Jingo

“So… you couldn't bore all the way through the hull, then?”

“Only if you were a very careless and extremely thoughtless young man!”

The ocean waves may not be ploughable, but the crust of the river Ankh downstream from the city was known to sprout small bushes in the summertime. The Milka moved slowly, leaving a furrow behind it.

“Can't you go faster?” said Vimes.

“Why, certainly,” said Jenkins nastily. “Where would you like us to put the extra mast?”

“The ship's just a dot,” said Carrot. “Why aren't we gaining on them?”

“It's a bigger ship so it has got what we technically call more sails,” said Jenkins. “And they're fast hulls on those Klatchian boats. And we've got a full hold—”

He stopped, but it was too late.

“Captain Carrot?” said Vimes.

“Sir?”

“Throw everything overboard,” said Vimes.

“Not the crossbows! They cost more than a hundred dollars ea—”

Jenkins stopped. Vimes's expression said, very clearly, that there were a whole lot of things that could be thrown off the boat, and it would be a good idea not to be among them.

“Go and pull some ropes, Mr Jenkins,” he said.

He watched the captain stamp off. A few moments later there was a splash. Vimes looked over the side and saw a crate bob for a moment and then sink. And he felt happy. Thief-taker, Rust had called him. The man had meant it as an insult, but it'd do. Theft was the only crime, whether the loot was gold, innocence, land or life. And for the thieftaker, there was the chase…

There were several more splashes. Vimes fancied the ship surged forward.

…the chase. Because the chase was simpler than the capture. Once you'd caught someone it got complicated, but the chase was pure and free. Much better than prodding at clues and peering at notebooks. He flees, I chase. Simple.

Vetinari's terrier, eh?

“Bingeley-bingeley beep!” said his pocket.

“Don't tell me,” said Vimes. “It's something like ‘Five pee em, At Sea,’ yes?”

“Er… no,” said the Dis-organizer. “Says here ‘Violent Row With Lord Rust’, Insert Name Here.”

“Aren't you supposed to tell me what I'm going to do?” said Vimes, opening the box.

“Er… what you should be doing,” said the demon, looking very worried. “What you should be doing. I don't understand it… er… something seems to be wrong…”

Angua stopped trying to rub the collar off against a bulkhead. It wasn't working, and the silver pressing against her skin seemed to freeze her and burn her at the same time.

Apart from that – and a silver collar on a werewolf was a fairly major that – she'd been treated well. They'd left a plate of food, a wooden plate, and she'd let her wolf side eat it while the human side shut its eyes and held its nose. There was a bowl of water, quite fresh by Ankh-Morpork standards. She could see the bottom of the bowl, at least.

It was so hard to think in wolf shape. It was like trying to unlock a door while drunk. It was possible, but you had to concentrate every step of the way.

There was a sound.

Her ears pricked up.

Something tapped once or twice under the hull. She hoped it was a reef. That meant… land, possibly… with any luck she could swim ashore…

Something clinked. She'd forgotten about the chain. It was hardly necessary. She felt as weak as a kitten.

There was a rhythmic noise, like something chewing at the wood.

A tiny metal point splintered through the wall just in front of her nose, and rose an inch.

And someone spoke. It sounded far off and distorted, and perhaps only a werewolf would have heard it, but words were happening, somewhere under her paws.

“—can stop pedalling now, Corporal Nobbs.”

“I am knackered, sarge. Is there anything to eat?”

“There's some more of that garlic sausage. Or there's the cheese. Or cold beans.”

“We're in a tin with no air and we're supposed to eat cheese? I ain't even going to comment on the beans.”

“I'm very sorry gentlemen. Things were rather rushed and I had to take food which would keep.”

“It's just that it's getting a bit… crowded, if you get my meaning.”

“I will pay out the rope as soon as it's dark and we can surface and take on air.”

“Just so long as we get rid of the air we've got, that's all I'm saying…”

Angua's brows wrinkled as she tried to make sense of this. The voices were familiar. Even muffled as they were, she recognized the tones. The vague feeling that fought its way through the mists of animal intellect was: friends.