Jingo

trust me, and I don't trust you.”

“Why did you drag me here?”

“Drag you? I had to sabotage my own ship so you wouldn't lose me!”

“Yes, but… you… knew how I'd react.” Vimes's heart began to sink. Everyone knew how Sam Vimes would react…

“Yes. Would you like a cigarette, Sir Samuel?”

“I thought you sucked those damn cloves.”

“In Ankh-Morpork, yes. Always be a little bit foreign wherever you are, because everyone knows foreigners are a little bit stupid. Besides, these are rather good.”

“Fresh from the desert?”

“Hah! Yes, everyone knows Klatchian cigarettes are made from camel dung.” A match flared, and for a moment Vimes caught a glimpse of the hooked nose as Ahmed lit the cigarette for him. “That is one area where, I regret to say, prejudice has some evidence on its side. No, these are all the way from Sumtri. An island where, it is said, the women have no souls. Personally, I doubt it.”

Vimes could make out a hand, holding the packet. Just for a moment he wondered if he could grab and—

“How is your luck?” said Ahmed.

“Running out, I suspect.”

“Yes. A man should know the length of his luck. Shall I tell you how I know you are a good man, Sir Samuel?” In the light of the rising moon Vimes saw Ahmed produce a cigarette holder, insert one, and light up almost fastidiously.

“Do tell.”

“After the attempt on the Prince's life I suspected everyone. But you suspected only your own people. You couldn't bring yourself to think the Klatchians might have done it. Because that'd line you up with the likes of Sergeant Colon and all the rest of the Klatchian-fags-are-made-of-camel-dung brigade.”

“Whose policeman are you?”

“I draw my pay, let us say, as the wali of Prince Cadram.”

“I shouldn't think he's very happy with you right now, then. You were supposed to be guarding his brother, weren't you?” So was I, Vimes thought. But what the hell…

“Yes. And we thought the same way, Sir Samuel. You thought it was your people, I thought it was mine. The difference is, I was right. Khufurah's death was plotted in Klatch.”

“Oh, really? That's what they wanted the Watch to think—”

“No, Sir Samuel. The important thing is what someone wanted you to think.”

“Really? Well, you've got that wrong. All the stuff with the glass and the sand on the floor, I saw through… that… straight… away…”

His voice faded into silence.

After a while Ahmed said, almost sympathetically, “Yes, you did.”

“Damn.”

“Oh, in some ways you were right. Ossie was paid in dollars, originally. And then, later on, someone broke in, making sure they dumped most of the glass outside, and swapped the money. And distributed the sand. I must say that I thought the sand was going a bit too far, too. No one would be that stupid. But they wanted to make sure it looked like a bungled attempt.”

“Who was it?” said Vimes.

“Oh, a small-time thief. Bob-Bob Hardyoyo. He didn't even know why he was doing it, except that someone was willing to pay him. I commend your city, commander. For enough money, you can find someone to do anything.”

“Someone must have paid him.”

“A man he met in a pub.”

Vimes nodded glumly. It was amazing how many people were prepared to do business with a man they'd met in a pub.

“I can believe that,” he said.

“You see, if even the redoubtable Commander Vimes, who is known even to some senior Klatchian politicians as an unbendingly honest and thorough man, if somewhat lacking in intelligence… if even he protested that it was done by his own people — well, the world is watching. The world would soon find out. Starting a war over a rock? Well… that sort of thing makes countries uneasy. They've all got rocks off their coast. But starting a war because some foreign dog had killed a man on a mission of peace… that, I think, the world would understand.”

“Lacking in intelligence?” said Vimes.

“Oh, don't be too depressed, commander. That business with the fire at the embassy. That was sheer bravery.”

“It was bloody terror!”

“Well, the dividing line is narrow. That was one thing I hadn't expected.”

In the rolling, clicking snooker table of Vimes's mind the black ball hit a pocket.

“You had expected the fire, then?”

“The building should have been almost empty—”

Vimes moved. Ahmed was lifted off his feet and slammed against a pillar, with both of Vimes's hands around his neck.

“That woman was trapped in there!”

“It… was… necessary!” said Ahmed hoarsely. “There… had… to be a… diversion! His… life was… in danger, I had to get him out! I did… not know… about the… woman until too late… I give you my word…”

Through the red veil of anger Vimes became aware of a prickle in the region of his stomach. He glanced down at the knife that had appeared magically in the other man's hand.

“Listen to me…” hissed Ahmed. “Prince Cadram ordered his brother's death… What better way to demonstrate the… perfidy of the sausage-eaters… killing a peace-maker…”

“His own brother? You expect me to believe that?”

“Messages were sent to… the embassy in code…”

“To the old ambassador? I don't believe that!”

Ahmed stood quite still for a moment.

“No, you really don't, do you?” he said. “Be generous, Sir Samuel. Truly treat all men equally. Allow Klatchians the right to be scheming bastards, hmm? In fact the ambassador is just a pompous idiot. Ankh-Morpork has no monopoly on them. But his deputy sees the messages first. He is… a young man of ambition…”

Vimes relaxed his grip. “Him? I thought he was shifty as soon as I saw him!”

“I suspect that you thought he was Klatchian as soon as you saw him, but I take your point.”

“And you could read this code, could you?”

“Oh, come now. Don't you read Vetinari's paperwork upside down when you're standing in front of his desk? Besides, I am Prince Cadram's policeman…”

“So he's your boss, right?”

“Who is your boss, Sir Samuel? When push comes to shove?”

The two men stood locked together. Ahmed's breath wheezed.

Vimes stood back. “These messages… you've got them?”

“Oh, yes. With his seal on them.” Ahmed rubbed his neck.

“Good grief. The originals? I'd have thought they'd be under lock and key.”

“They were. In the embassy. But in the fire many hands were needed to carry important documents to safety. It was a very… useful fire.”

“A death warrant for his own brother… well, you can't argue against that in court…”

“What court? The king is the law.” Ahmed sat down. “We are not like you. You kill kings.”