Jingo (4 page)

“Excellent. Oh, just one other thing, Vimes. I do have the Assassins and the Thieves in agreement on this, but to cover
all
eventualities…I would consider it a favor if you could see to it that no one throws eggs or something at the Prince. That sort of thing always upsets people.”

The two sides watched each other carefully. They were old enemies. They had tested strengths many a time, had tasted defeat and victory, had contested turf. But this time it would go all the way.

Knuckles whitened. Boots scraped impatiently.

Captain Carrot bounced the ball once or twice.

“All right, lads, one more try, eh? And this time, no horseplay. William, what are you eating?”

The Artful Nudger scowled.
No one
knew his name. Kids he’d grown up with didn’t know his name. His mother, if he ever found out who she was, probably didn’t know his name. But Carrot had found out somehow. If anyone else had called him “William” they’d be looking for their ear. In their mouth.

“Chewing gum, mister.”

“Have you brought enough for everybody?”

“No, mister.”

“Then put it away, there’s a good chap. Now, let’s—Gavin, what’s that up your sleeve?”

The one known as Scumbag Gav didn’t bother to argue.

“’s a knife, Mr. Carrot.”

“And I
bet
you brought enough for everybody, eh?”

“’sright, mister.” Scumbag grinned. He was ten.

“Go on, put them on the heap with the others…”

Constable Shoe looked over the wall in horror. There were about fifty youths in the wide alleyway. Average age in years: about eleven. Average age in cynicism and malevolent evil: about 163. Although Ankh-Morpork football doesn’t usually have goals in the normal sense, two had been nevertheless made at each end of the alley using the time-honored method of piling up things to mark where the posts would be.

Two piles: one of knives, one of blunt instruments.

In the middle of the boys, who were wearing the colors of some of the nastier street gangs, Captain Carrot was bouncing an inflated pig’s bladder.

Constable Shoe wondered if he ought to go and get help, but the man seemed quite at ease.

“Er, captain?” he ventured.

“Oh, hello, Reg. We were just having a friendly game of football. This is Constable Shoe, lads.”

Fifty pairs of eyes said: We’ll remember your face, copper.

Reg edged around the wall and the eyes noted the arrow which had gone straight through his breastplate and protruded several inches from his back.

“There’s been a bit of trouble, sir,” said Reg. “I thought I’d better fetch you. It’s a hostage situation…”

“I’ll come right away. Okay, lads, sorry about this. Play amongst yourselves, will you? And I hope I’ll see you all on Tuesday for the sing-song and sausage sizzle.”

“Yeah, mister,” said the Artful Nudger.

“And Corporal Angua will see if she can teach you the campfire howl.”

“Yeah, right,” said Scumbag.

“But what do we do before we part?” said Carrot expectantly.

The bloods of the Skats and the Mohocks looked bashfully at one another. Usually they were nervous of nothing, it being a banishment matter to show fear in any circumstances. But when they’d variously drawn up the clan rules, no one had ever thought there’d be someone like Carrot.

Glaring at one another with I’ll-kill-you-if-you-ever-mention-this expressions, they all raised the index fingers of both hands to the level of their ears and chorused: “Wib wib wib.”

“Wob wob wob,” Carrot replied heartily. “Okay, Reg, let’s go.”

“How’d you do that, captain?” said Constable Shoe, as the watchmen hurried off.

“Oh, you just raise both fingers like
this
,” said Carrot. “But I’d be obliged if you don’t tell anyone, because it’s meant to be a secret sig—”

“But they’re thugs, captain! Young killers! Villains!”

“Oh, they’re a bit cheeky, but nice enough boys underneath, when you take the time to understand—”

“I heard they never give anyone enough
time
to understand! Does Mr. Vimes know you’re doing this?”

“He sort of knows, yes. I said I’d like to start a club for the street kids and he said it was fine provided I took them camping on the edge of some really sheer cliff somewhere in a high wind. But he always says things like that. And I’m sure we wouldn’t have him any other way. Now, where are these hostages?”

“It’s at Vortin’s again, captain. But it’s…sort of worse than that…”

Behind them, the Skats and the Mohocks looked at one another warily. Then they picked up their weapons and edged away with care. It’s not that we don’t want to fight, their manner said. It’s just that we’ve got better things to do right now, and so we’re going to go away and find out what they are.

