Jingo

“No! No. It's a fine name for a donkey, N– Beti.”

“No one is to do anything,” said one of the guards. “We will return.”

“What was all that about?” said Colon, watching them go.

“Oh, they've probably gone to get a carpet,” said someone.

“Very nice, but I don't see how that'd help,” said Bets.

“A flying one.”

“Oh, right,” said Colon. “They've got one of those up at the University—”

“Ur has a university?”

“Oh, indeed,” said the Patrician. “How do you think Al learned what a donkey looks like?”

Once again, laughter dispelled doubt. Colon grinned uncertainly.

“I'm really getting good at this stupid idiot stuff, aren't I?” he said. “It just sort of happens!”

“Marvellous,” said Lord Vetinari.

There was another angry braying from far above.

“Trouble is, they're all locked up because of the war effort,” said someone behind them.

A piece of mud brick shattered on the ground nearby.

“The way it's thrashing around up there, it's going to fall off anyway.”

“Perhaps I should persuade her to come down,” said the Patrician.

“Can't be done, offendi. You can't get past on the stairs, you can't turn it round, and it won't come down backwards.”

“I shall consider the situation,” said the Patrician.

He ambled back into the tavern for a moment, and returned. They saw him enter the door and they heard him climbing the staircase.

“Should be good,” said a man behind Colon.

After a while the braying stopped.

“Can't turn round, see. Far too narrow,” said the elevated-donkey expert. “Can't turn round, won't go backwards. Well-known fact.”

“There's always a know-all, right, Beti?” said Colon.

“Yeah. Always.”

The tower was full of silence. Several members of the crowd found their attention drawn to it.

“I mean, if you could get three or four men up the stairs, which you can't, you could sort of move it a leg at a time, if you didn't mind being kicked and bitten to death…”

“All right, all right, back away from the tower, will you?”

The guards were back. One of them was carrying a rolled-up carpet.

“All right, all right, give us room—”

“I can hear hooves,” said someone.

“Oh, yeah, like our friend in the fez is getting the donkey down the stairs?”

“Hang on, I can hear them too,” said Colon.

Now all eyes stared at the door.

Lord Vetinari emerged, holding a length of rope.

The voice behind Colon said, “All right, it's just a bit of rope. He was probably banging a couple of coconut shells together.”

“You mean, ones that he found in the minaret?”

“He had them with him, obviously.”

“You mean, he carries coconut shells around?”

“You can't turn a donkey round in– all right, that's a fake donkey head…”

“It's moving its ears!”

“On a string, on a string – all right, it's a donkey, OK, but it's not the same donkey. It's one he had in a hidden pocket… well, no need to look at me like that. I've seen them do it with doves…”

Then even the unbeliever fell silent.

“Donkey, minaret,” said Lord Vetinari. “Minaret, donkey.”

“Just like that?” said a guard. “How did you do it? It was a trick, right?”

“Of course it was a trick,” said Lord Vetinari.

“I knew it was just a trick.”

“That's right, it was just a trick,” said Lord Vetinari.

“So… how did you do it, then?”

“You mean you can't spot it?”

The crowd craned to see.

“Er… you had an inflatable donkey—”

“Can you think of any reason why I should go around with an inflatable donkey?”

“Well, you—”

“One that you wouldn't mind explaining to your own dear mother?”

“If you're going to put it like that—”

“'s easy,” said Al-jibla. “There's a secret compartment in the minaret. Must be.”

“No, you've got it all wrong, it's just an illusion of a donkey… Well, all right, it's a good illusion…”

By now half the people were around the donkey and the others were clustered in the doorway of the minaret, looking for secret panels.

“I think, Al and Beti, this is where we walk away,” said Lord Vetinari, behind Colon. “Just down this little alley here. And when we turn that corner, we run.”

“What've we got to run for?” said Beti.

“Because I've just picked up the magic carpet.”

Vimes was already lost. Oh, there was the sun, but that was just a direction. He could feel it on the side of his face.

And the camel rocked from side to side. There was no real way of judging distance, except by haemorrhoids.

I'm blindfolded on the back of a camel ridden by a D'reg, who everyone says are the most untrustworthy people in the world. But I'm almost positive he's not going to kill me.

“So,” he said, as he rocked gently from side to side, “you may as well tell me. Why 71-hour Ahmed?”

“He killed a man,” said Jabbar.

“And D'regs object to a little thing like that?”

“In the man's own tent! When he had been his guest for nearly tree dace! If he had but waited an hour—”

“Oh, I see. Definitely bad manners. Had the man done anything to deserve it?”

“Nothing! Although…”

“Yes?”

“The man had killed El-Ysa.” The D'reg's tone suggested that this wasn't much of a mitigating circumstance, but that it ought to be mentioned out of completeness.

“Who was she?”