Jingo (18 page)

He met Lord Rust’s gaze and at least that suspicion faded. Rust wouldn’t try a trick like that. Men like Rust had a moral code of sorts, and some things weren’t
honorable
. You could own a street of crowded houses where people lived like cockroaches and the cockroaches lived like kings and that was perfectly okay, but Rust would probably die before he’d descend to forgery.

“I see, sir,” said Vimes. “You wanted me?”

“Commander Vimes, I must ask you to take the Klatchians resident in the city into custody.”

“On what charge, sir?”

“Commander, we are on the verge of
war
with Klatch. Surely you understand?”

“No, sir.”

“We are talking about spying, commander. Sabotage, even,” said Lord Rust. “To be frank…the city is to be placed under martial law.”

“Yessir? What kind of law’s that, sir?” said Vimes, staring straight ahead.

“You know very well, Vimes.”

“Is it the kind where you shout ‘Stop!’
before
you fire, sir, or the other kind?”

“Ah. I
see
.” Rust stood up and leaned forward.

“It pleased you to be…
smart
with Lord Vetinari, and for some reason he indulged you,” he said. “I, on the other hand, know your type.”

“My type?”

“It seems to me that the streets are full of crimes, commander. Unlicensed begging, public nuisances…but you seem to turn a blind eye, you seem to think you should have bigger ideas. But you are not required to have big ideas, commander. You are a thief-taker, nothing more. Are you eyeballing me, Vimes?”

“I was trying not to turn a blind eye, sir.”

“You seem to feel, Vimes, that the law is some kind of big glowing light in the sky which is not subject to control. And you are wrong. The law is what we tell it to be. I’m not going to add ‘Do you understand?’ because I
know
you understand and I am not going to try to reason with you. I know a rank bad hat when I see one.”

“Bad hat?” said Vimes weakly.

“Commander Vimes,” he said, “I had hoped to avoid this, but the last few days point to a succession of astonishing judgemental errors on your part. The Prince Khufurah was shot, and you seemed helpless to prevent this or find the criminal responsible. Mobs appear to run around the city unimpeded, I gather that one of your sergeants proposed to shoot innocent people in the head, and we have just heard that you took it upon yourself to arrest an innocent businessman and lock him in the cells for no reason at all.”

Vimes heard Colon gasp. But it sounded a long way off. He could feel everything crumbling under him, but his mind seemed to be flying now, flapping through a pink sky where nothing mattered very much.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, sir,” he said. “He was guilty of repeatedly being Klatchian, wasn’t he? Don’t you want me to do that to all of ’em?”

“
And if this was not enough
,” Rust went on, “we are told, and in other circumstances I would find this
very
hard to believe, even of a counter-jumper like you, that earlier tonight you, being quite unprovoked, assaulted two Klatchian guards, trespassed on Klatchian soil, entered the women’s quarters, abducted two Klatchians from their beds, ordered the destruction of Klatchian property and…well, frankly, acted quite disgracefully.”

What is the point of arguing? Vimes thought. Why play cards with a shaved deck? And yet—

“Two Klatchians, sir?”

“It seems Prince Khufurah has been kidnapped, Vimes. I find it hard to believe that even
you
would attempt that, but the Klatchians seem to be suggesting this. You were seen entering their property illegally. And you appear to have dragged a helpless lady from her bed. What have you got to say about that?”

“It was on fire at the time, sir.”

Lieutenant Hornett stepped forward and whispered something. Lord Rust subsided a bit.

“All right. Very well. There were perhaps mitigating circumstances, but politically it was a most ill-advised action, Vimes. I cannot pretend to know what has happened to the Prince, but frankly you seem to have taken a positive delight in making matters worse.”

Can you climb, Mr. Vimes
? Vimes said nothing. The other man had been carrying something bulky over his shoulder…

“You are removed from authority, commander. And the Watch will come under the direct command of this council. Is that understood?”

Rust turned to Carrot. “Captain Carrot, many of us here have heard…good reports about you, and by due authority I hereby appoint you acting Commander of the Watch—”

Vimes shut his eyes.

Carrot saluted smartly. “No! Sir!”

Vimes opened his eyes wide.

“Really?” Rust stared at Carrot for a few moments, and then gave a little shrug.

