Jingo

Sergeant Colon coughed and indicated with a tilt of his head the hunched figure of Leonard, who was sitting in the stern with his head in his hands.

“He's a bit quiet, sir,” he whispered. “Can't seem to get a word out of him.”

“He has a lot on his mind,” said the Patrician.

The watchmen pedalled onwards for a while, but the close confines of the Boat encouraged a confidentiality that would never have been found on land.

“Sorry to hear you're getting the sack, sir,” said Colon.

“Really,” said Lord Vetinari.

“You'd definitely get my vote, if we had elections.”

“Capital.”

“I think people want the thumbscrew of firm government, myself.”

“Good.”

“Your predecessor, Lord Snapcase, now he was mental. But, like I've always said, people know where they stand with Lord Vetinari…”

“Well done.”

“They might not like where they're standing of course…”

Lord Vetinari looked up. They were under a boat now and it seemed to be going in the right direction. He steered the Boat until he heard the thunk of hull hitting hull, and gave the auger a few turns.

“Am I being sacked, sergeant?” he said, sitting back.

“Well, eh, I heard Lord Rust's people say that if you rat… rat…”

“Ratify,” said Lord Vetinari.

“Yeah, if you ratify that surrender next week, they'll get you exiled, sir.”

“A week is a long time in politics, sergeant.”

Colon's face widened in what he thought of as a knowing grin. He tapped the side of his nose.

“Ah, politics,” he said. “Ah, you should've said.”

“Yeah, they'll laugh at the other foot then, eh?” said Nobby.

“Got some secret plan, I'll be bound,” said Colon. “You know where the chicken is all right.”

“I can see there's no fooling such skilled observers of the carnival that is life,” said Lord Vetinari. “Yes, indeed, there is something I intend to do.”

He adjusted the position of the camel-hump pouffe, which in fact smelled of goat and was beginning to leak sand, and lay back.

“I'm going to do nothing. Wake me up if anything interesting happens.”

Nautical things happened. The wind spun about so much that a weather-cock might as well be harnessed to grinding corn. At one point there was a fall of anchovies.

And Commander Vimes tried to sleep. Jenkins showed him a hammock, and Vimes realized that this was another sheep's eyeball. No one could possibly sleep in something like that. Sailors probably kept them up for show and had real beds tucked away somewhere.

He tried to make himself comfortable in the hold, and dozed while the others talked in the corner. They were very politely keeping out of his way.

“—ordship wouldn't give the whole thing away, would he? What were we fighting for?”

“He'll have a hard job hanging on to the job after this, that's for sure. It's dragging the good name of Ankh-Morpork in the mud, like Mr Vimes said.”

“For Ankh-Morpork, mud is up.” That was Angua.

“On der other han”, everyone is still breathin'.” That was Detritus.

“That's a vitalist remark—”

“Sorry, Reg. What you scratchin' for?”

“I think I picked up a filthy foreign disease.”

“Sorry?” Angua again. “What can a zombie catch?”

“Don't like to say…”

“You're talking to someone who knows every brand of flea powder they sell in Ankh-Morpork, Reg.”

“Oh, if you must know… Mice, miss. It's shameful. I keep myself clean, but they just find a way—”

“Have you tried everything?”

“Excepting ferrets.”

“If his lordship goes, who'll take over?” That was Cheery. “Lord Rust?”

“He'd last five minutes.”

“Maybe the guilds will get together and—”

“They'll fight like—”

“—ferrets,” said Reg. “The cure's worse than the disease.”

“Cheer up, there'll still be a Watch.” That was Carrot.

“Yes, but Mr Vimes'll be out on his ear. 'cos of politics.”

Vimes decided to keep his eyes closed.

A silent crowd was waiting on the quayside when the ship finally docked. They watched Vimes and his men walk down the gangway. There were one or two coughs, and then someone called out:

“Say it ain't so, Mr Vimes!”

At the foot of the gangplank Constable Dorfl saluted stiffly.

“Lord Rust's Ship Got In This Morning, Sir,” the golem said.

“Anyone seen Vetinari?”

“No, sir.”

“Afraid to show his face!” someone shouted.

“Lord Rust Said You Were To Do Your Duty, Damn You,” said Dorfl. Golems had a certain literalness of speech.

He handed Vimes a sheet of paper. Vimes grabbed it and read the first few lines.

“What's this? ‘Emergency Council?’ And this?… Treason? Against Vetinari? I'm not carrying this out!”

“Can I see, sir?” said Carrot.

It was Angua who noticed the wave, while the others were staring at the warrant. Even in human form a werewolf's ears are pretty sensitive.

She wandered back to the quayside and looked downriver.

A wall of white water a few feet high was running up the Ankh. As it passed, boats were lifted and rocked.

It sloshed by her, sucking at the quay and making Jenkins's boat dance for a moment. There was a crash of crockery somewhere aboard.