Terry Pratchett. Jingo
страница №10
...aidColon. 'My uncle was here once and he said some bloke tried to sell him a
pack of dirty postcards for five dollars. Disgusted, he was.'
'Yeah, 'cos you can get 'em in the Shades for two dollars,' said Nobby.
'That's what he said. And they were Ankh-Morpork ones. Trying to flog
us our own dirty postcards? I call that disgusting, frankly.'
'Good morning, sultan!' said a cheerful and somehow familiar voice.
'New in town, are we?'
All three of them turned to a figure that had magically appeared from
the mouth of an alleyway.
'Indeed, yes,' said the Patrician.
'I could see you were! Everyone is, these days. And it is your lucky
day, shah! I am here to help, right? You want something, I got it!'
Sergeant Colon had been staring at the newcomer. He said, in a faraway
voice, 'Your name's going to be something like... Al-jibla or something,
right?'
'Heard about me, have you?' said the trader jovially.
'Sort of, yeah,' said Colon slowly. 'You're amazingly... familiar.'
Lord Vetinari pushed him aside. 'We are strolling entertainers,' he
said. 'We were hoping to get an engagement at the Prince's palace... Perhaps
you could help?'
The man rubbed his beard thoughtfully, causing various particles to
cascade into the little bowls in his tray.
'Dunno about the palace,' he said. 'What's it you do?'
'We practise juggling, fire-eating, that sort of thing,' said Vetinari.
'Do we?' said Colon.
Al-jibla nodded at Nobby. 'What does...'
'...she...' said Lord Vetinari helpfully.
'...she do?'
'Exotic dancing,' said Vetinari, while Nobby scowled.
'Pretty exotic, I should think,' said Al-jibla.
'You'd be amazed.'
A couple of armed men had drifted over to them. Sergeant Colon's heart
sank. In those bearded faces he saw himself and Nobby, who at home would
always saunter over to anything on the street that looked interesting.
'You are jugglers, are you?' said one of them. 'Let's see you juggle,
then.'
Lord Vetinari gave them a blank look and then glanced down at the tray
around Al-jibla's neck. Among the more identifiable foodstuffs were a number
of green melons.
'Very well,' he said, and picked up three of them.
Sergeant Colon shut his eyes.
After a few seconds he opened them again because a guard had said, 'All
right, but anyone can do it with three.'
'In that case perhaps Mr Al-jibla will throw me a few more?' said the
Patrician, as the balls spun through his hands.
Sergeant Colon shut his eyes again.
After a short while a guard said, 'Seven is pretty good. But it's just
melons.'
Colon opened his eyes.
The Klatchian guard twitched his robe aside. Half a dozen throwing
knives glinted. And so did his teeth.
Lord Vetinari nodded. To Colon's growing surprise he did not seem to be
watching the tumbling melons at all.
'Four melons and three knives,' he said. 'If you would care to give the
knives to my charming assistant Beti...'
'Who?' said Nobby.
'Oh? Why not seven knives, then?'
'Kind sirs, that would be too simple,' said Lord Vetinari.[13] 'I am
but a humble tumbler. Please let me practice my art.'
'Beti?' said Nobby, glowering under his veils.
Three fruits arced gently out of the green whirl and thumped on to
Al-jibla's tray.
The guards looked carefully, and to Colon's mind nervously, at the
cross-dressed figure of the cross corporal.
'She's not going to do any kind of dance, is she?' one of them
ventured.
'No!' snapped Beti.
'Promise?'[14]
Nobby grabbed three of the knives and tugged them out of the man's
belt.
'I'll give them to his lor - to him, shall I, Beti?' said Colon,
suddenly quite sure that keeping the Patrician alive was almost certainly
the only way to avoid a brief cigarette in the sunshine. He was also aware
that other people were drifting over to watch the show.
'To me, please... Al,' said the Patrician, nodding.
Colon tossed him the knives, slowly and gingerly. He's going to try to
stab the guards, he thought. It's a ruse. And then everyone's going to tear
us apart.
Now the circling blur glinted in the sunlight. There was a murmur of
approval from the crowd.
'Yet somehow dull,' said the Patrician.
And his hands moved in a complex pattern that suggested that his wrists
must have moved through one another at least twice.
The tangled ball of hurtling fruit and cutlery leapt into the air.
Three melons dropped to the ground, cut cleanly in two.
Three knives thudded into the dust a few inches from their owner's
sandals.
