Jingo

“I don't know, I'm sure… oh, well.” She cleared her throat and spoke in a more sibyllic voice. “Mr Nobbs, I see you surrounded by dusky ladies in a hot place. Looks a bit foreign to me. They're laughing and chatting with you… in fact, one of them's just handed you a drink…”

“None of 'em are shouting or anything?” said Nobby, mystified.

“Doesn't look like it,” said Mrs Cake, equally fascinated. “They seem quite happy.”

“You can't see any… magnets?”

“What're they?”

“Dunno,” Nobby admitted. “I 'spect you'd know 'em if you saw 'em.”

Mrs Cake, despite a certain rigidity of character, couldn't help but be aware of a drift in Nobby's speculation.

“Some of the ladies look… nubile,” she hinted.

“Ah, right,” said Nobby, his expression not changing in any way.

“If you understand what I mean…”

“Right. Yes. Nubile. Right.”

Mrs Cake gave up. Nobby counted out ten pennies.

“And that'll be soon, will it?” said Nobby.

“Oh yes. I can't see very far for tenpence.”

“Happy young ladies…” mused Nobby. “Nubile, too. Definitely something to think about.”

After he'd gone, Mrs Cake went back to her crystal and sneaked a whole ten dollars' worth of precognition for her own curiosity and satisfaction, and laughed about it all afternoon.

Vimes was only half surprised when the doors to the Rats Chamber opened and there, sitting at the head of the table, was Lord Rust. The Patrician wasn't there.

He was half surprised. That is, at a certain shallow level he thought, that's odd, I thought you couldn't budge the man with a siege weapon. But at a dark level, where the daylight seldom penetrated, he thought: of course. At a time like this men like Rust rise to the top. It's like stirring a swamp with a stick. Really big bubbles are suddenly on the surface and there's a bad smell about everything. Nevertheless, he saluted and said:

“Lord Vetinari on his holidays, then?”

“Lord Vetinari stepped down this evening, Vimes,” said Lord Rust. “Pro tem, of course. Just for the duration of the emergency.”

“Really?” said Vimes.

“Yes. And I have to say that he anticipated a certain… cynicism on your part, commander, and therefore asked me to give you this letter. You will see that it is sealed with his seal.”

Vimes looked at the envelope. There was certainly the official seal in the wax, but—

He met Lord Rust's gaze and at least that suspicion faded. Rust wouldn't try a trick like that. Men like Rust had a moral code of sorts, and some things weren't honourable. You could own a street of crowded houses where people lived like cockroaches and the cockroaches lived like kings and that was perfectly OK, but Rust would probably die before he'd descend to forgery.

“I see, sir,” said Vimes. “You wanted me?”

“Commander Vimes, I must ask you to take the Klatchians resident in the city into custody.”

“On what charge, sir?”

“Commander, we are on the verge of war with Klatch. Surely you understand?”

“No, sir.”

“We are talking about spying, commander. Sabotage, even,” said Lord Rust. “To be frank… the city is to be placed under martial law.”

“Yessir? What kind of law's that, sir?” said Vimes, staring straight ahead.

“You know very well, Vimes.”

“Is it the kind where you shout ‘Stop!’ before you fire, sir, or the other kind?”

“Ah. I see.” Rust stood up and leaned forward.

“It pleased you to be… smart with Lord Vetinari, and for some reason he indulged you,” he said. “I, on the other hand, know your type.”

“My type?”

“It seems to me that the streets are full of crimes, commander. Unlicensed begging, public nuisances… but you seem to turn a blind eye, you seem to think you should have bigger ideas. But you are not required to have big ideas, commander. You are a thief-taker, nothing more. Are you eyeballing me, Vimes?”

“I was trying not to turn a blind eye, sir.”

“You seem to feel, Vimes, that the law is some kind of big glowing light in the sky which is not subject to control. And you are wrong. The law is what we tell it to be. Im not going to add ‘Do you understand?’ because I know you understand and I am not going to try to reason with you. I know a rank bad hat when I see one.”

“Bad hat?” said Vimes weakly.

“Commander Vimes,” he said, “I had hoped to avoid this, but the last few days point to a succession of astonishing judgemental errors on your part The Prince Khufurah was shot, and you seemed helpless to prevent this or find the criminal responsible. Mobs appear to run around the city unimpeded, I gather that one of your sergeants proposed to shoot innocent people in the head, and we have just heard that you took it upon yourself to arrest an innocent businessman and lock him in the cells for no reason at all.”

Vimes heard Colon gasp. But it sounded a long way off. He could feel everything crumbling under him, but his mind seemed to be flying now, flapping through a pink sky where nothing mattered very much.

“Oh, I don't know about that, sir,” he said. “He was guilty of repeatedly being Klatchian, wasn't he? Don't you want me to do that to all of 'em?”