Jingo

A hand darted down and grabbed the arrow out of its groove. Vimes blinked. His finger automatically squeezed the trigger. The string slammed back with a thunk. And the look on the Prince's face, he knew, would keep him warm on cold nights, if there were ever cold nights again.

He'd heard them all die. But they weren't dead. And yet the damn thing had sounded so… accurate…

Lord Vetinari dropped the arrow fastidiously, like a society lady who has had to handle something sticky.

“Well done, Vimes. I see you've got the donkey up the minaret. Good morning, gentlemen.” He gave the company a happy smile. “I see I am not too late.”

“Vetinari?” said Rust, seeming to wake up. “What are you doing here? This is a battlefield—”

“I wonder.” The Patrician gave him a very brief smile of his very own. “Outside there seem to be a lot of men sitting around. Many of them seem to be having what I believe is known in military parlance as a brew-up. And Captain Carrot is organizing a football match.”

“He's what?” said Vimes, lowering the bow. Suddenly the world had to be real again. If Carrot was doing something as dumb as that, things were normal.

“Quite a large number of fouls so far, I'm afraid. But I wouldn't call it a battlefield.”

“Who's winning?”

“Ankh-Morpork, I believe. By two hacked shins and a broken nose.”

For the first time in ages Vimes felt a little pang of patriotism. Everything else in life was in the privy, but when it came to gouging and kicking he knew which side he was on.

“Besides,” Vetinari went on, “I believe quite a large number of people are technically under arrest. And clearly a state of war is not, in practical fact, in being. It is merely a state of football. Therefore, I believe, I am, shall we say… back. Excuse me, sire, but this won't take a moment.”

He held up a metal cylinder and began to unscrew the end.

For some reason Vimes felt inclined to take a few steps away from it. “What's that?”

“I thought this might become necessary,” said Vetinari. “It took some preparation, but I am certain it will work. I hope they're readable. We did our best to keep the damp off them.”

A thick roll of paper dropped out onto the floor.

“Commander, have you nothing you should be doing?” he added. “Refereeing, perhaps?”

Vimes picked up the roll and read the first few lines.

“Whereas… heretofore, etc, etc… City of Ankh-Morpork… Surrender?”

“What?” said Rust and the Prince together.

“Yes, surrender,” said Vetinari cheerfully. “A little piece of paper and it's all over. I think you'll find it all in order.”

“You can't—” Rust began.

“You can't—” said the Prince.

“Unconditionally?” said General Ashal sharply.

“Yes, I think so,” said Vetinari. “We give up all claim to Leshp in favour of Klatch, we withdraw all troops from Klatch and our citizens from the island, and as for reparations… shall we say a quarter of a million dollars? Plus various favourable trade arrangements, most-favoured-nation status and so on and so on. It's all here. Feel free to read it at your leisure.”

He passed the document over the head of the Prince and into the hands of the general, who flicked through the pages.

“But we haven't got–” Vimes began. Perhaps I did get killed, he thought. I'm on the other side, or someone hit me very hard on the head and this is all some kind of mirage—

“It's a forgery!” snapped the Prince. “It's a trick!”

“Well, sire, this man certainly does appear to be Lord Vetinari and these do seem to be the official seals of Ankh-Morpork,” said the general. “‘Whereas… whereby… without prejudice… ratification within four days… way of trade’… yes, this does, I have to say, look genuine.”

“I won't accept it!”

“I see, sire. It does, though, appear to cover all the points which in your speech last week you—”

“I certainly wouldn't accept it!” Rust shouted. He waved a finger under Vetinari's nose. “You'll be banished for this!”

But we haven't got that money, Vimes repeated, but this time to himself. We're a very rich city, but we haven't got any actual money. The wealth of Ankh-Morpork is in its people, we're told. And you couldn't remove it with big pliers.

He felt the wind change.

And Vetinari watching him.

And there was something about General Ashal. A certain hunger…

“I agree with Rust,” he said. “This is dragging the good name of Ankh-Morpork in the mud.” To his mild surprise he managed to say that without smiling.

“We lose nothing, sire,” General Ashal insisted. “They withdraw from Klatch and Leshp—”

“Damned if we will!” screamed Lord Rust.

“Right! And have everyone know we've been beaten?” said Vimes. “Outwitted?”

He looked at the Prince, whose gaze was hunting from man to man, but occasionally staring at nothing, as if he was watching some inner vision.

“A quarter of a million is not enough,” the Prince said.

Lord Vetinari shrugged. “We can discuss it.”

“There is much that I need to buy.”