And Sergeant Colon looked up and into a growing, greenish, expanding
The melon exploded, and so did the audience, but both their laughter
and the humour was slightly lost on Colon as he scraped over-ripe pith out
of his cars.
The survival instinct cut in again. Stagger around backwards, it said.
So he staggered around back~ wards, waving his legs in the air. Fall down
heavily, it said. So he sat down, and almost squashed a chicken. Lose your
dignity, it said; of all the things you've got, it's the one you can most
afford to lose.
Lord Vetinari helped him up. 'Our very lives depend on your appearing
to be a stupid fat idiot,' he hissed, putting Colon's fez back on his head.
'I ain't very good at acting, sir-'
'Good!'
'Yessir.'
The Patrician scooped up three melon halves and positively skipped over
to a stall that a woman had just set up, snatching an egg from a basket as
he went past. Sergeant Colon blinked again. This was not... real. The
Patrician didn't do this sort of thing...
'Ladies and gentlemen! You see - an egg! And here we have a - melon
rind! Egg, melon! Melon, egg! We put the melon over the egg!' His hands
darted across the three halves, switching them at bewildering speed. 'Round
and round they go, just like that! Now: where's the egg? What about you,
shah?'
Al-jibla smirked.
' 's the one on the left,' he said. 'It always is.'
Lord Vetinari lifted the melon. The board below was eggless.
'And you, noble guardsman?'
' 's got to be the one in the middle,' said the guard.
'Yes, of course... oh dear, it isn't...'
The crowd looked at the last melon. They were street people. They knew
the score. When the object can be under one of three things, and it's
already turned out not to be under two of them, then the one place it was
certainly not going to be was under the third. Only some kind of gullible
fool would believe something like that. Of course there was going to be a
trick. There always was a trick. But you watched it, in order to see a trick
done well.
Lord Vetinari raised the melon nevertheless, and the crowd nodded in
satisfaction. Of course it wasn't there. It'd be a pretty poor day for
street entertainment if things were where they were supposed to be.
Sergeant Colon knew what was going to happen next, and he knew this
because for the last minute or so something had been pecking at his head.
Aware that this was probably his moment, he raised his fez and revealed
a very small fluffy chick.
'Have you got a towel? I am afraid it has just gone to the toilet on my
head, sir.'
There was laughter, some applause and, to his amazement, a tinkling of
coins around his feet.
'And finally,' said the Patrician, 'the beautiful Beti will do an
exotic dance.'
The crowd fell silent.
Then someone at the back said, 'How much do we have to pay for her not
to?'
'Right! I've just about had enough of this!' Veils flying out behind
her, bangles jingling, elbows waving viciously and boots kicking up sparks,
the lovely Beti strode into the crowd. 'Which of you said that?'
People shrank away from her. Armies would have retreated. And there,
revealed like a jellyfish deserted by a suddenly ebbing tide, was a small
man about to fry in the wrath of the ascendant Nobbs.
'I meant no offence, oh doe-eyed one-'
'Oh? Pastry-faced, am W Nobby flung out an arm in a crash of bracelets
and knocked the man over. 'You've got a lot to learn about women, young
man!' And then, because a Nobbs could never resist a prone target, the
petite Beti drew back a steel-capped boot
'Beti!' snapped the Patrician.
'Oh, right, yeah, right,' said Nobby, with veiled contempt. 'Everyone
can tell me what to do, right? Just because I happen to be the woman around
here I'm just supposed to accept it all, eh?'
'No, you just ain't supposed to kick him inna fork,' hissed Colon,
pulling him away. 'It don't look good.' Although he noted, the women in the
crowd seemed to be disappointed by the sudden curtailment of the
performance.
'And there are many strange stories we can tell you!' shouted the
Patrician.
'Beti certainly could,' murmured Colon, and was kicked sharply on his
ankle.
'And many strange sights we can show you!'
'Beti cert- Aargh!'
'But for now we will seek the shade of yonder caravanserai...'
'What're we doing?'
'We're going to the pub.'
The crowd began to disperse, but with occasional amused glances back at
the trio.
One of the guards nodded at Colon. 'Nice show,' he said. 'Especially
the bit where your lady didn't remove any veils- He darted behind his
colleague as Nobby spun round like an avenging angel.
'Sergeant,' the Patrician whispered. 'It is very important that we
learn the current whereabouts of Prince Cadram, do you understand? In
taverns, people talk. Let us keep our ears open.'