“Ah, well…loyalty is a fine thing. Sergeant Colon?”

“Sir!”

“In the circumstances, and since you are the most experienced noncommissioned officer and have an exemp—and have a military record, you will take command of the Watch for the duration of the…emergency.”

“Nossir!”

“That was an instruction, sergeant.”

Beads of sweat began to form on Colon’s brow. “Nossir!”

“
Sergeant
!”

“You can put it where the sun does not shine, sir!” said Colon desperately.

Once again, Vimes saw Rust’s milky-blue stare. Rust never looked surprised. And since he knew that a mere sergeant would never dare offer cheeky defiance, he erased Sergeant Colon from the immediate universe.

The gaze turned briefly to Detritus.

And he doesn’t know how to speak to a troll, Vimes thought. And he was once again impressed, in the same dark way, by the manner in which Rust dealt with the problem. He dealt with it by making it not be there.

“Who is the senior corporal in the Watch, Sir Samuel?”

“That would be Corporal Nobbs.”

The committee went into a huddle. There was a rush of whispering, in which the words “—an absolute little
tit
—” could be heard several times. Finally Rust looked up again.

“And the next in seniority?”

“Let me see…that would be Corporal Stronginthearm,” said Vimes. He felt oddly light-headed.

“Perhaps
he
is a man who can take orders.”

“He’s a dwarf, you idiot!”

Not a muscle moved on Rust’s face. There was a
clink
as Vimes’s badge was set neatly on the table.

“I don’t have to take this,” Vimes said calmly.

“Oh, so you’d rather be a civilian, would you?”

“
A watchman
is
a civilian, you inbred streak of piss
!”

Rust’s brain erased the sounds that his ears could not possibly have heard.

“And the keys to the armory, Sir Samuel,” he said.

They jangled as they landed on the table.

“And do the rest of you have any empty gestures to make?” said Lord Rust.

Sergeant Colon took his grimy badge out of his pocket and was a little disappointed that it didn’t make a defiant tinkle when he threw it on the table but instead bounced and smashed the water jug.

“I got my badge carved on my arm,” Detritus rumbled. “Someone c’n try an’ take it off if dey likes.”

Carrot laid his badge down very carefully.

Rust raised his eyebrows. “You too, captain?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I would have thought that
you
at least—”

He stopped and looked up in annoyance as the doors opened. A couple of the palace guards ran in, with a group of Klatchians behind them.

The council got to their feet in a hurry.

Vimes recognized the Klatchian in the center of the group. He’d seen him around at official functions and, if it hadn’t been for the fact that the man was a Klatchian, would have marked him down as a shifty piece of work.

“Who’s he?” he whispered to Carrot.

“Prince Kalif. He’s the deputy ambassador.”

“Another prince?”

The man came to a halt in front of the table, glanced at Vimes with no show of recognition and bowed to Lord Rust.

“Prince Kalif,” said Lord Rust. “Your arrival is unannounced but nevertheless—”

“I have grave news, my lord.” Even in his stunned state, a part of Vimes registered that the voice was different. Khufurah had learned his second language on the street, but this one had had tutors.

“At a time like this, what news isn’t?” said Rust.

“There have been developments on the new land. Regrettable incidents. And indeed in Ankh-Morpork, too.” He glanced at Vimes again. “Although here, I must say, reports are confused. Lord Rust, I have to tell you we are, technically, at war.”

“
Technically
at war?” said Vimes.

“I am afraid events are carrying us forward,” said Kalif. “The situation is delicate.”

They know they’re going to fight, Vimes thought. This is just like the start of a dance, where you hang around looking at your partner…

“I must tell you that you are being given twelve hours to remove all your citizens from Leshp,” said Kalif. “If that is done, matters will be happily resolved. For the present.”

“Our response is that
you
have twelve hours to quit Leshp,” said Rust. “If that is not done, then we will take…steps…”

Kalif bowed slightly. “We understand one another. A formal document will be with you shortly and, no doubt, we will be receiving one from you.”

“Indeed.”

“Here, hang on, you can’t just—” Vimes began.

“Sir Samuel, you are no longer Commander of the Watch and you have no place at these proceedings,” said Rust sharply. He turned back to the Prince.

