Jingo d-21

by Terry Pratchett

  “And you'd be happy to…?” Vimes prompted.

  “And… I'd be happy to… lend my boat to the war effort,” said Jenkins, sweating.

  “A true patriot,” said Vimes.

  Jenkins writhed.

  “Who told you there was a false panel in the hold?” he demanded. “It was a guess, right?”

  “Right,” said Vimes.

  “Aha! I knew you were only guessing!”

  “Patriotic and clever,” said Vimes. “Now… how do you make this thing go fast?”

  Lord Rust tapped his fingers on the table.

  “What did he take the boat for?”

  “Dunno, m'lord,” said Cumbling Michael, scratching his head.

  “Damn! Did anyone else see them?”

  “Oh, there weren't many people around, m'lord.”

  “That's a small mercy, at least.”

  “Just me and Foul Ole Ron and the Duck Man and Blind Hugh{66} and Ringo Eyebrows and No Way Jose and Sidney Lopsides and that bastard Stoolie and Whistling Dick and a few others, m'lord.”

  Rust sank back in his chair and put a pale hand over his face. In Ankh-Morpork the night had a thousand eyes and so did the day, and it also had five hundred mouths and nine hundred and ninety-nine ears.12

  “The Klatchians must know, then,” he said. “A detachment of Ankh-Morpork soldiery has taken ship for Klatch. An invasion force.”

  “Oh, you could hardly call it—” Lieutenant Hornett began.

  “The Klatchians will call it that. Besides, the troll Detritus is with them,” said Rust.

  Hornett looked glum. Detritus was an invasion force all by himself.

  “What ships have we commandeered?” said Rust.

  “There's more than twenty now, if you include the Indestructible, the Indolence and the…” Lieutenant Hornett looked at his list again, “…and the Prid of Ankh-Morpork, sir.”

  “The Prid?”

  “I'm afraid so, sir.”

  “We should be able to take more than a thousand men and two hundred horses, then.”

  “Why not let Vimes go?” said Lord Selachii. “Let the Klatchians deal with him, and good riddance.”

  “And give them a victory over Ankh-Morpork forces? That's how they will see it. Damn the man. He forces our hand. But still, perhaps it is for the best. We should embark.”

  “Are we entirely ready, sir?” said Lieutenant Hornett, with the special inflection that means “We are not entirely ready, sir.”

  “We had better be. Glory awaits, gentlemen. In the words of General Tacticus, let us take history by the scrotum. Of course, he was not a very honourable fighter.”

  White sunlight etched dark shadows in Prince Cadram's palace. He too had a map of Klatch, made of tiny coloured tiles set into the floor. He sat looking at it pensively.

  “Just one boat?” he said.

  General Ashal, his chief adviser, nodded. And added: “Our scryers can't get a very clear picture over that distance, but we do believe one of the men to be Vimes. You recall the name, sire.”

  “Ah, the useful Commander Vimes.” The Prince smiled.

  “Indeed. And since then there has been a lot of activity all along the docks. We have to take the view that the expeditionary force is setting out.”

  “I thought we had at least a week, Ashal.”

  “It is certainly puzzling. They cannot possibly be prepared, sire. Something must have happened.”

  Cadram sighed. “Oh, well, let us follow where fate points the way. Where will they attack?”

  “Gebra, sire. I'm sure of it.”

  “Our most heavily fortified city? Surely not. Only an idiot would do that.”

  “I have studied Lord Rust in some depth, sire. Remember that he doesn't expect us to fight, so the size of our forces really doesn't worry him.” The general smiled. It was a neat, thin little smile. “And of course in attacking us he is piling infamy upon infamy. The other coastal states will take note.”

  “A change of plan, then,” said Cadram. “Ankh-Morpork can wait.”

  “A wise move, sire. As always.”

  “Any news of my poor brother?”

  “Alas no, sire.”

  “Our agents must search harder. The world is watching, Ashal.”

  “Correct, sire.”

  “Sarge?”

  “Yes, Nobby?”

  “Tell me again about our special qualities.”