The tavern wasn't Colon's idea of a pub. For one thing, most of it had
no roof. Arched walls surrounded a courtyard. A grapevine grew out of a huge
cracked urn and had been teased overhead on trellises. There was the gentle
sound of tinkling water, and unlike the Mended Drum this was not because the
bar backed on to the privies but because of a small fountain in the middle
of the cobbles. And it was cool, much cooler than in the street, even though
the vine leaves scarcely hid the sky.
'Didn't know you could juggle, sir,' Colon whispered to Lord Vetinari.
'You mean you can't, sergeant?'
'Nossir!'
'How strange. It's hardly a skill, is it? One knows
what the objects are and where they want to go. After that it's just a
case of letting them occupy the correct positions in time and space.'
'You're dead good at it, sir. Practise often, do you?'
'Until today, I've never tried.' Lord Vetinari looked at Colon's
astonished expression. 'After Ankh-Morpork, sergeant, a handful of flying
melons present a very minor problem indeed.'
'I'm amazed, sir.'
'And in politics, sergeant, it is always important to know where the
chicken is.'
Colon raised his fez. 'Is this one still on my head?'
'It seems to have gone to sleep. I wouldn't disturb it, if I were you.'
' 'ere, you, juggler... she can't come in here!'
They looked up. Someone with a face and apron that said 'barman' in
seven hundred languages was standing over them, a wine jug in each hand.
'No women in here,' he went on.
'Why not?' said Nobby.
'No women asking questions, neither.'
'Why not?'
' 'cos it is written, that's why.'
'Where'm I supposed to go, then?'
The barman shrugged. 'Who knows where women go?,
'Off you go, Beti,' said the Patrician. 'And... listen for
information!'
Nobby grabbed the cup of wine from Colon and gulped it down.
'I dunno,' he moaned, 'I've only been a woman ten minutes and already I
hate you male bastards.'
'I dunno what's got into him, sir,' whispered Colon as Nobby stamped
out. 'He ain't like this normally.. I thought Klatchian women did what they
were told!'
'Does your wife do what she's told, sergeant?'
'Well, yeah, obviously, a man's got to be the master in his own house,
that's what I always say-'
'So why are you, I hear, always putting up kitchen furniture?'
'Well, obviously, you've got to listen to-'
'In fact Klatchian history is full of famous examples of women who even
went to war with their men,' said the Patrician.
'What? On the same side?'
'Prince Arkven's wife Tistam used to ride into the battle with her
husband and, according to legend, killed ten thousand thousand men.'
'That's a lot of men.'
'Legends are prone to inflation. However, I believe there is good
historical evidence that Queen Sowawondra of Sumtri had more than thirty
thousand people put to death during her reign. She could be quite touchy,
they say.'
'You should hear my wife if I don't put the plates away,' said Sergeant
Colon gloomily.
'Now we are integrated with the local population, sergeant,' said the
Patrician, 'we must find out what is happening. Although an invasion is
clearly planned, I feel sure Prince Cadram will have reserved some forces in
case of land attack. It would be nice to know where they are, because that's
where he will be.'
'Right.'
'You think you can handle this?'
'Yessir. I know Klatchians, sir. Don't you worry about that.'
'Here's some money. Buy drinks for people. Mingle.'
'Right.'
'Not too many drinks, but as much mingling as you are capable of.'
'I'm a good mingler, sir.'
'Off you go, then.'
'Sir?'
'Yes?'
'I'm a bit worried about... Beti, sir. Going off like that. Anything
might happen to hi... her.' But he spoke with some hesitation. There wasn't
much you could imagine happening to Corporal Nobbs.
'I'm sure we shall hear about it if there are any problems,' said the
Patrician.
'You're right there, sir.'
Colon sidled over to a group of men who were sitting in a rough circle
on the floor, talking quietly amongst themselves and eating from a large
dish.
He sat down. The men on either side of him obediently shuffled along.
Now then, how did you... ah, right... anyone knew how Klatchians
talked...
'Greetings, fellow brothers of the dessert,' he said. 'I don't know
about you, but I could just do with a plate of sheep's eyeballs, eh? I bet
you boys can't wait to be back on your camels, I know I can't. I spit upon
the defiling dogs of Ankh-Morpork. Anyone had any baksheesh lately? You can
call me Al.'
'Excuse me, are you the lady who is with the clowns?'
Corporal Nobbs, who had been trudging along gloomily, looked up. He was
being addressed by a pleasant-faced young woman. A woman actually talking to
him by choice was a novelty. Smiling while doing so was unheard of.
'Er yeah. Right. That's me.' He swallowed:'Beti.'
'My name is Bana. Would you like to come and talk with us?'
