Good. You say this is a tough place. Frequented, you mean, by heroes and men of adventure?

Rincevind considered this. Yes? he managed.

Excellent. I would like to meet some.

An explanation occured to the wizard. Ah, he said. You've come to hire mercenaries ("wariors who fight for tribe with most milknut-meal")?

Oh no. I just want to meet them. So that when I get home I can say that I did it.

Rincewind thought that a meeting with most of the Drum's clientele would mean that Twoflower never went home again, unless he lived downriver and happend to float past.

Rincewind struggled to his elbows and reached into the pocket of his robe. When he withdrew his hand the green frog was sitting on it, its eyes oddly luminous in half-light.

You? said Rincewind.

The wizard did so, and dragged a bewildered Twoflower out of the way.

The room darkened. There was a windy, roaring sound. Streamers of green, purple and octarine cloud appeared out of nowhere and began to spiral rapidly towards the recumbent amphibian, shedding small bolts of lightning as they whirled. Soon the frog was filling the room with a warm yellow light. Within it was a darker, indistinct shape, which wavered and changed even as they watched. And all the time there was the high, brain-curdling whine of a huge magical field ...

As suddenly as it had appeared, the magical tornado vanished. And there, occupying the space where the frog had been, was a frog.

Fantastic said Rincewind.

The frog gazed at him reproachfully.

Really amazing said Rincewind sourly. A frog magicall transformed into a frog. Wondrous.