the necessary weapons that a watch officer needed to stay alive in the streets, but he refused to wear the helmet. It would only mess up his curly hair.

Carrot had gone to have a word with some unlicensed thieves and Howard had stood by himself humming a tune. Then the words had drifted into his head and he had begun to sing them, surprised by the softness of his own voice.

“Time is what it is, come what may.”

He knew the song from somewhere. He had a perfectly clear image of standing up somewhere high while he sang those words. There had been hundreds of people watching him with wide eyes as he sang those words.

People were watching him now and sighing as he sang in the street. Someone had even given him a coin. He had then begun to sing even louder and dance in the street much to the delight of the people around him (although he was certain that many had been sniggering as well as if they knew that something extremely nasty was going to happen to him if he carried on.)

He should have listened to that instinct… maybe he would still be surrounded by people instead of scorpions if he had done.

It had been nice though to perform in the street and watch as people smiled and clapped. He had liked that. It had almost brought back memories…

Just after he had finished his routine… routine? But how had he known it was a routine?? … two palace guards with blue fluffy plumes in their head had seized him and then thrown him into this dungeon by opening a trapdoor.

He should be grateful he supposed. They could have thrown him in here without the rope.

But hanging upside down appeared to have done his memory some good. Over the past few hours, many other songs had come to his mind and he had sang them to himself to keep his mind away from the scorpions. He remembered singing and dancing a lot, but the only way he could dance in his current situation was by jiggling his feet a little and causing the rope to sway. It was better than nothing.

Was he some kind of performer perhaps? He could remember a stage… yes a stage which he shared with four other men. He could even recall their faces now but no names had come to him as yet. He felt as if he really should know them however…

“Now lad, you must be really thick to try and do some street entertaining in this town,” a voice said suddenly.

Howard did his best to turn around and saw that a figure had appeared beside the grate on the wall. It was Commander Vimes, his superior. He was leaning on one elbow while he smoked a cigarette.

“I thought it was rather good,” Howard said, wincing as he saw several scorpions watching him. He didn’t care if a person said that scorpions couldn’t watch anybody, they were watching him!

“Aye, and others may think so too, but the patrician certainly doesn’t. He despises street entertainers. Just be glad you’re weren’t playing at being a mime artist.”

“Would that have been worse?” he replied, wondering what could have been worse than scorpions.

“Afraid so, you’d get even longer in here. That’s what ‘Learn The Words’ means. It’s for mime artists.”

“I remembered some words, sir,” Howard said. “I remembered singing them.”

“Singing? What kinda job is that?” Vimes snorted. “Then again, sergeant Colon does think you’re gay.”

“WHAT?!”

“You mean you’re not?”

Howard thought long and hard. He was almost certain that he was not gay, but then why did he have clear memories of four men dancing about in black leathers.

‘Get another boyfriend.’ “I don’t think so, sir,” he said carefully.

“Ah well, Nobby will get over it. So do you remember anything else yet?”

“I might do if you would kindly get me out of here,” Howard said, finding it difficult to think with scorpions plotting on how to eat him.

“Hang tight, lady,” Vimes said as he glanced down at his watch. “In another two minutes, you should be released.” He disappeared form view, leaving Howard alone with the scorpions.

Hang tight? Well what else was he going to do?

He slowly began to count up to a hundred and twenty, refusing to acknowledge the temptation to count the scorpions. He suspected that he would only frighten himself if he tried to. He did not want to know how many there were…

Suddenly there was a creaking noise and more light flooded the dungeon, revealing even more scorpions that Howard had really not wanted to know about… he could have sworn that one was as long as his arm!

The rope was suddenly yanked up and he was stood back on his fete by a burly guard, after which he was marched down an ornate corridor and then pushed out of a door with a stern reprimand in the form of: “Don’t do it again!”

Howard suspected that the scorpions were enough to prevent people from doing it again.

He looked about him and walked cautiously down the steps to the street below. Vimes was sat on one of them with his cigarette.

“How are you feeling Howie lad?” he asked.

Howard froze. “What did you just call me?”

“Howie? Wass wrong with it? I thought it was less of a mouthful than Howard.”

Howard paused for a moment. He was not a Howard, he was a Howie. “That’s what I used to be called. It was always Howie, never Howard.”

“You remember anything else?”

He placed a hand to his head. “I’m starting to I think. I’m a performer. I’m a Backstreet Boy!” He looked proud at this sudden realisation. Backstreet Boy, yes that was what he was. The other guys he remembered where Backstreet Boys as well and he could faintly recall their names – Kevin, AJ and Brick and Nian…. Hmmm… Brick was an even worse name than Carrot.

Vimes coughed slightly. I’m sure you are lad… er… I would ask what a Backstreet Boy did but I think I already have a clear idea.”

Howie smiled and nodded. At last he was getting somewhere.

“Do you know how you got here?” Vimes asked.

Howie paused for a moment. “Wiz-ards?” he said vaguely.

“Wizards! Ha! It’s always the damn wizards and their damn magic and their damn pointy hats and – GET DOWN!”

Howie was about to start singing again when Vimes suddenly threw him to the ground. He stared about him and then gulped as he saw an arrow in the ground where he had just stood.

Vimes stood up and pulled a cross bow from his belt, firing swiftly at something black on the rooftop. The black thing yelped and jumped out of the way, but in doing so he slid from the tiles and fell unceremoniously to the hard cobbles below.

Vimes dashed over to him and stood on his stomach. “A little inexperienced for an assassin aren’t we?” he said.

“Assassin?” Howie asked. “This place has assassins?”

“Yeah you can always tell the slimy bastards cause of the black cloaks.” He looked down at the scraggly man he held down. “Who sent you?”

“Um, er, can’t say,” the assassin tried.

“You better be able to say or I’m gonna stand just here.” Vimes moved one of his feet and lightly pressed a toe on the lower regions of the man.

“The patrician!” he yelled desperately.

Vimes’ eyes narrowed and Howie watched the show of dominance curiously.

“Who was the target?”

“The goof with the long hair!”

Howie looked about him searching for the goof with the long hair, until he realised with a cold shock that it was himself.

“Why?” Vimes asked. “He’s an idiot, why would the patrician want to kill him?”

“Um, he stands out. I was told I have to assassinate the five people on this world who ‘stand out’.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why. Something to do wit the wizards and the end of the world, I think.”

“Why didn’t he kill me when I was in the scorpion pit?” Howie asked.

“That would have been too easy!” the assassin whined.

Vimes turned to Howie. “The law of assassination is that you have to give the target a chance to run. It would have been dishonourable for him to kill you in the pit… and the patrician is an ex assassin.”

“You guys have an assassin as your leader?” Howie asked. “What kind of twisted world is this?”

I don’t believe it is yours.” He glanced down at the assassin. “Wizards you say? Well, I’ll just pop up there and see exactly what they say about this lad.”

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