Nobby looked past her. There were a number of women of varying ages
sitting around a large well. One of them waved at him shyly.
He blinked. This was uncharted territory. He looked down at his
clothes, which were already the worse for wear. His clothes always looked
the worse for wear five minutes after he'd put them on.
'Oh, don't worry,' said the girl. 'We know how it is. But you looked so
alone. And perhaps you can help us...
They were among the group now._ There were women of every legitimate
shape and size, and so far none of them had said 'Yuk,' an experience
hitherto unchronicled in Nobby's personal history. In a detached,
light-headed way, Corporal Nobbs felt that he was entering Paradise, and it
was only an unfortunate detail that he'd come to via the wrong door.
'We are trying to comfort Netal,' said the girl. 'Her betrothed won't
marry her tomorrow.'
'The swine,' said Nobby.
One of the girls, eyes red with crying, looked up sharply.
'He wanted to,' she sobbed. 'But he's been taken off to fight in Gebra!
All over some island no-one's heard of! And all my family are here!'
'Who took him off?' said Nobby.
'He took himself off,' snapped an older woman. Clothing differences
aside, there was something
hauntingly familiar about her, and Nobby realized that if you cut her
in half the words 'mother-in-law' would be all the way through.
'Oh, Mrs Atbar,' said Netal, 'he said it was his duty. Anyway, all the
boys have had to go.'
'Men!' said Nobby, rolling his eyes.
'I expect you'd know a lot about the pleasures of men, then,' said
Mother-in-Law sourly.
'Mother!'
'Who, me?' said Nobby, forgetting himself for a moment. 'Oh, yeah.
Lots.'
'You do?'
'Why not? Beer's favourite,' said Nobby. 'But you can't beat a good
cigar, as long as it's free.'
'Hah!' Mother-in-Law picked up a basket of washing and stamped away,
followed by most of the older women. The others laughed. Even the
disappointed Netal smiled.
'I think that's not what she meant,' said Bana. To a chorus of giggles,
she leaned down and whispered in Nobby's ear.
His expression did not change but it did seem to solidify.
'Oh, that,' he said.
There were some worlds of experience which Nobby had only contemplated
on a map, but he knew what she was talking about. Of course he'd patrolled
certain parts of the Shades in his time - the ones where young ladies tended
to hang around without very much to do, and probably catching cold too - but
those areas of police work that in other places might be of interest to a
Vice Squad now tended to be looked after by the Guild of Seamstresses
themselves. People who neglected to obey the... no, not the law as such,
call them the unwritten rules... as laid down by Mrs Palm and her committee
of very experienced ladies[15] attracted the attention of the Agony Aunts,
Dotsie and Sadie, and might or might not be seen again. Even Mr Vimes
approved of the arrangement. It didn't cause paperwork,
'Oh, yeah,' said Nobby, still staring at some inner screen.
Of course, he knew what...
'Oh, that,' he mumbled. 'Well, I've seen a thing or two,' he added.
Largely on postcards, he had to admit.
'It must be wonderful to have so much freedom,' said Bana.
'Er.. .'
Netal burst out crying again. Her friends fluttered around her.
'I don't see why the men have to go off like this,' said Bana. 'My
betrothed has gone too.'
There was a cackle from a very old woman sitting by the well. 'I can
tell you why, dears. Because it's better than growing melons all day. It's
better than women.'
'Men think war is better than women?'
'It's always fresh, it's always young, and you can make a good fight
last all day.'
'But they get killed!'
'Better to die in battle than in bed, they say' She cracked a toothless
grin. 'But there are good ways for a man to die in bed, eh, Beti?'
Nobby hoped the glow of his ears wasn't singeing his veil. Suddenly, he
felt he'd caught up with his future. Ten damn pence worth of it hit him in
the face.
' 'scuse me,' he said. 'Are any of you Nubilians?'
'What are Nubilians?' said Bana.
'It's a country round here,' said Nobby. He added hopefully, 'Isn't
it?'
Not a single face suggested that this was so.
Nobby sighed. His hand reached up to his ear for a cigarette end, but
it came down again empty.
'I'll tell you this, girls,' he said. 'I wish I'd settled for the
tendollar version. Don't you just sometimes want to sit down and cry?'
'You look even sadder than Netal,' said Bana. 'Isn't there some way we
can cheer you up?'
Nobby stared at her for a moment, and then started to sob.
Everyone was staring at Colon, their food halfway to their lips.
'Did I just hear him say that, Faifal? What do I want to be on a camel
for? I'm a plumber!'
