Jingo

“We all have to do our bit, Nobby. 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, Nobby.”

“But s'posing the Klatchians attack here? Then you'll 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 change addressing the heroic Sergeant Colon and the—” The man looked at Nobby. Expressions of amazement, dread, interest and charity passed across his otherwise sunny countenance like storm-driven clouds. “And the Corporal Nobbs?” 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 Nobby.

“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 coloured balls and stars’ on it…”

“Yes, I do 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.”

“They don't go properly without a stick,” said Nobby.

“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 Nobby. “They just go up.”

“A common misconception,” said Leonard of Quirm, turning to face them.

Colon could see the tip of the rocket in the depths of the tube, and had a sudden image of stars and balls.

“Now, apparently you two have to step into this alley here and come with me,” said Leonard. “I'm very sorry about this, but his lordship has explained to me at great length how the needs of society as a whole may have to overrule the rights of a particular individual. Oh, and I've just remembered. You have to put your hands up.”

Sand had been spilled across the big table in the Rats Chamber.

Lord Rust felt a sensation akin to pleasure as he surveyed it. There were the little square boxes for the towns and cities, and cut-out palm trees to indicate the known oasisies. And, although he was uneasy about the word “oasisies”, Lord Rust looked at it and saw that it was good. Especially since it was a map of Klatch and everyone knew that Klatch was sand anyway, which made it rather satisfying in an existential sort of way, although this sand here had been commandeered from the heap behind Chalky the troll's wholesale pottery and bore the occasional cigarette end and trace of feline incontinence that would probably not be found in the real desert, or certainly not to scale.

“Here would be a good landing area,” he said, pointing with his stick.

His equerry tried to look helpful. “The El Kinte peninsula,” he said. “That's the closest point to us, sir.”

“Exactly! We can be across the straits in jig time.”

“Very good, sir,” said Leiutenant Hornett, “but… you don't think the enemy might be expecting us there? It being such an obvious landing site?”

“Not obvious at all to the trained military thinker, sir! They won't be expecting us there precisely because it is so obvious, d'y'see?”

“You mean… they'll think only a complete idiot would land there, sir?”

“Correct! And they know we're not complete idiots, sir, and therefore that will be the last place they will be expecting us, d'y'see? They'll be expecting us somewhere like” — his stick stabbed into the sand — “here.”

Hornett looked closely. In the street outside, someone started to bang a drum.

“Oh, you mean Eritor,” he said. “Where I believe there is a concealed landing area, and two days' forced march through good cover would have us at the heart of the empire, sir.”

“Exactly!”

“Whereas landing at El Kinte means three days over sand dunes and past the fortified city of Gebra…”

“Precisely. Wide-open spaces! And that is where we can practise the art of warfare.” Lord Rust raised his voice above the drumming. “That's how you settle these things. One decisive battle. Us on one side, the Klatchians on the other. THAT IS HOW THESE THINGS ARE D—”

He threw down his pointer. “Who the devil is making that infernal noise?”

The equerry walked across to the window. “It's someone else recruiting, sir,” he said.

“But we're all here!”

The equerry hesitated, as the bearers of bad tidings to short-tempered men often do.

“It's Vimes, sir…”

“Recruiting for the Watch?”

“Er… no, my lord. For a regiment. Er… the banner says ‘Sir Samuel Vimes's First of Foot’, my lord—”

“The arrogance of the man. Go and— No, I'll go myself!”

There was a crowd in the street. In the centre there rose the bulk of Constable Dorfl, and a key thing about the golem was that if he was banging a drum then no one was going to ask him to stop. No one except possibly Lord Rust, who strode up and snatched the drumsticks out of his hands.

“Yerss, it are species of your choice's life in der First of Foot!” shouted Sergeant Detritus, unaware of the events going on behind him. “You learnin' a trade! You learnin' self-respek! Also you get spiffy uniform plus all der boots you can eat — here, dat's my banner!”

“What's the meaning of this?” said Rust, flinging the homemade banner on to the ground. “Vimes can't do this!”

A figure detached itself from the wall, where it had been watching the show.

“You know, I rather think I can,” said Vimes. He handed Rust a piece of paper. “It's all here, my lord. With references citing the highest authorities, in case you are in any doubt.”

“Citing the—?”

“On the role of a knight, my lord. In fact the duties of a knight, funnily enough. A lot of it is pretty damn stupid stuff, riding around the place on one of those bloody great horses with curtains round it and so on, but one of them says in time of need a knight has to raise and maintain — you'll laugh when I tell you this — a body of armed soldiers! No one could have been more surprised than me, I don't mind telling you! Seems there's nothing for it but I have to go out and get some chaps together. Of course, most of the watch have joined, well, you know how it is, disciplined lads, anxious to do their bit, so that saved me a bit of effort. Except for Nobby Nobbs, 'cos he says if he leaves it till Thursday he's going to have enough white feathers for a mattress.”

Rust's expression would have preserved meat for a year.