Unusually for the docks, there was not a great deal of shouting and general conversation. People were too busy thinking about money.

Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs leaned against a stack of timber and watched a man very carefully painting the name
Pride of Ankh-Morpork
on the prow of a ship. At some point he’d realize that he’d left out the “e,” and they were idly looking forward to this modest entertainment.

“You ever been to sea, sarge?” said Nobby.

“Hah, not me!” said the sergeant. “Don’t go flogging the oggin, lad.”

“I don’t,” said Nobby. “I have never flogged any oggin. Never in my entire life have I flogged oggin.”

“Right.”

“I’ve always been very clean in that respect.”

“Except you don’t know what flogging the oggin means, do you?”

“No, sarge.”

“It means going to sea. You can’t bloody trust the sea. When I was a little lad I had this book about this little kid, he turned into a mermaid, sort of thing, and he lived down the bottom of the sea—”

“—the oggin—”

“Right, and it was all nice talking fishes and pink seashells and stuff, and then I went on my holidays to Quirm and I
saw
the sea, and I thought: here goes, and if our ma hadn’t been quick on her feet I don’t know what would have happened. I mean, the kid in the book could breathe under the sea, so how was I to know? It’s all bloody
lies
about the sea. It’s just all yuk with lobsters in it.”

“My mum’s uncle was a sailor,” said Nobby. “But after the big plague he got press-ganged. Bunch of farmers got him drunk, he woke up next morning tied to a plough.”

They lounged some more.

“Looks like we’re going to be in a fight, sarge,” said Nobby, as the painter very carefully started on the final “k.”

“Won’t last long. Lot of cowards, the Klatchians,” said Colon. “The moment they taste a bit of cold steel they’re legging it away over the sand.”

Sergeant Colon had had a broad education. He’d been to the School of My Dad Always Said, the College of It Stands to Reason, and was now a postgraduate student at the University of What Some Bloke In the Pub Told Me.

“Shouldn’t be any trouble to sort out, then?” said Nobby.

“And o’course, they’re not the same color as what we are,” said Colon. “Well…as me, anyway,” he added, in view of the various hues of Corporal Nobbs. There was probably no one alive who was the same color as Corporal Nobbs.

“Constable Visit’s pretty brown,” said Nobby. “I never seen him run away. If there’s a chance of giving someone a religious pamphlet ole Washpot’s after them like a terrier.”

“Ah, but Omnians are more like us,” said Colon. “Bit weird but, basic’ly, just the same as us underneath. No, the way you can tell a Klatchian is, you look an’ see if he uses a lot of words beginning with ‘al,’ right? ’Cos that’s a dead giveaway. They invented all the words starting with ‘al.’ That’s how you can tell they’re Klatchian. Like al-cohol, see?”

“They invented beer?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s clever.”

“I wouldn’t call it
clever
,” said Sergeant Colon, realizing too late that he’d made a tactical error. “More, luck, I’d say.”

“What else did they do?”

“Well, there’s…” Colon racked his brains. “There’s al-gebra. That’s like sums with letters. For…for people whose brains aren’t clever enough for numbers, see?”

“Is that a fact?”

“Right,” said Colon. “In fact,” he went on, a little more assertively now he could see a way ahead, “I heard this wizard down the University say that the Klatchians invented nothing. That was their great contribution to maffs, he said. I said ‘What?’ an’ he said, they come up with zero.”

“Dun’t sound that clever to me,” said Nobby. “Anyone could invent nothing. I ain’t invented anything.”

“My point exactly,” said Colon. “I told him, it was people who invented numbers like four and, and—”

“—seven—”

“—right, who were the geniuses.
Nothing
didn’t need inventing. It was just there. They probably just found it.”

“It’s having all that desert,” said Nobby.

“Right! Good point. Desert. Which, as everyone knows, is basically nothing. Nothing’s a natural resource to them. It stands to reason. Whereas we’re more civilized, see, and we got a lot more stuff around to count, so we invented numbers. It’s like…well, they
say
the Klatchians invented astronomy—”

“Al-tronomy,” said Nobby helpfully.