  “Shut up and keep pedalling, Nobby.”

  “Right, sarge.”

  It was quite dark in the Boat. A candle swung from a bracket over Leonard of Quirm's bowed head as he sat steering with two levers. Around Nobby, pulleys rattled and little chains clicked. It was like being inside a sewing machine. A damp one, too. Condensation dropped off the ceiling in a steady stream.

  They had been pedalling for ten minutes. Leonard had spent most of the time talking excitedly. Nobby got the impression he didn't get out much. He talked about everything.

  There were the tanks of air, for example. Nobby was happy to accept that you could squeeze air up really small, and that was what was in the groaning, creaking steel-bound casks strapped to the walls. It was what happened to the air afterwards that came as a surprise.

  “Bubbles!” said Leonard. “Dolphins again, you see? They don't swim through the water, they fly through a cloud of bubbles. Which is much easier, of course. I add a little soap, which seems to improve matters.”

  “He thinks dolphins fly, sarge,” whispered Nobby.

  “Just keep pedalling.”

  Sergeant Colon risked a glance behind him.

  Lord Vetinari was sitting on an upturned box amidst the clicking chains, with several of Leonard's sketches open on his knees.

  “Carry on, sergeant,” said the Patrician.

  “Right, sir.”

  The Boat was moving faster now they were away from the city. There was even a brackish light filtering through the little glass windows.

  “Mr Leonard,” said Nobby.

  “Yes?”

  “Where're we going?”

  “His lordship wishes to go to Leshp.”

  “Yes, I thought it'd be something like that,” said Nobby. “I thought: ‘Where don't I want to go?’ And the answer just popped into my head, just like that. Only I don't think we'll get there, the reason bein', in about another five minutes my knees are going to fall off…”

  “Oh, my word, you won't have to pedal all the way,” said Leonard. “What did you think the big auger on the nose is for?”

  “That?” said Nobby. “I thought that was for drillin' into the bottom of enemy ships—”{67}

  “What?” Leonard spun around in his seat, a look of horror on his face.

  “Sink ships? Sink ships? With people on them?”

  “Well… yes…”

  “Corporal Nobbs, I think you are a very misguided young… man,” said Leonard stiffly. “Use the Boat to sink ships? That would be terrible! In any case, no sailor would dream of doing such a dishonourable thing!”

  “Sorry.”

  “The auger, I would have you know, is for attaching us to passing ships in the manner of the remora, the sucker-fish which attaches itself to sharks. A few turns is all that is necessary for a firm attachment.”

  “So… you couldn't bore all the way through the hull, then?”

  “Only if you were a very careless and extremely thoughtless young man!”

  The ocean waves may not be ploughable, but the crust of the river Ankh downstream from the city was known to sprout small bushes in the summertime. The Milka moved slowly, leaving a furrow behind it.

  “Can't you go faster?” said Vimes.

  “Why, certainly,” said Jenkins nastily. “Where would you like us to put the extra mast?”

  “The ship's just a dot,” said Carrot. “Why aren't we gaining on them?”

  “It's a bigger ship so it has got what we technically call more sails,” said Jenkins. “And they're fast hulls on those Klatchian boats. And we've
got a full hold—”

  He stopped, but it was too late.

  “Captain Carrot?” said Vimes.

  “Sir?”

  “Throw everything overboard,” said Vimes.

  “Not the crossbows! They cost more than a hundred dollars ea—”

  Jenkins stopped. Vimes's expression said, very clearly, that there were a whole lot of things that could be thrown off the boat, and it would be a good idea not to be among them.

  “Go and pull some ropes, Mr Jenkins,” he said.

  He watched the captain stamp off. A few moments later there was a splash. Vimes looked over the side and saw a crate bob for a moment and then sink. And he felt happy. Thief-taker, Rust had called him. The man had meant it as an insult, but it'd do. Theft was the only crime, whether the loot was gold, innocence, land or life. And for the thief-taker, there was the chase…

  There were several more splashes. Vimes fancied the ship surged forward.

