Jingo. Part 25

She undid the little leather collar that held her badge and handed it to Carrot.

"Don't worry worry," she said. "If the worst comes to the worst, I'll dive overboard."

"Into the river river?"

"Even the river Ankh can't kill a werewolf." Angua glanced at the turgid water. "Probably, anyway."

Sergeant Colon and Corporal n.o.bbs had gone on patrol. They weren't sure why they were patrolling, and what they were supposed to do if they saw a crime, although many years of training had enabled them not to see some quite large crimes. But they were creatures of habit. They were watchmen, so they patrolled. They didn't patrol with a purpose. They patrolled, as it were, in pure essence. n.o.bby's progress wasn't helped by the large, leather-bound book in his arms.

"A war'd do this place good," said Sergeant Colon, after a while. "Put some backbone in people. Everything's gone all to pot these days."

"Not like when we were kids, sarge."

"Not like when we were kids indeed, n.o.bby."

"People trusted one another in them days, didn't they, sarge?"

"People trusted one another, n.o.bby."

"Yes, sarge. I know. And people didn't have to lock their doors, did they?"

"That's right, n.o.bby. And people were always ready to help. They were always in and out of one another's houses."

"'sright, sarge," said n.o.bby vehemently. "I know no one ever locked their houses down our our street." street."

"That's what I'm talking about. That's my point."

"It was 'cos the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds even used to steal the locks."

Colon considered the truth of this.

"Yes, but at least it was each other's stuff they were nicking, n.o.bby. It's not like they was foreigners foreigners."

"Right."

They strolled on for a while, each entangled in his own thoughts.

"Sarge?"

"Yes, n.o.bby?"

"Where's Nubilia?"

"Nubilia?"

"It's got to be a place, I reckon. Pretty warm there, I think."

"Ah, Nubilia Nubilia," said Colon. He invented desperately. "Right. Yes. It's one of them Klatchian places. Yeah. Got lots of sand. And mountains. Exports dates. Why'd you want to know?"

"Oh...no reason."

"n.o.bby?"

"Yes, sarge?"

"Why are you carrying that huge book?"

"Hah, clever idea, sarge. I saw what you said about that book of your great-grandad, so if there's any fighting I got this one off'f Washpot. It's The Book of Om The Book of Om. Five inches thick."

"It's a bit big for a pocket, n.o.bby. It's a bit big for a cart cart, to be honest."

"I thought I could make sort of braces to carry it. I reckon even a longbow could only get an arrow as far as the Apocrypha."

A familiar creak made them look up.

A Klatchian's head was swinging in the breeze.

"Fancy a pint?" said Sergeant Colon. "Big Anjie brews up some that's a treat."

"Better not, sarge. Mr. Vimes is in a bit of a mood."

Colon sighed. "You're right."

n.o.bby looked up at the head again. It was wooden. It had been repainted many times over the centuries. The Klatchian was smiling very happily for someone who'd never have to buy a s.h.i.+rt ever again.

"The Klatchian's Head. My grandad said his his grandad remembered when it was still the real one," Colon said. "Of course, it was about the size of a walnut by then." grandad remembered when it was still the real one," Colon said. "Of course, it was about the size of a walnut by then."

"Bit...nasty, sticking up a bloke's head for a pub sign," said n.o.bby.

"No, n.o.bby. Spoils of war, right? Some bloke came back from one of the wars with a souvenir, stuck it on a pole and opened a pub. The Klatchian's Head. Teach 'em not to do it again."

"I used to get into enough trouble just for nicking boots," said n.o.bby.

"More robust times, n.o.bby."

"You ever met met a Klatchian, sarge?" said n.o.bby, as they began to pace the length of the quiet street. "I mean one of the wild ones." a Klatchian, sarge?" said n.o.bby, as they began to pace the length of the quiet street. "I mean one of the wild ones."

"Well, no...but you know what? They're allowed three wives! That's criminal, that is."

"Yeah, 'cos here's me and I ain't got one," said n.o.bby.

"And they eat funny grub. Curry and that."

n.o.bby gave this some thought. "Like...we do, when we're on late duty."

"Weelll, yerss-but they don't do it properly-"

"You mean runny ear-wax yellow with peas and currants in, like your mum used to do?"

"Right! You poke around as much as you like in a Klatchian curry and you won't find a single piece piece of swede." of swede."

"And I heard where they eat sheep's eyeb.a.l.l.s, too," said n.o.bby, international gastra-gnome.

"Right again."

"Not decent ordinary stuff like lambs' fry or sweetbreads, then?"

