Jingo. Part 23

"What? Yes, it b.l.o.o.d.y well is!" said Vimes. "I can't believe believe this! You can't just stand there and...good grief, whatever happened to diplomacy?" 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 s.h.i.+ne," said Sergeant Colon, as they crossed the Bra.s.s Bridge.

"That's right," said Vimes woodenly. "Well done."

"Right to his face. 'Where the sun don't s.h.i.+ne.' 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 told him," said Fred Colon. "Right where the sun does not s.h.i.+ne, I said." him," said Fred Colon. "Right where the sun does not s.h.i.+ne, I said."

"The deputy amba.s.sador 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 home. I need some sleep." 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 n.o.bby.

"You were a...military man, weren't you, Fred?" said Carrot, as the parade pa.s.sed 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."

"The ladies liked the uniform," said Fred Colon, with the unspoken rider that sometimes a growing lad needed all the help he could get. "An' it...weelll..."

"Yes, sarge?"

Colon looked awkward, as if the bunched underwear of the past was tangling itself in the crotch of recollection.

"It was...more easier, sir. Than being a copper, I mean. I mean, you're a soldier, right, and the other b.u.g.g.e.rs is the enemy. You march into some big field somewhere and all form up into them oblongs, and then a bloke with the feathery helmet gives the order, and you all forms up into big arrows-"

"Good G.o.ds, do people really do that? I thought it was just how they drew the battle plans!"

"Well, the old duke, sir, he did it by the book...anyway, it's just a case of watching your back and walloping any bloke in the wrong uniform. But..." Fred Colon's face screwed up in agonized thought, "well, when you're a copper, well, you dunno the good guys from the bad guys without a map, miss, and that's a fact."

"But...there's military military law, isn't there?" law, isn't there?"

"Well, yes...but when it's p.i.s.sing with rain and you're up to your tonk-your waist in dead horses and someone gives you an order, that ain't the time to look up the book of rules, miss. Anyway, most of it's about when you're allowed to get shot, sir."

"Oh, I'm sure there's more to it than that, sergeant."

"Oh, prob'ly, sir," Colon conceded diplomatically.

"I'm sure there's lots of stuff about not killing enemy soldiers who've surrendered, for instance."

"Oh, yerss, there's that that, captain. Doesn't say you can't duff 'em up a bit, of course. Give 'em a little something to remember you by."

"Not torture torture?" said Angua.

"Oh, no no, miss. But..." Memory Lane for Colon had turned into a bad road through a dark valley "...well, when your best mate's got an arrow in his eye an' there's blokes and horses screamin' all round you and you're scared s.h.i.+-you're really really scared, an' you come across one of the enemy...well, for some reason or other you're got this kinda urge to give him a bit of a...nudge, sort of thing. Just...you know...like, maybe in twenty years' time his leg'll twinge a bit on frosty days and he'll remember what he done, that's all." scared, an' you come across one of the enemy...well, for some reason or other you're got this kinda urge to give him a bit of a...nudge, sort of thing. Just...you know...like, maybe in twenty years' time his leg'll twinge a bit on frosty days and he'll remember what he done, that's all."

He rummaged in a pocket and produced a very small book, which he held up for inspection.

"This belonged to my great-grandad," he said. "He was in the sc.r.a.p we had against Pseudopolis and my great-gran gave him this book of prayers for soldiers, 'cos you need all the prayers you can get, believe you me, and he stuck it in the top pocket of his jerkin, 'cos he couldn't afford armor, and next day in battle-whoosh, this arrow came out of nowhere, wham, straight into this book and it went all the way through to the last page before stopping, look. You can see the hole."

"Pretty miraculous," Carrot agreed.

"Yeah, it was, I s'pose," said the sergeant. He looked ruefully at the battered volume. "Shame about the other seventeen arrows, really."

The drumming died away. The remnant of the Watch tried to avoid one another's gaze.

Then an imperious voice said, "Why aren't you in uniform, young man?"

n.o.bby turned. He was being addressed by an elderly lady with a certain turkey-like cast of feature and a capital punishment expression.

"Me? Got one, missus," said n.o.bby, pointing to his battered helmet.

"A proper proper uniform," snapped the woman, handing him a white feather. "What will uniform," snapped the woman, handing him a white feather. "What will you you be doing when the Klatchians are ravis.h.i.+ng us in our beds?" be doing when the Klatchians are ravis.h.i.+ng us in our beds?"

She glared at the rest of the guards and swept on. Angua saw several others like her pa.s.sing along the crowds of spectators. Here and there was a flash of white.