  …the chase. Because the chase was simpler than the capture. Once you'd caught someone it got complicated, but the chase was pure and free. Much better than prodding at clues and peering at notebooks. He flees, I chase. Simple.

  Vetinari's terrier, eh?

  “Bingeley-bingeley beep!” said his pocket.

  “Don't tell me,” said Vimes. “It's something like ‘Five pee em, At Sea,’ yes?”

  “Er… no,” said the Dis-organizer. “Says here ‘Violent Row With Lord Rust’, Insert Name Here.”

  “Aren't you supposed to tell me what I'm going to do?” said Vimes, opening the box.

  “Er… what you should be doing,” said the demon, looking very worried. “What you should be doing. I don't understand it… er… something seems to be wrong…”

  Angua stopped trying to rub the collar off against a bulkhead. It wasn't working, and the silver pressing against her skin seemed to freeze her and burn her at the same time.

  Apart from that — and a silver collar on a werewolf was a fairly major that — she'd been treated well. They'd left a plate of food, a wooden plate, and she'd let her wolf side eat it while the human side shut its eyes and held its nose. There was a bowl of water, quite fresh by Ankh-Morpork standards. She could see the bottom of the bowl, at least.

  It was so hard to think in wolf shape. It was like trying to unlock a door while drunk. It was possible, but you had to concentrate every step of the way.

  There was a sound.

  Her ears pricked up.

  Something tapped once or twice under the hull. She hoped it was a reef. That meant… land, possibly… with any luck she could swim ashore…

  Something clinked. She'd forgotten about the chain. It was hardly necessary. She felt as weak as a kitten.

  There was a rhythmic noise, like something chewing at the wood.

  A tiny metal point splintered through the wall just in front of her nose, and rose an inch.

  And someone spoke. It sounded far off and distorted, and perhaps only a werewolf would have heard it, but words were happening, somewhere under her paws.

  “—can stop pedalling now, Corporal Nobbs.”

  “I am knackered, sarge. Is there anything to eat?”

  “There's some more of that garlic sausage. Or there's the cheese. Or cold beans.”

  “We're in a tin with no air and we're supposed to eat cheese? I ain't even going to comment on the beans.”

  “I'm very sorry gentlemen. Things were rather rushed and I had to take food which would keep.”

  “It's just that it's getting a bit… crowded, if you get my meaning.”

  “I will pay out the rope as soon as it's dark and we can surface and take on air.”

  “Just so long as we get rid of the air we've got, that's all I'm saying…”

  Angua's brows wrinkled as she tried to make sense of this. The voices were familiar. Even muffled as they were, she recognized the tones. The vague feeling that fought its way through the mists of animal intellect was: friends.

  The tiny little unchangeable centre of her thought: good grief, next thing I'll be licking hands.

  She laid her head down near the point again.

  “—way to do it, young man. There you go again! Sink ships? I can't imagine how anyone could think of such a thing!”

  Names. Some of those voices had… names.

  Thinking was getting harder. That was the silver at work. But if she stopped, she might forget how to start again.

  She stared at the point of metal. The point of metal with sharp edges.

  The tiny human part of her mind raged at the wolf brain, trying to get it to understand what it needed to do.

  It was after midnight.

  The lookout man knelt on the deck in front of 71-hour Ahmed and trembled.

  “I know what I saw, wali,” he moaned. “And the others saw it too! Something rose up behind the ship and began chasing us! A monster!”

  Ahmed looked at the captain, who shrugged. “Who knows what lies on the floor of the sea, wali?”

  “Its breath!” moaned the seaman. “There was a great roar of breath like the stink of a thousand privies! And then it spoke!”

  “Really?” said Ahmed. “This is not usual. What did it say?”

  “I did not understand!” The man's face screwed up as he tried to assemble the unfamiliar syllables. “It sounded like…” he swallowed, and went on, “‘Ye gods, that was better out than in, sarge!’”

  Ahmed stared at him. “And what did that mean to you?” he said.

  “I do not know, wali!”

  “You have not spent much time in Ankh-Morpork?”

  “No, wali!”

  “Then return to your post.”

  The man stumbled out.

