Jingo

rather ashamed of the general.

One reason, of course, was that he'd ended up fighting Ankh-Mopork. The city of Genua had run out of royalty, inbreeding having progressed to the point where the sole remaining example consisted mostly of teeth, and senior courtiers had written to Ankh-Morpork asking for help.

There'd been a lot of that sort of thing, Vimes had been surprised to learn. The little kingdoms of the Sto Plains were for ever scrounging spare royalty off one another. The King had sent Tacticus out of sheer exasperation. It's hard to run a proper empire when you're constantly getting blood-stained letters on the lines of: Dear sire, I beg to inform you that we have conquered Betrek, Smale and Ushistan. Please send AM $20,000 back pay. The man never knew when to stop. So he was hastily made a duke and packed off to Genua, whereupon his first action was to consider what was that city's greatest military threat and then, having identified it, to declare war on Ankh-Morpork.

But what else had anyone expected? He'd done his duty. He'd brought back heaps of spoils, lots of captives and, almost uniquely among Ankh-Morpork's military leaders, most of his men. Vimes suspected that this last fact was one reason why history didn't approve. There was a suggestion that this was, in some way, not playing fair.

“Veni, vidi, vici.” That was what the man was supposed to have said when he'd conquered… where? Pseudopolis, wasn't it? Or Al-Khali? Or Quirm? Maybe Sto Lat? That was in the old days when you attacked anyone else's city on principle, and went back and did them over again if they looked like getting up. And in those days, you didn't care if the world watched. You wanted them to watch, and learn. “Veni, vidi, vici.” I came, I saw, I conquered.

As a comment it always struck Vimes as a bit too pat. It wasn't the sort of thing you came up with on the spur of the moment, was it? It sounded as if he had worked it out. He'd probably spent long evenings in his tent, looking up in the dictionary short words beginning with V and trying them out… Veni, vermini, vomui, I came, I got ratted, I threw up? Visi, veneri, vamoosi, I visited, I caught an embarrassing disease, I ran away? It must have been a big relief to come up with three short acceptable words. He probably made them up first, and then went off to see somewhere and conquer it.

He opened the book at random.

“It is always useful to face an enemy who is prepared to die for his country,” he read. “This means that both you and he have exactly the same aim in mind.”^{61}

“Hah!”

“Bingeley-bingeley b—”

Vimes's hand slammed down on the box.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Three oh five pee em. Interview with Cpl Littlebottom re Missing Sgt Colon,” said the demon sulkily.

“I never arranged anything like— Who told you—? Are you telling me that I've got an appointment and I don't know about it?”

“That's right.”

“So how do you know about it?”

“You told me to know about it. Last night,” said the demon.

“You can tell me about appointments I don't know about?” said Vimes.

“They're still appointments sine qua appointments,” said the demon. “They exist, as it were, in appointment phase space.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Look,” said the demon patiently, “You can have an appointment at any time, right? So therefore any appointment exists in potentia—”

“Where's that?”

“Any particular appointment simply collapses the waveform,” said the demon. “I merely select the most likely one from the projected matrix.”

“You're just making this up,” said Vimes. “If you were right, then any second now—”

Someone knocked at the door. It was a polite, tentative tap.

Vimes didn't take his eyes off the smirking demon.

“Is that you, Corporal Littlebottom?” he said.

“Yes, sir. Sergeant Colon has sent a pigeon. I thought you ought to see it, sir.”

“Come in!”

A small roll of thin paper was placed on his desk. He read:

Have volunteered for a mission of Vital Importance. Nobby is here also. There will be statchoos of us when this day's work is over.

PS Someone I can't tell you who says this note will self-destruct in five seconds, ^{62} he is sorry he hasn't got good chemicles to do it better—

The paper began to crinkle around the edges and then vanished in a small puff of acrid smoke.

Vimes stared at the little pile of ash that remained.

“I suppose it's a mercy they didn't blow up the pigeon, sir,” said Cheery.

“What the hell are they up to? Well, I can't chase around after them. Thanks, Cheery.”

The dwarf saluted and departed.

“Co-incidence,” said Vimes.

“All right, then,” said the demon. “Bingeley-bingeley beep! Three fifteen pee em, Emergency Meeting with Captain Carrot.”

It was a cylinder, tapering to a point at both ends. At one end the taper was quite complex, the cylinder narrowing in a succession of smaller and smaller rings, overlapping one another until they ended in a large fishtail. Oiled leather could be seen gleaming in the gaps between the metal.

At the other end, extending from the cylinder for all the world like the horn of a unicorn,^{63} was a very long and pointed screw thread.

The whole thing was mounted on a crude trolley, which was in turn riding on a pair of iron rails that disappeared into the black water at the far end of the boathouse.

“Looks like a giant fish to me,” said Colon. “Made of tin.”

“With an 'orn,” said Nobby.

“It'll never float,” said Colon. “I can see where you've gone wrong there. Everyone knows metal sinks.”

“Not entirely true,” said Leonard, diplomatically. “In any case, this boat is designed to sink.”

“What?”

“Propulsion was a major headache, I'm afraid,” said Leonard, climbing up a stepladder. “I thought of paddles and oars, and even some kind of screw, and then I thought: dolphins, that's the ticket! They move extremely fast with barely an effort. That's out at sea, of course, we only get the shovel-nosed dolphin in our estuary here. The linkage rods are a bit complicated but I used to be able to get quite a turn of speed. The pedalling can be somewhat tiresome, but with three of us we should be able to get up to some quite satisfactory accelerations. It's amazing what you can do when you imitate nature, I just wish my flying exp— Oh… where did you go…?”

It would be difficult to establish what part of satisfactorily accelerating nature the watchmen were trying to imitate, but it was a part which tended to get stuck in doors a lot.

They stopped struggling and began to back into the room.

“Ah, sergeant,” said Lord Vetinari, entering in front of them. “And Corporal Nobbs, too. Leonard has explained everything to you?”

“You can't ask us to go in that thing, sir! It'll be suicide!” said Colon.

The Patrician brought his hands together in front of his lips in the manner of someone praying, and sucked air thoughtfully.