Jingo

at Carrot, and saw no help there.

“Of course, you'd have nothing to fear from us,” said Vimes. “Although you might trip on your way down the stairs to the cells.”

“There's no stairs down to your cells!”

“Stairs can be arranged.”

“Please, Mr Jenkins,” said Carrot, the good cop.

“I wasn't… taking… the weapons to… Klatch,” Jenkins said slowly, as if he was reading the words very painfully off some interior script. “I had… in fact… bought them to… donate them… to…”

“Yes? Yes?” said Vimes.

“…our… brave lads,” said Jenkins.

“Well done!” said Carrot.

“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