Terry Pratchett - Jingo

“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} 94 ‘Shoeless’ Joe Jackson was the star player of the Chicago White Sox during the 1919 World Series. When it emerged that he had (allegedly) accepted bribes to throw the series, the fans' collective reaction was of shocked incredulity: the line “Say it ain't so, Joe!” became the canonical form of begging someone to deny an allegation that is too shocking to accept, but too convincing to disbelieve.

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.”

“Are you any good with a pencil, captain?” said Lord Vetinari innocently.

“No, he's not!” said Vimes.

“Do you actually have a hurdle?”

“ No !” snapped Vimes.

“Oh? Well, I believe there's a sports equipment shop in Sheer Street. Just in case, Sir Samuel.”

A figure walked across the trampled sand near Gebra, and paused when a voice very near ground level said, hopefully, “Bingeley-bingeley beep?”

The Dis-organizer felt itself being picked up.

WHAT KIND OF A THING ARE YOU?

“I am the Dis-organizer Mk II, with many handy hard-to-use features, Insert Name Here!”

SUCH AS?

Even the Dis-organizer's tiny mind felt slightly uneasy. The voice it was speaking to didn't sound right.

“I know what time it is everywhere,” it ventured.

SO DO I.

“Er… I can maintain an up-to-the-minute contacts directory…” The Dis-organizer felt movements that suggested the new owner had mounted a horse.

REALLY? I HAVE A GREAT MANY CONTACTS.

“There you are, then,” said the demon, trying to hold on to its rapidly draining enthusiasm. “So I make a note of them, and when you want to contact them again—”

THAT IS GENERALLY NOT NECESSARY. MOSTLY, THEY STAY CONTACTED.

“Well… do you have many appointments?” There were hoofbeats, and then no sound but rushing wind.

MORE THAN YOU COULD POSSIBLY IMAGINE. NO… I THINK, PERHAPS, YOUR TALENTS COULD BE BETTER EMPLOYED ELSEWHERE…

There was more rushing wind, and then a splash.

The Rats Chamber was crowded. Guild leaders were entitled to be there, but there were plenty of other people who considered they had a right to be in at the death too. There were even some of the senior wizards. Everyone wanted to be able to say to their grandchildren “I was there”. 17 17 Although of course wizards aren't allowed to, because they're not supposed to have grandchildren.

“I feel certain I ought to be wearing more chains,” said Vetinari, as they paused in the doorway and looked at the assembled crowd.

“Are you taking this seriously, sir?” said Vimes.

“Incredibly seriously, commander, I assure you. But if by some chance I survive, I authorize you to buy some shackles. We must learn to do this sort of thing properly.”

“I shall keep them handy, I assure you.”

“Good.”

The Patrician nodded at Lord Rust, who was flanked by Mr Boggis and Lord Downey.

“Good morning,” he said. “Can we make this quick? It's going to be a busy day.”