Jingo (34 page)

“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 Ur?”

“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 backward 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, Al.”

“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 theater.

“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 Beti.

“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!”

“Marvelous,” 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 backward.”

“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 around, see. Far too narrow,” said the elevated-donkey expert. “Can’t turn around, won’t go backward. 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, okay, 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 hemorrhoids.

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 wind-scoured 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 no one 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 Dis-organizer 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:

“A
B 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.”