Jingo

“Nobby, you're in a port in a foreign city clad only in your, and I use this word with feeling, Nobby, your unmentionables. This is not the point to start talking about luring people into alleys. There could be talk.”

“Angua always says that nakedness is the national costume everywhere, sarge.”

“She was talking about herself, Nobby,” said Colon, sidling along in the shadows. “It's different for you.”

He peered around the other end of the alley. There was noise and chatter from the building that formed one of the walls. A couple of laden donkeys waited patiently outside.

“Nip out and grab one of those packs, right?”

“Why me, sarge?”

“'cos you're the corporal and I'm the sergeant. And you've got more on than me.”

Grumbling under his breath, Nobby edged into the narrow street and unfastened a tether as fast as he could. The animal followed him obediently.

Sergeant Colon pulled at the pack.

“If push comes to shove we can wear the sacks,” he said. “That'll– What's this?”

He held up something red.

“Flowerpot?” said Nobby helpfully.

“It's a fez! Some Klatchians wear 'em. Looks like we've struck lucky. Whoops, here's another one. Try it on, Nobby. And… looks like one of them nightshirts they wear… and here's another one of those, too. We're home and dry, Nobby.”

“They're a bit short, sarge.”

“Beggars can't be choosers,” said Colon, struggling into the costume. “Go on, put your fez on.”

“It makes me look like a twit, sarge.”

“Look, I'll put mine on, all right?”

“Then we'll be fez to fez, sarge.”

Sergeant Colon gave him a severe look. “Did you have that one prepared, Nobby?”

“No, sarge, I just made it up in my head right then.”

“Well, look, no calling me sarge. That doesn't sound Klatchian.”

“Nor does Nobby, sa– Sorry…”

“Oh, I dunno… you could be… Knobi or Nhobi… or Gnobbee… Sounds pretty Klatchian to me.”

“What's a good Klatchian name for you, then? I don't know hardly any,” said Nhobi.

Sergeant Colon didn't answer. He was peering round the corner again.

“His lordship did say we was not to hang about,” Nobby murmured.

“Yeah, but inside that tin can, well, it smells pretty lived–in, if you know what I mean. What I wouldn't give for—”

There was a bellow behind them. They turned.

There were three Klatchian soldiers. Or possibly watchmen. Nobby and Sergeant Colon didn't look much further than the swords.

The leader growled a question at them.

“What did he say?” Nobby quavered.

“Dunno!”

“Where you from?” said the leader, in Morporkian.

“What? Oh… er…” Colon hesitated, waiting for shiny death.

“Hah, yes.” The guard lowered his sword and jerked a thumb towards the docks. “You get back to your detachment now!”

“Right!” said Nobby.

“What your name?” one of the guards demanded.

“Nhobi,” said Nobby. This seemed to pass.

“And you, fat one?”

Colon was panicking on the spot. He sought desperately for any name that sounded Klatchian, and there was only one that presented itself and which was absolutely and authentically Klatchian.

“Al,” he said, his knees trembling.

“You get back right now or there will be trouble!”

The watchmen ran for it, dragging the donkey behind them, and didn't stop until they were on the greasy jetty, which somehow felt like home.

“What was that all about, s– Al?” said Nobby. “All they wanted to do was push us around a bit! Typical Watch behaviour,” he added. “Not ours, of course.”

“I suppose we had the right clothes on…”

“You didn't even tell them where we came from! And they spoke our language!”

“Well, they… I mean… anyone ought to be able to speak Morporkian,” said Colon, gradually regaining his mental balance. “Even babies learn it. I bet it comes easy after learning somethin' as complicated as Klatchian.”

“What're we going to do with the donkey, Al?”

“Do you think it can pedal?”

“I doubt it.”

“Then leave it up here.”

“But it'll get pinched, Al.”

“Oh, these Klatchians'll pinch anything.”

“Not like us, eh, Al?”

Nobby looked at the forest of masts filling), the bay.

“Looks like even more of 'em from here,” he said. “You could walk from boat to boat for a mile. What're they all here for?”

“Don't be daft, Nobby. It's obvious. They're to take everyone to Ankh-Morpork!”

“What for? We don't eat that much cur—”

“Invasion, Nobby! There's a war on, remember?”

They looked back at the ships. Riding lights gleamed on the water.

The bit of it that was immediately below them bubbled for a moment, and then the hull of the Boat rose a few inches above the surface. The lid unscrewed and Leonard's worried face appeared.

“Ah, there you are,” he said. “We were getting concerned…”

They lowered themselves down into the fetid interior of the vessel.

Lord Vetinari was sitting with a pad of paper across his knees, writing carefully. He glanced up briefly.

“Report.”

Nobby fidgeted while Sergeant Colon delivered a more or less accurate account, although there was some witty repartee with the Klatchian guards that the corporal had not hitherto recalled.