Jingo. Part 54

"And he too takes orders from you? You are a remarkable man, Sir Samuel. But you would not, I think, have killed the Prince."

"No. But you'd have killed me if I had."

"Oh, yes. Flagrant murder in front of witnesses. I am, after all, a copper."

They'd reached the camels. One looked round as Ahmed prepared to mount, thought better of spitting at him, and hit Vimes instead. With great precision.

Ahmed looked back at the footballers.

"Up in Klatchistan the nomads play a game very similar to that," he said. "But on horseback. The aim is to get the object around the goal."

"Object?"

"Probably best just to think of it as an 'object,' Sir Samuel. And now, I think, I shall head that way. There are thieves in the mountains. The air is clear up there. As you know, there is always work for policemen."

"You thinking of returning to Ankh-Morpork at any time?"

"You'd like to see me there, Sir Samuel?"

"It's an open city. But be sure to call in at Pseudopolis Yard when you arrive."

"Ah, and we can reminisce about old times."

"No. So you can hand over that sword. We'd give you a receipt and you can pick it up when you leave."

"I'd take some persuading, Sir Samuel."

"Oh, I think I'd only ask once."

Ahmed laughed, nodded at Vimes and rode away.

For a few minutes he was a shape at the base of a column of dust, and then a s.h.i.+fting dot in the heat haze, and then the desert swallowed him.

The day wore on. Various Klatchian officials and some of the Ankh-Morpork people were summoned to the tent. Vimes wandered close to it a few times and heard the sound of voices raised in dispute.

Meanwhile, the armies dug in. Someone had already erected a crude signpost, its arms pointing to various soldiers' homes. Since these were all in part of Ankh-Morpork the arms all pointed exactly the same way.

He found most of the Watch sitting out of the wind, while a wizened Klatchian woman cooked quite a complicated meal over a small fire. They all seemed to be fully alive, with the usual slight question mark in the case of Reg Shoe.

"Where've you been, Sergeant Colon?" said Vimes.

"Been sworn to secrecy about that, sir. By his lords.h.i.+p."

"Right." Vimes didn't press the point. Getting information out of Colon was like getting water out of a flannel. It could wait. "And n.o.bby?"

"Right here, sir!" The wizened woman saluted in a clash of bangles.

"That's you you?"

"Yessir! Doing the dirty work as per the woman's role in life, sir, despite the fact that there is less senior watchmen present, sir!"

"Now then, n.o.bby," said Colon. "Cheery can't cook, we can't let Reg do it because bits fall into the pan, and Angua-"

"-doesn't do cookery," said Angua. She was lying back on a rock with her eyes closed. The rock was the slumbering shape of Detritus.

"Anyway, you just started doing the cooking like you was expecting to have to do it," said Colon.

"Kebab, sir?" said n.o.bby. "There's plenty."

"You certainly got a lot of food from somewhere," said Vimes.

"Klatchian quartermaster, sir," said n.o.bby, grinning beneath his veil. "Used my s.e.xual wiles on him, sir."

Vimes's kebab stopped halfway to his mouth and dripped lamb fat on to his legs. He saw Angua's eyes slam open and stare in horror at the sky.

"I told him I'd take my clothes off and scream if he didn't give me some grub, sir."

"That'd scare the daylights out of me, sure enough," said Vimes. He saw Angua breathe out again.

"Yeah, I reckon if I played my cards right I could be one of them fatal femmies," said n.o.bby. "I've only got to wink at a man and he runs a mile. Could be useful, that."

"I told told him he could change back into his uniform, but he says he feels more comfortable like this," whispered Colon to Vimes. "I'm getting a bit worried, to tell you the truth." him he could change back into his uniform, but he says he feels more comfortable like this," whispered Colon to Vimes. "I'm getting a bit worried, to tell you the truth."

I can't handle this, Vimes thought. This isn't in the book of rules.

"Er...how can I explain this...?" he began.

"I don't want any of them in-you-endoes," said n.o.bby. "It's a good idea to walk a mile in someone else's shoes, that's all I'm saying."

"Well, so long as it's just sh-"

"I've just been gettin' in touch with my softer side, all right? Seein' the other man's point of view, sort of thing, even if he's a woman."

He looked at their faces and waved his hands vaguely. "All right, all right, I'll put my uniform on after I've tidied up around the camp. Will that make you all happy?"

"Something smells nice!"

Carrot ran up, bouncing his football. He'd stripped to his waist. The whistle bounced on its string around his neck.