'He's the clown with the juggler. I think. The poor man is several
palms short of an oasis.'
' I mean the bloody things spit and they're a bugger to get up the
stairs with your toolbox-'
'Now, come on it's not his fault, let's show a little charity.' The
speaker cleared his throat. 'Good morning, friend,' he said. 'May we invite
you to share our couscous?'
Sergeant Colon peered at the bowl, and then dipped in a finger and
tasted it.
'Hey, this is semolina! You've got semolina! It's just ordinary semol-'
He stopped, and coughed. 'Yeah, right. Thanks. Got any strawberry jam?'
The host looked at his friends. They shrugged.
'We know not of this "strawberry hjam" of which you speak,' he said
carefully, We prefer it with lamb.' He offered Colon a long wooden skewer.
'Oh, you gotta have strawberry jam,' said Colon, carried away. 'When we
were kids we'd stir it in and... and...' He looked at their faces, 'O'
course, that was back in Ur,' he said.
The men nodded at one another. Suddenly it was all dear.
Colon belched loudly.
From the looks he got from everyone else, he was the only one who'd
heard of this common Klatchian custom.
'So,' he said, 'where's the army these days? Approximately?'
'Why do you ask, o full-of-gas one?'
'Oh, we thought we could make a bit of cash entertaining the troops,'
said Colon. He was immensely proud of this idea. 'You know... a smile, a
song, a lack of exotic dancing. But that means we got to know where they
are, see?'
'Excuse me, fat one, but can you understand what I am saying?'
'Yes, it's very tasty,' Colon hazarded.
'Ah. I thought so. So he's a spy. But whose?'
'Really? Who would be so stupid as to use a joke like this as a spy?'
'Ankh-Morpork?'
'Oh, come on! He's pretending to be an Anhk-Morpork spy, perhaps. But
they're cunning over there-'
'You think. A people who make curry out of something called curry
powder and you think they're clever?'
'I reckon he's from Muntab. They're always watching us.'
'And pretending to be from Ankh-Morpork?'
'Well, if you were trying to look like a joke Morporkian pretending to
be Klatchian wouldn't you look like that?'
'But why'd he pretend to be from there?'
'Ah: politics.'
'Let's call the watch, then.'
'Are you mad? We've been talking to him! They will be: inquisitive.'
'Good point. I know:'
Faifal gave Colon a big grin.
'I did hear the entire army has marched away to En al Sams la Laisa,
'he said. 'But don't tell anyone.
'Have they?' Colon glanced at the other men. They were watching him
with curiously deadpan expressions.
'Sounds like a massive place, with a name like that,' he said.
'Oh, huge,' said his neighbour. One of the other men made a noise that
you might think was a suppressed chuckle.
'It's a long way, is it?'
'No, very close. You're practically on top of it,' said Faifal. He
nudged a colleague, whose shoulders were shaking.
'Oh, right. Big army, is it?'
'Could easily be very big, yes.'
'Fine. Fine,' said Colon. 'Er... anyone got a pencil? I could've sworn
I had one when-'
There was a noise outside the tavern. It was the sound of many women
laughing, which is always a disquieting noise to men.[16] Customers peered
suspiciously through the vines.
Colon and the rest of the crowd looked around an urn at the group by
the well. An old lady was rolling on the ground, laughing, and various
younger ones were leaning against one another for support.
He heard one of them say, 'What did he say again?'
'He said, "That's funny, it's never done that when I've tried it!"'
'Yeah, that's true!' cackled the old woman. 'It never does!'
' "That's funny, it's never done that when I've tried if',' Nobby
repeated.
Colon groaned. That was the voice and tone of Corporal Nobbs in
storytelling mode, when wood could scorch at ten yards.
' 'scuse me,' he muttered, and forced his way through the press to the
gateway.
'Have you heard the one about the ki... the sultan who was afraid his
wife... one of his wives... would be unfaithful to him while he was away?'
'We haven't heard any stories like these, Beti!' Bana gasped.
'Really? Oh, I've got a thousand and one of 'em. Well, anyway, he went
and saw the wise old blacksmith, right, and he said-'
'You can't go round telling stories like that, cor- Beti,' Colon panted
as he lumbered to a halt.
Nobby realized that a change had come over the group. Now he was
surrounded by women who were in the presence of a man. A known man, he
corrected himself.
Several of them were blushing. They hadn't blushed before.
'Why not?' said Beti nastily.
'You'll offend people,' said Colon uncertainly.