  “We have lost speed, wali,” said the captain.

  “Perhaps the sea monster is clutching at our keel?”

  “It pleases you to joke, lord. But who knows what has been disturbed by the rising of the new land?”

  “I shall have to see for myself,” said 71-hour Ahmed.

  He walked alone to the stern of the ship. Dark waters sucked and splashed and left a phosphorescent glow edging the wake.

  He watched for a long time. People bad at watching didn't last long in the desert, where a shadow in the moonlight could be just a shadow or it could be someone anxious to help you on your way to Paradise. The D'regs came across many shadows of the latter persuasion.

  D'reg wasn't their name for themselves, although they tended to adopt it now out of pride.{68} The word meant enemy. Everyone's. And if anyone else wasn't around, then one another's.

  If he concentrated, he might believe that there was a darker shape about a hundred yards behind the ship, very low in the water. Waves were breaking where waves shouldn't be. It looked as though the ship was being followed by a reef.

  Well, well…

  71-hour Ahmed was not superstitious. He was substitious, which put him in a minority among humans. He didn't believe in the things everyone believed in but which nevertheless weren't true. He believed instead in the things that were true in which no one else believed. There are many such substitions, ranging from “It'll get better if you don't pick at it” all the way up to “Sometimes things just happen.”

  Currently he was disinclined to believe in sea monsters, especially ones that spoke in the language of Ankh-Morpork, but he did believe that there were a lot of things in the world that he didn't know about.

  In the far distance he could see the lights of a ship. It didn't seem to be gaining on them.

  This was much more worrying.

  In the darkness 71-hour Ahmed reached over his shoulder and grasped the handle of his sword.

  Above him, the mainsail creaked in the wind.

  Sergeant Colon knew he was facing one of the most dangerous moments in his career.

  There was nothing for it. He was out of options.

  “Er… if I add this A and this O and this I and this D,” he said, the sweat pouring down his pink cheeks, “then I can use
that V to make ‘avoid’. Er… and that gets me, er, a… what d'you call these blue squares, Len?”

  “A ‘Three Times Ye Value of Thee Letter’ score,” said Leonard of Quirm.

  “Well done, sergeant,” said Lord Vetinari. “I do believe that puts you in the lead.”

  “Er… I do believe it does, sir,” squeaked Sergeant Colon.

  “However, I find that you have left me the use of my U, N and A, B, L, E,” the Patrician went on, “which incidentally lands me on this Three Times the Whole Worde square and, I rather suspect, wins me the game.”

  Sergeant Colon sagged with relief.

  “A capital game, Leonard,” said Vetinari. “What did you say it was called?”

  “I call it the ‘Make Words With Letters That Have All Been Mixed Up Game’, my lord.”

  “Ah. Yes. Obviously. Well done.”

  “Huh, an' I got three points,” mumbled Nobby. “They was perfectly good words that you wouldn't let me have, too.”

  “I'm sure the gentlemen don't want to know those words,” said Colon severely.

  “I'd have got ten points for that X.”

  Leonard looked up. “Strange. We seem to have stopped moving…”

  He reached up and opened the hatch. Damp night air poured in, and there was the sound of voices, quite close, echoing loudly as voices do when heard across water.

  “Heathen Klatchian talk,” said Colon. “What are they gabblin' about?”

  “‘What nephew of a camel cut the rigging?’” said Lord Vetinari, without looking up. “‘Not just the ropes, look at this sail — here, give me a hand…’”

  “I didn't know you spoke Klatchian, my lord.”

  “Not a word,” said Lord Vetinari.

  “But you—”

  “I did not,” said Vetinari calmly.

  “Ah… right…”

  “Where are we, Leonard?”

  “Well, er, my star charts are all out of date, of course, but if you would care to wait until the sun rises, and I've invented a device for ascertaining position by reference to the sun, and devised a satisfactorily accurate watch—”

  “Where are we now, Leonard?”

  “Er… in the middle of the Circle Sea, I suspect.”

  “The middle?”

  “Pretty close, I should say. Look, if I can measure the wind speed—”