"That's...right."

Colon felt that he was being got at in some way.

"Look, n.o.bby, when all's said and done they ain't the right color, and there's an end to it."

"Good job you found out, Fred!" said n.o.bby, so cheerfully that Sergeant Colon was almost sure that he meant it.

"Well, it's obvious," he conceded.

"Er...what is is the right color?" said n.o.bby. the right color?" said n.o.bby.

"White, of course!"

"Not brick-red, then? 'Cos you you-"

"Are you winding me up, Corporal n.o.bbs?"

"'Course not, sarge. So...what color am I?"

That caused Sergeant Colon to think. You could have found, somewhere on Corporal n.o.bbs, a shade appropriate to every climate on the disc and a few found only in specialist medical books.

"White's...white's a state of, you know...mind," he said. "It's like...doing an honest day's work for an honest day's pay, that sort of thing. And was.h.i.+ng regular."

"Not lazing around, sort of thing."

"Right."

"Or...like...working all hours like Goriff does."

"n.o.bby-"

"And you never see those kids of his with dirty clo-"

"n.o.bby, you're just trying to get me going, right? You know know we're better'n Klatchians. Otherwise, what's the point? Anyway, if we're going to fight 'em, you could get locked up for going around talking treachery." we're better'n Klatchians. Otherwise, what's the point? Anyway, if we're going to fight 'em, you could get locked up for going around talking treachery."

"Are you going to fight them, Fred?"

Fred Colon scratched his chin. "Well, as a hexperienced milit'ry man, I suppose I'll have to..."

"What're you going to do? Join a regiment and go to the front?"

"We-ell...my fore-tay lies in training, so I reckon I'd better stay here and train up the new recruits."

"Here at the back, you might say."

"We all have to do our bit, n.o.bby. If it was down to me I'd be out there like a shot to give Johnny Klatchian a taste of cold steel."

"Their razor-sharp swords wouldn't worry you, then?"

"I should laugh at them with scorn, n.o.bby."

"But s'posing the Klatchians attack here? Then you'll you'll be at the front, and the front will be at the back." be at the front, and the front will be at the back."

"I'll sort of try for a posting in the middle..."

"The middle of the front or-"

"Gentlemen?"

They looked round to find that they had been followed by a man of medium height but with an extraordinary head. It wasn't that he had gone bald. He had quite a lot of hair, which was long and curly and reached almost to his shoulders, and his beard was large enough to conceal a small chicken. But his head had simply risen through his hair, like a kind of intrusive dome.

He gave them a friendly smile.

"Am I by any chance addressing the heroic Sergeant Colon and the-" The man looked at n.o.bby. Expressions of amazement, dread, interest and charity pa.s.sed across his otherwise sunny countenance like storm-driven clouds. "And the the Corporal n.o.bbs?" he finished. Corporal n.o.bbs?" he finished.

"That is us, citizen," said Colon.

"Ah, good. I was very specifically told to find you. It's quite amazing, you know. No one had even broken into the boathouse, although I must say I did design the locks rather well. And all I've had to do is replace the leatherwork around the joints and grease it up...oh, do excuse me, I've got rather ahead of myself. Now...there was a message I had to give you...What was it now?...Something about your hands..." He reached down into the large canvas bag by his feet and pulled out a long tube, which he handed to n.o.bby.

"I do apologize about this," he said, producing a smaller tube and handing it to Colon. "I had to do things in such a hurry, there really was no time to finish it off properly, and frankly the materials are not very good-"

Colon looked at his tube. It was pointed at one end.

"This is a firework rocket," he said. "Look, it's got 'A riot of colored b.a.l.l.s and stars' on it..."

"Yes, I do so so apologize," said the man, lifting a complex little arrangement of wood and metal out of the bag. "May I have the tube back, corporal?" He took it and screwed the arrangement on to one end. "Thank you...yes, I'm afraid that without my lathe and, indeed, my forge, I really have had to make do with what I could find lying around...Could I have the rocket back, please? Thank you." apologize," said the man, lifting a complex little arrangement of wood and metal out of the bag. "May I have the tube back, corporal?" He took it and screwed the arrangement on to one end. "Thank you...yes, I'm afraid that without my lathe and, indeed, my forge, I really have had to make do with what I could find lying around...Could I have the rocket back, please? Thank you."

"They don't go properly without a stick," said n.o.bby.

"Oh, in fact they do," said the man. "Just not very accurately."

He raised the tube to shoulder height and peered into a small wire grid.

"That seems about right," he said.

"And they don't go along," said n.o.bby. "They just go up."