Jingo

He sat down. The men on either side of him obediently shuffled along.

Now then, how did you… ah, right… anyone knew how Klatchians talked…

“Greetings, fellow brothers of the dessert,” he said. “I don't know about you, but I could just do with a plate of sheep's eyeballs, eh? I bet you boys can't wait to be back on your camels, I know I can't. I spit upon the defiling dogs of Ankh-Morpork. Anyone had any baksheesh lately? You can call me Al.”

“Excuse me, are you the lady who is with the clowns?”

Corporal Nobbs, who had been trudging along gloomily, looked up. He was being addressed by a pleasant- faced young woman. A woman actually talking to him by choice was a novelty. Smiling while doing so was unheard of.

“Er… yeah. Right. That's me.” He swallowed… “Beti.”

“My name is Bana. Would you like to come and talk with us?”

Nobby looked past her. There were a number of women of varying ages sitting around a large well. One of them waved at him shyly.

He blinked. This was uncharted territory. He looked down at his clothes, which were already the worse for wear. His clothes always looked the worse for wear five minutes after he'd put them on.

“Oh, don't worry,” said the girl. “We know how it is. But you looked so alone. And perhaps you can help us…”

They were among the group now. There were women of every legitimate shape and size, and so far none of them had said “Yuk,” an experience hitherto unchronicled in Nobby's personal history. In a detached, light-headed way, Corporal Nobbs felt that he was entering Paradise, and it was only an unfortunate detail that he'd come to via the wrong door.

“We are trying to comfort Netal,” said the girl. “Her betrothed won't marry her tomorrow.”

“The swine,” said Nobby.

One of the girls, eyes red with crying, looked up sharply.

“He wanted to,” she sobbed. “But he's been taken off to fight in Gebra! All over some island no one's heard of! And all my family are here!”

“Who took him off?” said Nobby.

“He took himself off,” snapped an older woman. Clothing differences aside, there was something hauntingly familiar about her, and Nobby realized that if you cut her in half the words “mother-in-law” would be all the way through.

“Oh, Mrs Atbar,” said Netal, “he said it was his duty. Anyway, all the boys have had to go.”

“Men!” said Nobby, rolling his eyes.

“I expect you'd know a lot about the pleasures of men, then,” said Mother-in-Law sourly.

“Mother!”

“Who, me?” said Nobby, forgetting himself for a moment. “Oh, yeah. Lots.”

“You do?”

“Why not? Beer's favourite,” said Nobby. “But you can't beat a good cigar, as long as it's free.”

“Hah!” Mother-in-Law picked up a basket of washing and stamped away, followed by most of the older women. The others laughed. Even the disappointed Netal smiled.

“I think that's not what she meant,” said Bana. To a chorus of giggles, she leaned down and whispered in Nobby's ear.

His expression did not change but it did seem to solidify.

“Oh, that,” he said.

There were some worlds of experience which Nobby had only contemplated on a map, but he knew what she was talking about. Of course he'd patrolled certain parts of the Shades in his time — the ones where young ladies tended to hang around without very much to do, and probably catching cold too — but those areas of police work that in other places might be of interest to a Vice Squad now tended to be looked after by the Guild of Seamstresses themselves. People who neglected to obey the… no, not the law as such, call them the unwritten rules… as laid down by Mrs Palm and her committee of very experienced ladies15 attracted the attention of the Agony Aunts, Dotsie and Sadie, and might or might not be seen again. Even Mr Vimes approved of the arrangement. It didn't cause paperwork.

“Oh, yeah,” said Nobby, still staring at some inner screen.

Of course, he knew what…

“Oh, that,” he mumbled. “Well, I've seen a thing or two,” he added. Largely on postcards, he had to admit.

“It must be wonderful to have so much freedom,” said Bana.

“Er…”

Netal burst out crying again. Her friends fluttered around her.

“I don't see why the men have to go off like this,” said Bana. “My betrothed has gone too.”

There was a cackle from a very old woman sitting by the well. “I can tell you why, dears. Because it's better than growing melons all day. It's better than women.”

“Men think war is better than women?”

“It's always fresh, it's always young, and you can make a good fight last all day.”

“But they get killed!”

“Better to die in battle than in bed, they say” She cracked a toothless grin. “But there are good ways for a man to die in bed, eh, Beti?”

Nobby hoped the glow of his ears wasn't singeing his veil. Suddenly, he felt he'd caught up with his future. Ten damn pence worth of it hit him in the face.

“'scuse me,” he said. “Are any of you Nubilians?”

“What are Nubilians?” said Bana.

“It's a country round here,” said Nobby. He added hopefully, “Isn't it?”

Not a single face suggested that this was so.

Nobby sighed. His hand reached up to his ear for a cigarette end, but it came down again empty.

“I'll tell you this, girls,” he said. “I wish I'd settled for the ten-dollar version. Don't you just sometimes want to sit down and cry?”

“You look even sadder than Netal,” said Bana. “Isn't there some way we can cheer you up?”

Nobby stared at her for a moment, and then started to sob.

Everyone was staring at Colon, their food halfway to their lips.

“Did I just hear him say that, Faifal? What do I want to be on a camel for? I'm a plumber!”

“He's the clown with the juggler. I think. The poor man is several palms short of an oasis.”

“I mean the bloody things spit and they're a bugger to get up the stairs with your toolbox —”

“Now, come on it's not his fault, let's show a little charity.” The speaker cleared his throat. “Good morning, friend,” he said. “May we invite you to share our couscous?”

Sergeant Colon peered at the bowl, and then dipped in a finger and tasted it.

“Hey, this is semolina! You've got semolina! It's just ordinary semol—” He stopped, and coughed. “Yeah, right. Thanks. Got any strawberry jam?”

The host looked at his friends. They shrugged.

“We know not of this ‘strawberry hjam’ of which you speak,” he said carefully, “We prefer it with lamb.” He offered Colon a long wooden skewer.

“Oh, you gotta have strawberry jam,” said Colon, carried away. “When we were kids we'd stir it in and… and…” He looked at their faces, “O' course, that was back in Ur,” he said.

The men nodded at one another. Suddenly it was all clear.

Colon belched loudly.