'Er, we are not offended, sir,' said Bana, in a small humble voice. 'We
think Beti's stories are very... instructive. Especially. the one about the
man who went into the tavern with the very small musician.'
'And that was pretty hard to translate,' said Nobby, 'because they
don't really know what a piano is in Klatch. But it turns out there's this
kind of stringed-'
'And it was very interesting about the man with his arms and legs in
plaster,' said Netal.
'Yeah, and they laughed even though they don't have the same kind of
doorbells here,' said Nobby. 'Here, you don't have to go-'
But the group around the well was dispersing. Water jugs were being
picked up and carried away. A kind of preoccupied busyness came over the
women.
Bana nodded at Beti. 'Er... thank you. It's been very... interesting.
But we must go. It was so kind of you to talk to us.'
'Er, no, don't go...'
A faint suggestion of perfume hung in the air.
Beti glared at Colon. 'Sometimes I really want to give you a right ding
alongside the lughole,' she growled. 'My first bloody chance in years and
you--'
She stopped. There was a crowd of puzzled yet disapproving faces behind
Colon.
And things might have ended otherwise had it not been for the braying
of the donkey, from above.
The stolen donkey, easily pulling away from Nobby's inexpert tether,
had wandered off in search of food. She vaguely associated this with the
doorway to her stable and therefore with doorways in general, and so had
wandered through the nearest open one.
There had been some narrow spiral stairs inside, but her stall was
pretty narrow and steps didn't worry a donkey that was used to the streets
of Al-Khali.
It was only a disappointment when the steps came to an end and there
was still no hay.
'Oh no,' said someone behind Colon. 'There's a donkey up the minaret
again.'
There were groans all round.
'What's wrong with that? What goes up must come down,' said Colon.
'You don't know?' said one of his dining companions. 'You don't have
minarets in Tar?'
'Er-' said Colon.
'We have plenty of donkeys,' said Lord Vetinari. There was general
laughter, most of it directed at Colon.
One of the men pointed to the dim interior of the minaret.
'Look. .. see?'
'A very narrow, winding staircase,' said the Patrician. 'So... ?'
'There's nowhere to turn at the top, right? Oh, any fool can get a
donkey up a minaret. But have you ever tried getting an animal to go
backwards down a narrow staircase in the dark? Can't be done.'
'There's something about a rising staircase,' said someone else. 'It
attracts donkeys. They think there's something at the top.'
'We had to push the last one off, didn't we.?' said one of the guards.
'Right. It splashed,' said his comrade in arms.
'No one is pushing Valerie off'f anything,' snarled Beti. 'Any one of
you tries anything like that and, s'welp me, you'll feel the wrong end of-'
He
stopped, and a wide horrible grin appeared behind the veil. 'I mean,
I'll give you a great big soppy kiss.'
Several men at the back of the crowd took to their heels.
'There's no need to get nasty,' said the guard.
'I mean it!' said Beti, advancing.
The cowering guard cringed. 'Can't you do anything with her, sirs?'
'Us?' said Lord Vetinari. ' 'fraid not. Oh dear... it's going to be
like that business in Djelibeybi all over again, A].'
'Oh dear,' said Colon, mugging loyally. The crowd, or at least that
part that thought itself sufficiently far away from Beti, started to grin.
This was street theatre.
'I don't know if they ever got that man down off the flagpole,'
Vetinari went on.
'Oh, most of 'im, they did,' said Colon.
'Tell you what, tell you what,' said the guard hurriedly, 'suppose we
get a rope round it-'
'--her-' Beti growled.
'Her, right, and then -'
'You'd need at least three men up there and there ain't no room!'
'Sir, I've got an idea,' whispered one of the guards.
'I should make it quick,' said Colon. "cos there's no stopping Beti
once she gets going.'
The guards held a whispered argument.
'We'd get into trouble if we do that! You know all that stuff we were
told about the war effort! That's why they were all confiscated!'
'No one will miss it for five minutes!'
'Yeah, but you want to tell the prince we lost one?'
'All right, but do you want to explain to her?'
They both looked at Beti. 'And they're easy to steer, after all,'' one
whispered.
'Valerie?' said Sergeant Colon.
'There is a problem?' Beti demanded.
'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 elevateddonkey
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?'
'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.'
'Nobby, you're scared of heights,' said Colon. 'I know you're scared of
heights.'
'That's sexual stereotyping!'
'No, it's not!'
'Yes, it is! You'll be expecting me to break my ankle a lot and scream
all the time next! It's my job to prove to you that a woman can be as good
as a man!'