"I'll be thinking: those Klatchians are jolly brave," said Carrot. "I'm afraid, n.o.bby, that the white feather is to shame you into joining up."

"Oh, that's all right, then," said n.o.bby, a man for whom shame held no shame. "What am I supposed to do with it?"

"That reminds me...did I tell you what I said to Lord Rust?" said Sergeant Colon, nervously.

"Seventeen times so far," said Angua, watching the women with the feathers. She added, apparently to herself, "'Come back with your s.h.i.+eld or on it.'"

"I wonder if I can get the lady to give me any more?" said n.o.bby.

"What was that?" said Carrot.

"These feathers," said n.o.bby. "They look like real goose. I've got a use for a lot more of these-"

"I meant meant what was it that Angua said?" said Carrot. what was it that Angua said?" said Carrot.

"What? Oh...it's just something women used to say when they sent their men off to war. Come back with your s.h.i.+eld, or on it."

"On your s.h.i.+eld?" said n.o.bby. "You mean like...sledging, sort of thing?" your s.h.i.+eld?" said n.o.bby. "You mean like...sledging, sort of thing?"

"Like dead," said Angua. "It meant come back a winner or not at all."

"Well, I always always came back with my s.h.i.+eld," said n.o.bby. "No problem there." came back with my s.h.i.+eld," said n.o.bby. "No problem there."

"n.o.bby," sighed Colon, "you used to come back with your s.h.i.+eld, everyone else's else's s.h.i.+eld, a sack of teeth and fifteen pairs of still-warm boots. On a cart." s.h.i.+eld, a sack of teeth and fifteen pairs of still-warm boots. On a cart."

"We-ell, no point in going to war unless you're on the winning side," said n.o.bby, sticking the white feather in his helmet.

"n.o.bby, you was always always on the winning side, the reason bein', you used to lurk aroun' the edges to see who was winning and then pull the right uniform off'f some poor dead sod. I used to hear where the generals kept an eye on what you were wearin' so they'd know how the battle was going." on the winning side, the reason bein', you used to lurk aroun' the edges to see who was winning and then pull the right uniform off'f some poor dead sod. I used to hear where the generals kept an eye on what you were wearin' so they'd know how the battle was going."

"Lots of soldiers have served in lots of regiments," said n.o.bby.

"Right, what you say is true. Only not usually during the same battle," said Sergeant Colon.

They trooped back into the Watch House. Most of the s.h.i.+ft had taken the day off. After all, who was in charge? What were they supposed to be doing today? The only ones left were those who never thought of themselves as off duty, and the new recruits who hadn't had their keen edge blunted.

"I'm sure Mr. Vimes'll think of something," said Carrot. "Look, I'd better take the Goriffs back to their shop. Mr. Goriff says he's going to pack up and leave. A lot of Klatchians are leaving. You can't blame them, either."

Dreams rising with him like bubbles, Vimes surfaced from the black fathoms of sleep.

Normally, these days, he treasured the moment of waking. It was when solutions presented themselves. He a.s.sumed bits of his brain came out at night and worked on the problems of the previous day, handing him the result just as he opened his eyes.

All that arrived now were memories. He winced. Another memory turned up. He groaned. The sound of his badge bouncing on the table replayed itself. He swore.

He swung his legs off the covers and groped for the bedside table.

"Bingeley-bingeley beep!"

"Oh, no no...All right, what's the time?"

"One o'clock pee em! h.e.l.lo, Insert Name Here!"

Vimes looked blearily at the Dis-organizer. One day, he knew, he really would would have to try to understand the manual for the d.a.m.n thing. Either that or drop it off a cliff. have to try to understand the manual for the d.a.m.n thing. Either that or drop it off a cliff.*

"What-" he began, and then groaned again. The tw.a.n.ging sound made by the unwound turban as it took his weight had just come back to haunt him.

"Sam?" The bedroom door was pushed open and Sybil came in carrying a cup.

"Yes, dear?"

"How do you feel?"

"I've got bruises on my brui-" Another memory crawled up from the pit of guilt. "Oh, good grief, did I really call him a long streak of-?"

"Yes," said his wife. "Fred Colon came round this morning and told me all about it. And a very good description, I'd say. I went out with Ronnie Rust once. Bit of a cold fish."

Another recollection burst like a ball of marsh gas in Vimes's head.

"Did Fred tell you where he said Rust could put his badge?"

"Yes. Three times. It seems to be weighing on his mind. Anyway, knowing Ronnie, he'd have to use a hammer."