Jingo

Constable Visit saluted. “Permission to speak, sir.”

“Go ahead,” mumbled Vimes.

“I'm pleased to tell you, sir, that our mission is clearly divinely approved of, sir. I refer to the rain of sardines which sustained us in our extremity, sir.”

“We were a little hungry, I wouldn't say we were in extremi—”

“With respect, sir,” said Constable Visit firmly, “the pattern is firmly established, sir. Yes, indeed. The Sykoolites when being pursued in the wilderness by the forces of Offlerian Mitolites, sir, were sustained by a rain of celestial biscuits, sir. Chocolate ones, sir.”

“Perfectly normal phenomenon,” muttered Constable Shoe. “Probably swept up by the wind passing a baker's shop—”

Visit glared at him, and went on: “And the Murmurians, when driven into the mountains by the tribes of Miskmik, would not have survived but for a magical rain of elephants, sir—”

“Elephants?”

“Well, one elephant, sir,” Visit conceded. “But it splashed.”

“Perfectly normal phenomenon,” said Constable Shoe. “Probably an elephant was picked up by a freak—”

“And when they were thirsty in the desert, sir, the Four Tribes of Khanli were succoured by a sudden and supernatural rain of rain, sir.”

“A rain of rain?” said Vimes, almost mesmerized by Visit's absolute conviction.

“Perfectly normal phenomenon,” sneered Reg Shoe. “Probably water was evaporated from the ocean, was blown through the sky, condensed around nuclei when it ran into cold air, and precipitated…” He stopped, and continued irritably, “Anyway, I don't believe it.”

“So… which particular deity is on our case?” said Vimes, hopefully.

“I shall definitely inform you as soon as I have ascertained this, sir.”

“Er… very good, constable.”

Vimes took a step back. “I don't pretend this is going to be easy, men,” he said. “But our mission is to catch up with Angua and this bastard Ahmed and shake the truth out of him. Unfortunately, this means we will be following him through his own country, with which we are at war. This is bound to put a few barriers in our way. But we should not let the prospect of being tortured to death dismay us, eh?”

“Fortune favours the brave, sir,” said Carrot cheerfully.

“Good. Good. Pleased to hear it, captain. What is her position vis a vis heavily armed, well prepared and excessively manned armies?”

“Oh, no one's ever heard of Fortune favouring them, sir.”

“According to General Tacticus, it's because they favour themselves,” said Vimes. He opened the battered book. Bits of paper and string indicated his many bookmarks. “In fact, men, the general has this to say about ensuring against defeat when outnumbered, out-weaponed and outpositioned. It is…” he turned the page, “‘Don't Have a Battle.’”

“Sounds like a clever man,” said Jenkins. He pointed to the yellow horizon.

“See all that stuff in the air?” he said. “What do you think that is?”

“Mist?” said Vimes.

“Hah, yes. Klatchian mist! It's a sandstorm! The sand blows about all the time. Vicious stuff. If you want to sharpen your sword, just hold it up in the air.”

“Oh.”

“And it's just as well because otherwise you'd see Mount Gebra. And below it is what they call the Fist of Gebra. It's a town but there's a bloody great fort, walls thirty feet thick. 's like a big city all by itself. 's got room inside for thousands of armed men, war elephants, battle camels, everything. And if you saw that, you'd want me to turn round right now. Whats your famous general got to say about it, eh?”

“I think I saw something…” said Vimes. He flicked to another page. “Ah, yes, he says, ‘After the first battle of Sto Lat, I formulated a policy which has stood me in good stead in other battles. It is this: if the enemy has an impregnable stronghold, see he stays there.’”

“That's a lot of help,” said Jenkins.

Vimes slipped the book into a pocket.

“So, Constable Visit, there's a god on our side, is there?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“But probably also a god on their side as well?”

“Very likely, sir. There's a god on every side.”

“Let's hope they balance out, then.”

The Klatchian ship's boat hit the water with the gentlest of splashes. This was because 71-hour Ahmed was standing by the winches with his sword at the ready, which had the effect of making the men lowering the boat take some trouble over their task.

“When we are away you may take the ship into Gebra,” he said to the captain.

The captain trembled. “What shall I tell them, wali?”

“Tell them the truth… eventually. The commander of the garrison is a man of no breeding and will torture you a little bit. Save up the truth until you need it. That will make him happy. It will help you to say that I forced you.”

“Oh, I will. I will… tell that lie,” the captain added quickly.

Ahmed nodded, slid down the rope into the boat and set it adrift

The crew watched him row through the surf.