'Practically identical in your case, Nobby. You've caught too much sun,
that's what it is. You are not female, Nobby!'
Beti sniffed. 'That's just the sort of sexist remark I'd expect from
you.'
'Well, you're not!'
'It's the principle of the thing.'
'Well, at least we now have transport,' said Lord Vetinari, his tone
suggesting that the show was over. 'Unfortunately, I had no time to find out
where the army is.'
'Ah! I can help you there, sir!' Colon tried to salute, and then made a
grab for the carpet again. 'I found out by cunning, sir!'
'Really?'
'Yessir! It's at a place called... er... En al Sams la Laisa, sir.'
The carpet drifted onwards for a moment, in silence.
"'The Place where the Sun Shineth Not"?' said the Patrician.
There was more silence. Colon was trying not to look at anyone.
'Is there a somewhere called Gebra?' said Nobby, sulkily.
'Yes, Be- corporal. There is.'
'They've gone there. Of course, you've only got a woman's word for it.'
'Well done, corporal. We shall head up the coast.'
Lord Vetinari relaxed. In a busy and complex life he'd never met people
quite like Nobby and Colon. They talked all the time yet there was something
almost... restful about them.
He watched the dusty horizon carefully as the ancient carpet curved
around. Under his arm was the metal cylinder Leonard had made for him.
Drastic times required drastic measures.
'Sir?' said Colon, his voice muffled by the carpet.
'Yes, sergeant?'
'I've got to know... How did you... you know... get the donkey down?'
'Persuasion, sergeant.'
'What? Just talking?'
'Yes, sergeant. Persuasion. And, admittedly, a sharp stick.'
'Ah! I knew-'
'The trick of getting donkeys down from minarets,' said the Patrician,
as the desert unwound below them, 'is always to find that part of the donkey
which seriously wishes to get down.'
The wind had settled. The bird up on the cliffs had shut down for the
night. All Vimes could hear was the sizzle of the little desert creatures.
Then Ahmed's voice said: 'I am genuinely impressed, Sir Samuel.'
Vimes took a deep breath. 'You know, you really fooled me,' he said.
"'May your loins be full of fruit." That was a good one. I really thought
you were just-' He stopped. But Ahmed continued:
'-just another camel-driver with a towel on his head? Oh, dear. And
you'd been doing so well up to now, Sir Samuel. The Prince was very
impressed.'
'Oh, come on. You were all but making suggestive comments about melons.
What was I supposed to think?'
'Don't fret, Sir Samuel. I consider it all a compliment. You can turn
round. I wouldn't dream of harming you unless you do something... foolish.'
Vimes turned. He could just make out a shape in the afterglow.
'You were admiring this place,' said Ahmed. 'Tacticus's men had it
built when he tried to conquer Klatch. It's not really a city by today's
standards, of course. It was really just making a point. "Here we are and
here we stay," as it were. And then the wind changed.'
'You murdered Snowy Slopes, didn't you?'
'The term is executed. I can show you the confession he signed
beforehand.'
'Of his own free will?'
'More or less.'
'What?'
'Let us say, I pointed out to him the alternatives to signing the
confession. I was kind enough to leave you the pad. After all, I wanted to
keep your interest. And don't look like that, Sir Samuel. I need you.'
'How can you tell how I look?'
'I can guess. The Assassins' Guild had a contract on him in any case.
And by a happy chance I am Guild member.'
'You?' Vimes tried to bite down on the word. And then: why not him?
Kids got sent a thousand miles to be taught in the Assassins' Guild
school...
'Oh, yes. The best years of my life, they tell me. I was in Viper
House. Up School! Up School! Right Up School!' He sighed like a prince and
spat like a camel driver. 'If I shut my eyes I can still recall the taste of
that peculiar custard we used to get on Mondays. Dear me, how it all comes
back... I remember every soggy street. Does Mr Dibbler still sell his
horrible sausages inna bun in Treacle Mine Road?'
'Yes.'
'Still the same old Dibbler, eh?'
'Still the same sausages.'
'Once tasted, never forgotten.'
'True.'
'No, don't move too quickly, Sir Samuel. Otherwise
I'm afraid I shall be cutting your own throat. You don't trust me, and
I don't trust you.'
'Why did you drag me here?'
'Drag you? I had to sabotage my own ship so you wouldn't lose me!'
'Yes, but... you... knew how I'd react.' Vimes's heart began to sink.
Everyone knew how Sam Vimes would react...
'Yes. Would you like a cigarette, Sir Samuel?'
