Rincewind is actually feeling rather cheerful when he enters the pub. Things have been fairly uneventful lately, even with hiring a vampire as a waiter. He stops though, just past the door. He sniffs cautiously.
For someone who grew up in Ankh-Morpork, Rincewind's sense of smell has made a remarkable comeback since he's been here. And something smells different. There's no hint of Ivonka's cooking (so reminiscent of Mrs Whitlow's it brought a tear to his eye. She even did stodge and custard when the mood struck her!) in the air.
Hearing the clatter of knives, Rincewind at first ducks, then looks over to the bar. His heart sinks into his boots. And it had been such a nice day up til now. He surreptitiously reaches behind him for the doorknob, hoping he can get away before he's noticed.