“No, no…no, Nobby, I reckon they’d discovered esses by then, probably nicked ’em off’f us…anyway, they were
bound
to invent astronomy, ’cos there’s bugger all else for them to look at but the sky. Anyone can look at the stars and give ’em names. ’s going it a bit to call it
inventing
, in any case. We don’t go around saying we’ve
invented
something just because we had a quick dekko at it.”

“I heard where they’ve got a lot of odd gods,” said Nobby.

“Yeah,
and
mad priests,” said Colon. “Foaming at the mouth, half of ’em. Believe all kinds of loony things.”

They watched the painter in silence for a moment. Colon was dreading the question that came.

“So how
exactly
are they different from ours, then?” said Nobby. “I mean, some of
our
priests are—”

“I hope you ain’t being
unpatriotic
,” said Colon severely.

“No, of course not. I was just asking. I can see where they’d be a lot worse than ours, being foreign and everything.”

“And of course they’re all mad for fighting,” said Colon. “Vicious buggers with all those curvy swords of theirs.”

“You mean, like…they viciously attack you while cowardly running away after tasting cold steel?” said Nobby, who sometimes had a treacherously good memory for detail.

“You can’t trust ’em, like I said. And they burp hugely after meals.”

“Well…so do you, sarge.”

“Yes, but I don’t pretend it’s
polite
, Nobby.”

“Well, it’s certainly a good job there’s you around to explain things, sarge,” said Nobby. “It’s amazing the stuff you know.”

“I surprise myself, sometimes,” said Colon modestly.

The painter of the ship leaned back to admire his work. They heard him give a heartfelt little groan, and both of them nodded in satisfaction.

Hostage negotiations were always tricky, Carrot had learned. It paid not to rush things. Let the other man talk when he was ready.

So he was whiling away the time sitting behind the upturned cart they were using as a shield from the occasional random arrow and writing his letter home. The exercise was carried out with much frowning, sucking of the pencil and what Commander Vimes called a ballistic approach to spelling and punctuation.

Dere Mum and Dade,

I hope this letter finds you in good health as I am also. Thank you for the big parcel of dwarf bread you sent me I have sharred it with the other dwarfs on the Watch and they say it is better even than Ironcrufts (“T’ Bread Wi’ T’ Edge”) and you carn’t beat the taste of a home-forged loaf, so well done mum.

Things are going well with the Wolf Pack that I have told you about but Cmdr. Vimes is not happy, I told him they were good lads at heart and it would help them to learn the ways of Natchure and the Wilderness and he said hah they know them already that is the trouble. But he gave me $5 to buy a football which proves he cares deep down.

We have more new faeces in the Watch which is just as well with this truble with Klatch, it is all looking very Grave, I feel it is the Clam before the Storm and no mistake.

I must brake off now because some robbers have broke into Vortin’s Dimond Warehouse and have taken Corporal Angua hostage. I fear there may be terrible bloodshed so,

I remain,

Yr. Loving Son,

Carrot Ironfoundersson (Captain)

ps I will write again tomorrow

Carrot folded the letter carefully and slipped it under his breastplate.

“I think they have had long enough to consider our suggestion, constable. What’s next on the list?”

Constable Shoe leafed through a file of grubby paper and pulled out another sheet.

“Well, we’re down to offenses of stealing pennies off blind beggars now,” he said. “Oh, no, this is a good one…”

Carrot took the sheet in one hand and a megaphone in the other and raised his head carefully over the edge of the cart.

“Good morning again!” he said brightly. “We’ve found another one. Theft of jewelery from—”

“Yes! Yes! We did it!” shouted a voice from the building.

“Really? I haven’t even said when it was yet,” said Carrot.

“Never mind, we
did
it! Now can we come out, please?” There was another sound behind the voice. It sounded like a low, continuous growl.

“I think you ought to be able to tell me what you stole,” said Carrot.

“Er…rings? Gold rings?”

“Sorry, no rings mentioned.”

“Pearl necklace? Yes, that’s what—”

“Getting warmer, but no.”

“Earrings?”

“Ooo, you’re so close,” said Carrot encouragingly.