Jingo

“El-Ysa was a village. He poisoned a well. There had been a dispute over religion,” he added. “One thing led to another… but even so, to break the tradition of hospitality…”

“Yes, I can see that's a terrible thing. Almost… impolite.”

“The hour was important. Some things should not be done.”

“You're right there, at least.”

By mid-afternoon Jabbar let him take off the blindfold. Wind-carved heaps of black rock stood out of the sand. Vimes thought it was the most desolate place he'd ever seen.

“They say once it was green,” said Jabbar. “A well watered land.”

“What happened?”

“The wind changed.”

At sunset they reached a wadi between more windscoured rocks, and it was only the length of the shadows, deepening the shallow indentations, that began to give them back an ancient shape.

“They're buildings, aren't they?” said Vimes.

“There was a city here, a long time ago. Did you not know?”

“Why should I know?”

“Your people built it. It was called Tacticum. After a warrior of yours.”

Vimes looked at the crumbled walls and fallen pillars.

“He had a city named after him…” he said to noone in particular.

Jabbar nudged him. “Ahmed is watching you,” he said.

“I can't see him anywhere.”

“Of course. Get down. And I hope we meet again in whatever is your paradise.”

“Right, right…”

Jabbar turned the camel round. It left much faster than it had arrived.

Vimes sat on a rock for a while. There was no sound but the hissing of the wind in the rocks and the cry of some bird, far away.

He thought he could hear his own heart beating.

“Bingeley… bingeley… beep…” The Disorganizer sounded worried and uncertain.

Vimes sighed. “Yes? Appointment with 71-hour Ahmed, eh?”

“Er… no…” said the demon. “Er… Klatchian fleet sighted… er…”

“Ships of the desert, eh?”

“Er… beep… error code 746, divergent temporal instability…”

Vimes shook the box. “Something wrong with you?” he demanded. “You're still giving me someone else's appointments, you idiot box!”

“Er… the appointments are correct for Commander Samuel Vimes…”

“That's me!”

“Which one of you?” said the demon.

“What?”

“…beep…”

It refused to say more. Vimes considered throwing it away, but Sybil would be hurt if she found out. He thrust it back into his pocket and tried to concentrate on the scenery again.

His seat might have been part of a pillar once. Vimes saw other pieces some way away, and then realized that a heap of apparent rubble was a fallen wall. He followed this, his footsteps echoing off the cliffs, and realized that he was walking between old buildings, or where buildings had been. Here was the wreck of some stairs, there the stump of a pillar.

One was a little higher than the others. He pulled himself up and found, on its flat top, two huge feet. A statue must have stood here. It probably stood, if Vimes knew anything about statues, in some kind of noble attitude. Now it had gone, and there were just feet, broken off at the ankles. They weren't exceptionally noble.

As he lowered himself again he saw, protected because this side was out of the wind, some lettering carved deeply into the plinth. He tried to make it out in the fading light:

“AB HOC POSSUM VIDERE DOMUM TUUM”

Well… “domum tuum” was “your house”, wasn't it? …and “videre” was “I see”…

“What?” he said aloud. “‘I can see your house from up here?’ What kind of a noble sentiment is that?”

“I believe it was meant to be a boast and a threat, Sir Samuel,” said 71-hour Ahmed. “Somewhat typical of Ankh-Morpork, I've always thought.”

Vimes stood very still. The voice had been right behind him.

And it was Ahmed's voice. But it lacked that hint of camel spit and gravel that it had possessed in Ankh-Morpork. Now it was the drawl of a gentleman.

“It's the echoes here,” Ahmed went on. “I could be anywhere. I could have a crossbow aimed at you right now.”

“You won't fire it, though. We've both got too much at stake.”

“Oh, there is honour among thieves, is there?”

“I don't know,” said Vimes. Oh, well… time to see if he was dead right or just dead. “Is there honour among policemen?”

Sergeant Colon's eyes went big.

“Swing my weight to one side?” he said.

“That's how magic carpets are steered,” said Lord Vetinari calmly.

“Yes, but supposing I swing myself off?”

“We'll have a lot more room,” said Beti unfeelingly. “C'mon, sarge, you know how to throw your weight around.”

“I ain't throwing my weight anywhere,” said Colon firmly. He was lying full length on the carpet, both hands gripping it as hard as possible. “It's not natural, just a bit of broadloom between you and certain splash.”

The Patrician looked down. “We're not over water, sergeant.”

“I know what I meant, sir!”

“Can we slow down a bit?” said Beti. “The breeze is invading my privacy, if you get my drift.”

Lord Vetinari sighed. “We're not going very fast as it is. I suspect this is a very old carpet.”

“There's a frayed bit here,” said Beti.

“Shut up,” said Colon.

“Look, I can poke my finger right through—”

“Shut up.”

“Notice how it kind of wobbles when you move?”

“Shut up.”

“Here, look, those palm trees down there look really small.”