'I thought you sucked those damn cloves.'
'In Ankh-Morpork, yes. Always be a little bit foreign wherever you are,
because everyone knows foreigners are a little bit stupid. Besides, these
are rather good.'
'Fresh from the desert?'
'Hah! Yes, everyone knows Klatchian cigarettes are made from camel
dung.' A match flared, and for a moment Vimes caught a glimpse of the hooked
nose as Ahmed lit the cigarette for him. 'That is one area where, I regret
to say, prejudice has some evidence on its side. No. these are all the way
from Sumtri. An island where, it is said, the women have no souls.
Personally, I doubt it.'
Vimes could make out a hand, holding the packet. just for a moment he
wondered if he could grab and
'How is your luck?' said Ahmed.
'Running out, I suspect.'
'Yes. A man should know the length of his luck. Shall I tell you how I
know you are a good man, Sir Samuel?' In the light of the rising moon Vimes
saw Ahmed produce a cigarette holder, insert one, and fight up almost
fastidiously.
'Do tell.'
'After the attempt on the Prince's life I suspected everyone. But you
suspected only your own people. You couldn't bring yourself to think the
Klatchians might have done it. Because that'd fine you up with the likes of
Sergeant Colon and all the rest of the Kiatchian-
fags-are-made-of-camel-dung brigade.'
'Whose policeman are you?'
'I draw my pay, let us say, as the wali of Prince Cadram.'
'I shouldn't think he's very happy with you right now, then. You were
supposed to be guarding his brother, weren't you?' So was I, Vimes thought.
But what the hell...
'Yes. And we thought the same way, Sir Samuel. You thought it was your
people, I thought it was mine. The difference is, I was right. Khufurah's
death was plotted in Klatch.'
'Oh, really? That's what they wanted the Watch to think-'
'No, Sir Samuel. The important thing is what someone wanted you to
think.'
'Really? Well, you've got that wrong. All the stuff with the glass and
the sand on the floor, I saw through :that... straight... away...'
His voice faded into silence.
After a while Ahmed said, almost sympathetically, 'Yes, you did.'
'Damn.'
'Oh, in some ways you were right. Ossie was paid in dollars,
originally. And then, later on, someone broke in, making sure they dumped
most of the glass outside, and swapped the money. And distributed the sand.
I must say that I thought the sand was going a bit too far, too. No-one
would be that stupid. But they wanted to make sure it looked like a bungled
attempt.'
'Who was it?' said Vimes.
'Oh, a small-time thief. Bob-Bob Hardyoyo. He didn't even know why he
was doing it, except that someone was willing to pay him. I commend your
city, commander. For enough money, you can find someone to do anything.'
'Someone must have paid him.'
'A man he met in a pub.'
Vimes nodded glumly. It was amazing how many people were prepared to do
business with a man they'd met in a pub.
'I can believe that,' he said.
'You see, if even the redoubtable Commander Vimes, who is known even to
some senior Klatchian politicians as an unbendingly honest and thorough man,
if somewhat lacking in intelligence... if even he protested that it was done
by his own people - well, the world is watching. The world would soon find
out. Starting a war over a rock? Well... that sort of thing makes countries
uneasy. They've all got rocks off their coast. But starting a war because
some foreign dog had killed a man on a mission of peace... that, I think,
the world would understand.'
'Lacking in intelligence?' said Vimes.
'Oh, don't be too depressed, commander. That business with the fire at
the embassy. That was sheer bravery.'
'It was bloody terror!'
'Well, the dividing line is narrow. That was one thing I hadn't
expected.'
In the rolling, clicking snooker table of Vimes's mind the black ball
hit a pocket.
'You had expected the fire, then?'
'The building should have been almost empty-,
Vimes moved. Ahmed was lifted off his feet and slammed against a
pillar, with both of Vimes's hands around his neck.
'That woman was trapped in there!'
'It... was... necessary!' said Ahmed hoarsely. 'There... had... to be
a... diversion! His... life was... in danger, I had to get him out! I did...
not know... about the... woman until too late... I give you my word...'
Through the red veil of anger Vimes became aware of a prickle in the
region of his stomach. He glanced down at the knife that had appeared
magically in the other man's hand.
'Listen to me . . ' hissed Ahmed. 'Prince Cadram ordered his brother's
death... What better way to demonstrate the... perfidy of the
sausage-eaters.. killing a peace-maker...'
'His own brother? You expect me to believe that?'
'Messages were sent to... the embassy in code...'
'To the old ambassador? I don't believe that!'
...
