Jingo

“You knew! You knew all the time!” Rust shouted.

“Is Lord Vetinari charged with anything?” said Vimes.

Mr Slant was scrabbling through another volume. He looked quite flustered, for a zombie. His grey-green shade was distinctly greener.

“Not as such…” he muttered.

“But he will be!” said Lord Rust.

“Well, when you find out what it is you be sure and let me know, and I'll go and arrest him for it,” said Vimes, unlocking the handcuffs.

He was aware of cheering outside. Nothing stayed secret very long in Ankh-Morpork. The damn island wasn't there any more. And, somehow, it had all worked out.

He met Vetinari's eyes. “Piece of luck for you, eh?” he said.

“Oh, there's always a chicken, Sir Samuel. If you look hard enough.”

The day turned out to be nearly as trying as war. At least one carpet made the flight from Klatch, and there was a constant stream of messages between the palace and the embassy. A crowd still hung around outside the palace. Things were happening, and even if they did not know what they were they weren't going to miss them. If any history was going to occur, they wanted to watch it.

Vimes went home. To his amazement, the door was answered by Willikins. He had his sleeves rolled up and was wearing a long green apron.

“You? How the hell did you get back so quickly?” said Vimes. “Sorry. I didn't mean to be impolite—”

“I inveigled myself on to Lord Rust's ship in the general confusion, sir. I did not wish to let things go to rack and ruin here. The silverware is frankly disgusting, I am afraid. The gardener does not have the least idea how to do it. Allow me to apologize in advance for the shocking condition of the cutlery, sir.”

“A few days ago you were biting people's noses off!”

“Ah, you must not believe Private Bourke, sir,” said the butler, as Vimes stepped in. “It was only one nose.”

“And now you've hurried back to polish the silver?”

“It does not do to let standards slip, sir.” He stopped. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Did we win?”

Vimes looked into the round pink face.

“Er… we didn't lose, Willikins,” he said.

“We couldn't let a foreign despot raise a hand to Ankh-Morpork, could we, sir?” said the butler. There was a slight tremble in his voice.

“I suppose not…”

“So it was right, what we did.”

“I suppose so…”

“The gardener was saying that Lord Vetinari put one over on the Klatchians, sir…”

“I don't see why not. He's done it with everyone else.”

“That would be very satisfactory, sir. Lady Sybil is in the Slightly Pink Drawing Room, sir.”

She was knitting inexpertly when Vimes came in, but rose and gave him a kiss.

“I heard the news,” she said. “Well done.” She looked him up and down. As far as she could see, he was all there.

“I'm not sure that we won…”

“Getting you back alive counts as a win, Sam. Although of course I wouldn't say that in front of Lady Selachii.” Sybil waved the knitting at him. “She's organized a committee to knit socks for our brave lads at the front, but it turns out you're back. And I haven't even worked out how to turn a heel yet. She's probably going to be annoyed.”

“Er… how long do you think my legs are?”

“Um…” She looked at the knitting. “Do you need a scarf?”

He kissed her again.

“I'm going to have a bath and then something to eat,” he said.

The water was only lukewarm. Vimes had some hazy idea that Sybil thought that really hot baths might be letting the side down while there was a war on.

He was lying with his nose just above the surface when he heard, with the addition of that special gloinggloing sound that comes from listening with your ears underwater, some distant talking. Then the door opened.

“Fred's here. Vetinari wants you,” said Sybil.

“Already? But we haven't even started dinner.”

“I'm coming with you, Sam. He can't keep on calling you out at all hours, you know.”

Sam Vimes tried to look as serious as any man can when he's holding a loofah.

“Sybil, I'm the Commander of the Watch and he's the ruler of the city. It's not like going to complain to the teacher because I'm not doing well in geography…”

“I said I'm coming with you, Sam.”

The Boat slipped down its rails and into the water. A stream of bubbles came up.

Leonard sighed. He had very carefully refrained from putting the cork in. The current might roll it anywhere. He hoped it'd roll to the deepest pit of the ocean, or even right over the Rim.

He walked unnoticed through the crowds until he came to the palace. He let himself into the secret corridor and avoided the various traps without thinking, since he himself had designed them.

He reached the door to his airy room and unlocked it. When he was inside he locked it again, and pushed the key back under the door. And then he sighed.

So that was the world, was it? Clearly a mad place, with madmen in it. Well, from now on he'd be careful. It was clear that some men would try to turn anything into a weapon.

He made himself a cup of tea, a process slightly delayed while he designed a better sort of spoon and a small device to improve the circulation of the boiling water.

Then he sat back in his special chair and pulled a lever. Counterweights dropped. Somewhere, water sloshed from one tank to another. Bits of the chair creaked and slid into a comfortable position.

Leonard stared bleakly out of the skylight. A few seabirds turned lazily in the blue square, circling, hardly moving their wings…

After a while, his tea growing cold, Leonard began to draw.

“Lady Sybil? This is an unexpected surprise,” said Lord Vetinari. “Good evening, Sir Samuel, and may I say what a nice scarf you're wearing. And Captain Carrot. Please sit down. We have a lot of business to finish.”

They sat.

“Firstly,” said Lord Vetinari, “I have just drafted a proclamation for the town criers. The news is good.”

“The war is officially over, is it?” said Carrot.

“The war, captain, never happened. It was a… misunderstanding.”

“Never happened?” said Vimes. “People got killed!”

“Quite so,” said Lord Vetinari. “And this suggests, does it not, that we should try to understand one another as much as possible?”

“What about the Prince?”

“Oh, I am sure we can do business with him, Vimes.”

“I don't think so!”

“Prince Khufurah? I thought you rather liked the man.”

“What? What happened to the other one?”

“He appears to have gone on a long visit to the country,” said the Patrician. “At some speed.”

“You mean the kind of visit where you don't even stop to pack?”