Jingo

He started to watch his own hand. Almost without his guidance, taking its instructions from somewhere else in his head, it drew a cutaway of a much larger version of the Boat. Here, here and here… there could be a bank of a hundred oars rather than pedals, each one manned – his pencil caressed the paper – by a well muscled and not overdressed young warrior. A boat that would pass unseen under other boats, take men wherever they needed to go. Here a giant saw, affixed to the roof, so that when rowed at speed it could cut the hulls of enemy ships. And here and here a tube…

He stopped and stared at his drawing for a while. Then he sighed and started to tear it up.

Vimes watched from the dune. He couldn't hear much from up here, but he didn't need to.

Angua sat down beside him. “It's working, isn't it?” she said.

“Yes.”

“What's he going to do?”

“Oh, he'll take their weapons and let 'em go, I suppose.”

“Why do people follow him?” said Angua.

“Well, you're his girlfriend, you ought—”

“That's different. I love him because he's kind without thinking about it. He doesn't watch his own thoughts like other people do. When he does good things it's because he's decided to do them, not because he's trying to measure up to something. He's so simple. Anyway, I'm a wolf living with people, and there's a name for wolves that live with people. If he whistled, I'd come running.”

Vimes tried not to show his embarrassment.

Angua smiled. “Don't worry, Mr Vimes. You've said it yourself. Sooner or later, we're all someone's dog.”

“It's like hypnotism,” said Vimes hurriedly. “people follow him to see what's going to happen next. They tell themselves that they're just going along with it for a while and can stop any time they want to, but they never want to. It's damn magic.”

“No. Have you ever really watched him? I bet he'd found out everything about Jabbar by the time he'd talked to him for ten minutes. I bet he knows the name of every camel. And he'll remember it all. People don't take that much interest in other people, usually.” Her fingers idly traced a pattern in the sand. “So he makes you feel important.”

“Politicians do that—” Vimes began.

“Not the way he does, believe me. I expect Lord Vetinari remembers facts about people—”

“Oh, you'd better believe that!”

“—but Carrot takes an interest. He doesn't even think about it. He makes space in his head for people. He takes an interest, and so people think they're interesting. They feel… better when he's around.”

Vimes glanced down. Her fingers were drawing aimlessly in the sand again. We're all changing in the desert, he thought. It's not like the city, hemming your thoughts in. You can feel your mind expand to the horizons. No wonder this is where religions start. And suddenly here I am, probably not legally, just trying to do my job. Why? Because I'm too damn stupid to stop and think before I give chase, that's why. Even Carrot knew better than to do that. I'd have just chased after Ahmed's ship without a thought, but he was bright enough to report back to me first. He did what a responsible officer ought to do, but me…

“Vetinari's terrier,” he said aloud. “Chase first, and think about it afterwards—”

His eye caught the distant bulk of Gebra. Out there was a Klatchian army, and somewhere over there was the Ankh-Morpork army, and he was a handful of people and no plan because he'd chased first and—

“But I had to,” he said. “Any copper wouldn't have let a suspect like Ahmed get—”

Once again he had the feeling that the problem he was facing wasn't really a problem at all. It was something very obvious. He was the problem. He wasn't thinking right.

Come to think of it, he hadn't really thought at all.

He glanced down again at the trapped company. They had stripped down to their loincloths and were looking very sheepish, as men generally do in their underwear.

Carrot's white robe still flapped in the breeze. He hasn't been here a day, thought Vimes, and already he's wearing the desert like a pair of sandals.

“…er… bingeley-bingeley beep?”

“Is that your demon diary?” said Angua.

Vimes rolled his eyes. “Yes. Although it seems to be talking about someone else.”

“…er… three pee em,” the demon muttered slowly, “…day not filled in… Check Wall Defences…”

“See? It thinks I'm in Ankh-Morpork! It cost Sybil three hundred dollars and it can't even keep track of where I am.”

He flicked his cigar butt away and stood up.

“I'd better get down there,” he said. “After all, I am the boss.”

He slithered his way down the dune and strolled towards Carrot, who salaamed to him.

“A salute would do, captain, thanks all the same.”

“Sorry, sir. I think I got a bit carried away.”

“Why've you made them strip off?”

“Makes them a bit of a laughing stock when they return, sir. A blow to their pride.” He leaned closer and whispered, “I've let their commander keep his clothes on, though. It doesn't do to show up the officers.”

“Really?” said Vimes.