“It is unfortunate that things have come to this,” he said stiffly.

“Indeed. But there comes a time when words are no longer sufficient.”

“I must agree with you. And then it is time to test one’s strength.”

Vimes stared in fascinated horror from one face to the other.

“We will, of course, allow you time to quit your embassy. Such of it as remains.”

“So kind. And of course we will extend to you the same courtesy.” Kalif bowed slightly.

So did Rust.

“After all, just because our countries are at war is no reason why we should not respect one another as friends,” said Lord Rust.

“What? Yes, it bloody well is!” said Vimes. “I can’t
believe
this! You can’t just stand there and…good grief, whatever happened to diplomacy?”

“War, Vimes, is a continuation of diplomacy by other means,” said Lord Rust. “As you would know, if you were really a gentleman.”

“And you Klatchians are as bad,” Vimes went on. “It’s that green mouldy mutton Jenkins sells. You’ve all got Foaming Sheep Disease. You can’t just stand there and—”

“Sir Samuel, you are, as you are at pains to point out, a civilian,” said Rust. “As such, you have no place here!”

Vimes didn’t bother with a salute but just turned away and walked out of the room. The rest of the squad followed him in silence back to Pseudopolis Yard.

“I told him he could put it where the sun didn’t shine,” said Sergeant Colon, as they crossed the Brass Bridge.

“That’s right,” said Vimes woodenly. “Well done.”

“Right to his face. ‘Where the sun don’t shine.’ Just like that,” said Colon. It was a little difficult to tell from his tone whether this was a matter of pride or dread.

“I’m afraid Lord Rust is technically correct, sir,” said Carrot.

“Really.”

“Yes, Mr. Vimes. The safety of the city is of paramount importance, so in times of war the civil power is subject to military authority.”

“Hah.”

“I
told
him,” said Fred Colon. “Right where the sun does not shine, I said.”

“The deputy ambassador didn’t mention Prince Khufurah,” said Carrot. “That was odd.”

“I’m going home,” said Vimes.

“We’re nearly there, sir,” said Carrot.

“I mean
home
home. I need some sleep.”

“Yes, sir. What shall I tell the lads, sir?”

“Tell them anything you like.”

“I looked him right in the eye and I told him, I said, you can put it right where the—” mused Sergeant Colon.

“You want me an’ some of der boys go and sort out dat Rust later on?” said Detritus. “It no problem. He bound to be guilty o’ somethin’.”

“No!”

Vimes’s head felt so light now that he couldn’t touch the ground with a rope. He left them outside the Yard and let his head drag him on and up the hill and round the corner and into the house and past his astonished wife and up the stairs and into the bedroom, where he fell full length on the bed and was asleep before he hit it.

At nine next morning the first recruits for Lord Venturi’s Heavy Infantry paraded down Broadway.

The watchmen went out to watch. That was all that was left for them to do.

“Isn’t that Mr. Vimes’s butler?” said Angua, pointing to the stiff figure of Willikins in the front rank.

“Yeah, and that’s his kitchen boy banging the drum in front,” said Nobby.

“You were a…military man, weren’t you, Fred?” said Carrot, as the parade passed by.

“Yes, sir. Duke of Eorle’s First Heavy Infantry, sir. The Pheasant Pluckers.”

“Pardon?” said Angua.

“Nickname for the regiment, miss. Oh, from ages ago. They were bivvywhacking on some estate and came across a lot of pheasant pens and, well, you know, having to live off the land and everything…anyway, that’s why we always wore a pheasant feather on our helmets. Traditional, see?”

Already old Fred’s face was creasing up in the soft expression of someone who has been mugged in Memory Lane.

“We even had a marching song,” he said. “Mind you, it was quite hard to sing right. Er…sorry, miss?”

“Oh, it’s all right, sergeant,” said Angua. “I often start to laugh like that for no reason at all.”

Fred Colon once again stared dreamily at nothing. “And o’course before that I was in the Duke of Quirm’s Middleweight Infantry. Saw a lot of action with them.”

“I’m sure you did,” said Carrot, while Angua entertained cynical thoughts about the actual distance of Fred’s vantage point. “Your distinguished military career has obviously given you many pleasant memories.”