"I've declared half-time," he said, sitting down. "So I've sent some of the lads into Gebra to get four thousand oranges. Shortly the combined Ankh-Morpork regimental bands will put on a display of counter-marching while playing a selection of military favorites."

"Have they practiced practiced counter-marching?" said Angua. counter-marching?" said Angua.

"I don't think so."

"Should be good, then."

"Carrot," said Vimes, "I don't wish to pry, but how, in the middle of a desert, did you find a football?" And the voice in the back of his mind insisted: you heard him die, you heard them all die...somewhere else.

"Oh, these days I carry a deflated one in my pack, sir. A very pacifying object, a football. Are you all right, sir?"

"Eh? What? Oh. Yes. Just a bit...tired. So who's winning?" Vimes patted his pockets, and found his last cigar.

"It's broadly speaking a tie, sir. I had to send four hundred and seventy-three men off, though. Klatch is now well ahead on fouls, I'm sorry to say."

"Sport as a subst.i.tute for war, eh?" said Vimes. He rootled in the ashes of n.o.bby's fire and pulled out a half-consumed...well, it helped to think of it as a desert coal.

Carrot gave him a solemn look. "Yes, sir. No one's using weapons. And have you noticed how the Klatchian army is getting smaller? Some of the chiefs from distant parts are taking their men away. They say there's no point in staying if there's not going to be a war. I don't think they really wanted to be here in any case, to tell you the truth. And I don't think it's going to be easy to get them to come back-"

There was shouting behind them. Men were coming out of the tent, arguing. Lord Rust was among them. He looked around, talking to his companions. Then he spotted Vimes and rocketed furiously toward him.

"Vimes!"

Vimes looked up, hand halfway to his cigar.

"We would have won, you know," growled Rust. "We would have won! But we were betrayed on the brink of success!"

Vimes stared at him.

"And it's your your fault, Vimes! We'll be the laughingstock of Klatch! You know the value these people put on face, and we won't have any! Vetinari is fault, Vimes! We'll be the laughingstock of Klatch! You know the value these people put on face, and we won't have any! Vetinari is finished finished! And so are you! And so is your stupid, mongrel, cowardly cowardly Watch! What do you say to that, Vimes? Eh?" Watch! What do you say to that, Vimes? Eh?"

The watchmen sat like statues, waiting for Vimes to say something. Or even move.

"Eh? Vimes?"

Rust sniffed. "What's that smell?"

Vimes slowly s.h.i.+fted his gaze to his fingers. Smoke was rising. There was a faint sizzling.

He stood up and brought his fingers up in front of Rust's face.

"Take it," he said.

"That's...just some trick..."

"Take it," said Vimes.

Mesmerized, Rust licked his fingers and gingerly took the ember. "It doesn't hurt-"

"Yes, it does," said Vimes.

"In fact it-Aargh!"

Rust jumped back, dropped the ember and sucked his blistered fingers.

"The trick is not to mind that it hurts," said Vimes. "Now go away."

"You won't last long," Rust sneered. "You wait until we're back in the city. You just wait." He strode off, holding his stricken hand.

Vimes went back and sat down by the fire. After a while he said: "Where's he gone now?"

"Back to the lines, sir. I think he's ordering the men home."

"Can he see us?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"There's too many people in the way, sir."

"You're quite sure?"

"Not unless he can see through camels, sir."

"Good." Vimes stuck his fingers in his mouth. Sweat was pouring down his face. "d.a.m.n d.a.m.n d.a.m.n! Has anyone got any cold water?"

Captain Jenkins had got his s.h.i.+p afloat again. It had taken a lot of digging, and some careful work with balks of timber and the a.s.sistance of a Klatchian captain who had decided not to let patriotism stand in the way of profit.

He and his crew were resting on the sh.o.r.e when a greeting rang out from over them.

He squinted into the sun.

"That...that can't be Vimes, can it?"

The crew stared.

"Let's get aboard right now now!"

A figure started down the face of the dune. It moved very fast, much faster than a man could run on the s.h.i.+fting sand, and moved in a zig-zag fas.h.i.+on. As it drew nearer, it turned out to be a man standing on a s.h.i.+eld.

It slid to a halt a few feet away from the astonished Jenkins.

"Good of you to wait, captain!" said Carrot. "Very many thanks! The others will be down in a minute."

Jenkins looked back to the top of the dune. There were other, darker figures there now.

"Those are D'regs!" he shouted.

"Oh, yes. Lovely people. Have you met them at all?"