Jingo

The halo drew nearer and illuminated the damp face of Captain Carrot. The young man ripped off a salute – at godsdam three in the morning, Vimes thought – that would have brought a happy tear to the eye of the most psychotic drill sergeant.

“What're you doing out, sir?”

“I just wanted to… check up on things,” said Vimes.

“You could have left it all to me, sir,” said Carrot. “Delegation is the key to successful command.”

“Really? Is it?” said Vimes sourly. “My word, we live and learn, don't we.” And you certainly learn, he added in the privacy of his head. And he was almost sure he was being mean and stupid.

“We've just about finished, sir. We've checked all the empty buildings. And there will be an extra squad of constables on the route. And the gargoyles will be up as high as they can. You know how good they are at watching, sir.”

“Gargoyles? I thought we just had Constable Downspout…”

“And Constable Pediment now, sir.”

“One of yours?”

“One of ours, sir. You signed—”

“Yes, yes, I'm sure I did. Damn!”

A gust of wind caught the water pouring from an overloaded gutter and dumped it down Vimes's neck.

“They say this new island's upset the air streams” said Carrot.

“Not just the air,” said Vimes. “A lot of damn fuss over a few square miles of silt and some old ruins! Who cares?”

“They say it's strategically very important,” said Carrot, falling into step beside him.

“What for? We're not at war with anyone. Hah! But we might go to war to keep some damn island that's only useful in case we have to go to war, right?”

“Oh, his lordship will have it all sorted out today. I'm sure that when moderate-mannered men of goodwill can get round a table there's no problem that can't be resolved,” said Carrot cheerfully.

He is, thought Vimes glumly. He really is sure. “Know much about Klatch?” he said.

“I've read a little, sir.”

“Very sandy place, they say.”

“Yes, sir. Apparently.”

There was a crash somewhere ahead of them, and a scream. Coppers learned to be good at screams. There was to the connoisseur a world of difference between “I'm drunk and I've just trodden on my fingers and I can't get up!” and “Look out! He's got a knife!”

Both men started to run.

Light blazed out in a narrow street. Heavy footsteps vanished into the darkness.

The light flickered beyond a shop's broken window. Vimes stumbled through the doorway pulled off his sodden cape and threw it over the fire in the middle of the floor.

There was a hiss, and a smell of hot leather.

Then Vimes stood back and tried to work out where the hell he was.

People were staring at him. Dimly, his mind assembled clues: the turban, the beard, the woman's jewellery…

“Where did he come from? Who is this man?”

“Er… good morning?” he said. “Looks like there's been a bit of an accident?” He raised the cape gingerly.

A broken bottle lay in a pool of sizzling oil.

Vimes looked up at the broken window. “Oh…”

The other two people were a boy almost as tall as his father and a small girl trying to hide behind her mother.

Vimes felt his stomach turn to lead.

Carrot arrived in the doorway.

“I lost them,” he panted. “There were three of them, I think. Can't see anything in this rain… Oh, it's you Mr Goriff. What happened here?”

“Captain Carrot! Someone threw a burning bottle through out window and then this beggar man rushed in and put it out!”

“What'd he say? What did you say?” said Vimes. “You speak Klatchian?”

“Not very well,” said Carrot modestly. “I just can't get the backof-the-throat sound to—”

“But… you can understand what he said?”

“Oh, yes. He just thanked you very much, by the way. It's all right, Mr Goriff, He's a watchman.”

“But you speak—”

Carrot knelt down and looked at the broken bottle.

“Oh, you know how it is. You come in here on night shift for a hot caraway bun and you just get chatting. You must have picked up the odd word, sir.”

“Well… vindaloo maybe, but…”

“This is a firebomb, sir.”

“I know, captain.”

“This is very bad. Who would do a thing like this?”

“Right now?” said Vimes. “Half the city, I should think.”

He looked helplessly at Goriff. He vaguely recognized the face. He vaguely recognized Mrs Goriff's face. They were… faces. They were usually at the other end of some arms holding a portion of carry or a kebab. Sometimes the boy ran the place. The shop opened very early in the morning and very late at night, when the streets were owned by bakers, thieves and watchmen.

Vimes knew the place as Mundane Meals. Nobby Nobbs had said that Goriff had wanted a word that meant ordinary, everyday, straight-forward, and had asked around until he found one he liked the sound of.

“Er… tell him… tell him you're staying here, and I'll go back to the Watch House and send someone out to relieve you,” said Vimes.

“Thank you,” said Goriff.