Jingo

“Yes!” Jabbar slapped Vimes on the back again. “We know what we are talking about!”

The Klatchian fishing boat was a mile or two out of harbour when it seemed to its captain that it was suddenly riding better in the water. Perhaps the barnacles have dropped off, he thought.

When his boat was lost in the evening mists a length of bent pipe rose slowly out of the swell and squeaked around until it faced the coast.

A distant tinny voice said: “Oh no…”

And another tinny voice said: “What's up, sarge?”

“Take a look through this!”

“OK.” There was a pause.

Then the second tinny voice said: “Oh, bugger…”

What was riding at anchor before the city of Al-Khali wasn't a fleet. It was a fleet of fleets. The masts looked like a floating forest.

Down below, Lord Vetinari took his turn to peer through the pipe.

“So many ships,” he said. “In such a short time, too. How very well organized. Very well organized. One might almost say… astonishingly well organized. As they say, ‘If you would seek war, prepare for war.’”

“I believe, my lord, the saying is ‘If you would seek peace, prepare for war,’” Leonard ventured.

Vetinari put his head on one side and his lips moved as he repeated the phrase to himself. Finally he said, “No, no. I just don't see that one at all.”

He ducked back into his seat.

“Let us proceed with care,” he said. “We can go ashore under cover of darkness.”

“Er… can we maybe go ashore under cover of cover?” said Sergeant Colon.

“In fact these extra ships will make our plan that much easier,” said the Patrician, ignoring him.

“Our plan?” said Colon.

“People within the Klatchian hegemony come in every shape and colour.” Vetinari glanced at Nobby. “Practically every shape and colour,” he added. “So our appearance on the streets should not cause undue comment.” He glanced at Nobby again. “To any great extent.”

“But we're wearing our uniforms, sir,” said Sergeant Colon. “It's not like we can say we're on our way to a fancy-dress party.”

“Well, I'm not taking mine off,” said Nobby firmly. “I'm not running around in my drawers. Not in a port. Sailors are at sea a long time. You hear stories.”

“That'd be worse,” said the sergeant, without wasting time calculating how long any sailor would need to be at sea before the vision of Nobby Nobbs would present itself as anything other than a target, “'cos if we're not in uniform, we'll be spies – and you know what happens to spies.”

“Are you going to tell me, sarge?”

“Excuse me, your lordship?” Sergeant Colon raised his voice. The Patrician looked up from a conversation with Leonard.

“Yes, sergeant?”

“What do they do to spies in Klatch, sir?”

“Er… let me see…” said Leonard. “Oh, yes… I believe they give you to the women.”

Nobby brightened up. “Oh well, that doesn't sound too bad—”

“Er, no, Nobby—” Colon began.

“—'cos I've seen the pictures in that book The Perfumed Allotment that Corporal Angua was reading, and—”

“—no, listen, Nobby, you've got the wrong—”

“—I mean, blimey, I didn't know you could do that with a—”

“—Nobby, listen–”

“—and then there's this bit where she—”

“Corporal Nobbs!” Colon yelled.

“Yes, sarge?”

Colon leaned forward and whispered in Nobby's ear. The corporal's expression changed, slowly.

“They really—”

“Yes, Nobby.”

“They really–”

“Yes, Nobby.”

“They don't do that at home.”

“We ain't at home, Nobby. I wish we was.”

“Although you hear stories about the Agony Aunts, sarge.”

“Gentlemen,” said Lord Vetinari. “I am afraid Leonard is being rather fanciful. That may apply to some of the mountain tribes, but Klatch is an ancient civilization and that sort of thing is not done officially. I should imagine they'd give you a cigarette.”

“A cigarette?” said Fred.

“Yes, sergeant. And a nice sunny wall to stand in front of.”

Sergeant Colon examined this for any downside. “A nice roll-up and a wall to lean against?” he said.

“I think they prefer you to stand up straight, sergeant.”

“Fair enough. No need to be sloppy just because you're a prisoner. Oh, well. I don't mind risking it, then.”

“Well done,” said the Patrician calmly. “Tell me, sergeant… in your long military career, did anyone ever consider promoting you to an officer?”

“Nossir!”

“I cannot think why.”

Night poured over the desert. It came suddenly, in purple. In the clear air, the stars drilled down out of the sky, reminding any thoughtful watcher that it is in the deserts and high places that religions are generated. When men see nothing but bottomless infinity over their heads they have always had a driving and desperate urge to find someone to put in the way.

Life emerged from the burrows and fissures. Soon, the desert was filled with the buzz and click and screech of creatures which, lacking mankind's superior brainpower, did not concern themselves with finding someone to blame and instead tried to find someone to eat.