Jingo

“I'm going to do nothing. Wake me up if anything interesting happens.”

Nautical things happened. The wind spun about so much that a weather-cock might as well be harnessed to grinding corn. At one point there was a fall of anchovies.

And Commander Vimes tried to sleep. Jenkins showed him a hammock, and Vimes realized that this was another sheep's eyeball. No one could possibly sleep in something like that. Sailors probably kept them up for show and had real beds tucked away somewhere.

He tried to make himself comfortable in the hold, and dozed while the others talked in the corner. They were very politely keeping out of his way.

“—ordship wouldn't give the whole thing away, would he? What were we fighting for?”

“He'll have a hard job hanging on to the job after this, that's for sure. It's dragging the good name of Ankh- Morpork in the mud, like Mr Vimes said.”

“For Ankh-Morpork, mud is up.” That was Angua.

“On der other han', everyone is still breathin'.” That was Detritus.

“That's a vitalist remark—”

“Sorry, Reg. What you scratchin' for?”

“I think I picked up a filthy foreign disease.”

“Sorry?” Angua again. “What can a zombie catch?”

“Don't like to say…”

“You're talking to someone who knows every brand of flea powder they sell in Ankh-Morpork, Reg.”

“Oh, if you must know… Mice, miss. It's shameful. I keep myself clean, but they just find a way—”

“Have you tried everything?”

“Excepting ferrets.”

“If his lordship goes, who'll take over?” That was Cheery. “Lord Rust?”

“He'd last five minutes.”

“Maybe the guilds will get together and—”

“They'll fight like—”

“—ferrets,” said Reg. “The cure's worse than the disease.”

“Cheer up, there'll still be a Watch.” That was Carrot.

“Yes, but Mr Vimes'll be out on his ear. 'cos of politics.”

Vimes decided to keep his eyes closed.

A silent crowd was waiting on the quayside when the ship finally docked. They watched Vimes and his men walk down the gangway. There were one or two coughs, and then someone called out:

“Say it ain't so, Mr Vimes!”^{94}

At the foot of the gangplank Constable Dorfl saluted stiffly.

“Lord Rust's Ship Got In This Morning, Sir,” the golem said.

“Anyone seen Vetinari?”

“No, sir.”

“Afraid to show his face!” someone shouted.

“Lord Rust Said You Were To Do Your Duty, Damn You,” said Dorfl. Golems had a certain literalness of speech.

He handed Vimes a sheet of paper. Vimes grabbed it and read the first few lines.

“What's this? ‘Emergency Council?’ And this?… Treason? Against Vetinari? I'm not carrying this out!”

“Can I see, sir?” said Carrot.

It was Angua who noticed the wave, while the others were staring at the warrant. Even in human form a werewolf's ears are pretty sensitive.

She wandered back to the quayside and looked downriver.

A wall of white water a few feet high was running up the Ankh. As it passed, boats were lifted and rocked.

It sloshed by her, sucking at the quay and making Jenkins's boat dance for a moment. There was a crash of crockery somewhere aboard.

Then it was gone, a line of surf heading towards the next bridge. For a moment the air smelled not of the Ankh's eau de latrine but of sea winds and salt.

Jenkins appeared out of his cabin and looked over the side.

“What was that? The tide changing?” Angua called up.

“We came up on the tide,” said Jenkins. “Beats me. One of those phenomena, I expect.”

Angua went back to the group. Vimes was already red in the face.

“It has been signed by quite a lot of the major guilds, sir,” Carrot was saying. “In fact they're all here except the Beggars and the Seamstresses.”

“Really? Well, piss on 'em! Who are they to give me an order like that?”

Angua saw the look of pain cross Carrot's face.

“Uh… someone has to give us orders, sir. In a general sort of way. We aren't supposed to make up our own. That's sort of… the point.”

“Yes… but… not like…”

“And I suppose they represent the will of the people—”

“That bunch? Don't give me that rubbish! We'd have been slaughtered if we'd fought! And then we'd be in just the same position as we—”

“This does look legal, sir.”

“It's… ridiculous!”

“It's not as if we are accusing him, sir. We just have to make sure he turns up at the Rats Chamber. Look, sir, you've had a very trying time—”

“But… arrest Vetinari? I can't—”

Vimes stopped, because his ears had caught up. And because that was the point, wasn't it? If you could arrest anyone, then that's what you had to do. You couldn't turn round and say “but not him”. Ahmed would snigger. Old Stoneface would turn in all five of his graves.

“I can, can't I?” he said, sadly. “Oh, all right. Put out a description, Dorfl.”

“That Will Not Be Necessary, Sir.”

The crowds moved aside as Lord Vetinari walked along the quay, with Nobby and Colon behind him. At least, if it wasn't Sergeant Colon it was a very strangely deformed camel.

“I think I caught quite a lot of that, commander,” said Lord Vetinari. “Please do your duty.”

“All you've got to do is to go to the palace, sir. Let's—”

“You're not going to handcuff me?”

Vimes's mouth dropped open. “Why should I do that?”

“Treason is very nearly the ultimate crime, Sir Samuel. I think I should demand handcuffs.”

“All right, if you insist.” Vimes nodded at Dorfl. “Cuff him, then.”

“You haven't any shackles, by any chance?” said Lord Vetinari, as Dorfl produced a pair of handcuffs. “We may as well do this thing properly—”

“No. We don't have any shackles.”

“I was only trying to help, Sir Samuel. Shall we be going?”

The crowd weren't jeering. That was almost frightening. They were just waiting, like an audience watching to see how the trick was going to be done. They parted again as the Patrician headed towards the centre of the city. He stopped and turned.

“What was the other thing… oh yes, I don't have to be dragged on a hurdle, do I?”

“Only if you're actually executed, my lord,” said Carrot, cheerfully. “Traditionally, traitors are dragged to their place of execution on a hurdle. And then you're hung, drawn and quartered.” Carrot looked embarrassed. “I know about the hanging and quartering but I'm not sure how you're drawn, sir.”