Jingo. Part 3

"Of course. While, at the same time, full of rich people. I trust they have been spending their good fortune on swords."

"And you have allowed allowed this wholesale tax avoidance?" said Lord Selachii. this wholesale tax avoidance?" said Lord Selachii.

"Oh, the taxes haven't been avoided," said Lord Vetinari. "Or even evaded. They just haven't been paid."

"That is a disgusting state of affairs!"

The Patrician raised his eyebrows. "Commander Vimes?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Would you be so good as to a.s.semble a squad of your most experienced men, liaise with the tax gatherers and obtain the acc.u.mulated back taxes, please? My clerk here will give you a list of the prime defaulters."

"Right, sir. And if they resist, sir?" said Vimes, smiling nastily.

"Oh, how can they resist, commander? This is the will of our civic leaders." He took the paper his clerk proffered. "Let me see, now. Top of the list-"

Lord Selachii coughed hurriedly. "Far too late for that sort of nonsense now," he said.

"Water under the bridge," said Lord Downey.

"Dead and buried," said Mr. Slant.

"I paid mine," said Vimes.

"So let me recap, then," said Vetinari. "I don't think anyone wants to see two grown nations sc.r.a.pping over a piece of rock. We don't want to fight, but-"

"By jingo, if we do, we'll show those-" Lord Selachii began.

"We have no ships. We have no men. We have no money, too," said Lord Vetinari. "Of course, we have the art of diplomacy. It is amazing what you can do with the right words."

"Unfortunately, the right words are more readily listened to if you also have a sharp stick," said Lord Downey.

Lord Selachii slapped the table. "We don't have to talk talk to these people! My lords...gentlemen...it's up to us to show them we won't be pushed around! We must re-form the regiments!" to these people! My lords...gentlemen...it's up to us to show them we won't be pushed around! We must re-form the regiments!"

"Oh, private private armies?" said Vimes. "Under the command of someone whose fitness for it lies in the fact that he can afford to pay for a thousand funny hats?" armies?" said Vimes. "Under the command of someone whose fitness for it lies in the fact that he can afford to pay for a thousand funny hats?"

Someone leaned forward, halfway along the table. Up to that moment Vimes had thought he was asleep, and when Lord Rust spoke it was, indeed, in a sort of yawn.

"Whose fitness fitness, Mister Vimes, lies in a thousand years of breeding for leadership," he said.

The "Mister" twisted in Vimes's chest. He knew he was a mister, would always be a mister, was probably a blueprint for mistership, but he'd be d.a.m.ned if he wouldn't be Sir Samuel to someone who p.r.o.nounced years as "hyahs."

"Ah, good breeding," he said. "No, sorry, don't have any of that that, if that's what you need to get your own men killed by sheer-"

"Gentlemen, please," said the Patrician. He shook his head. "Let's have no fighting, please. This is, after all, a council of war. As for re-forming the regiments, well, this is of course your ancient right. The supplying of armed men in times of need is one of the duties of a gentleman. History is on your side. The precedents are clear enough, I can't go against them. I have to say I cannot afford to."

"You're going to let them play soldiers?" said Vimes.

"Oh, Commander Vimes," said Mr. Burleigh, smiling. "As a military man yourself, you must-"

Sometimes people can attract attention by shouting. They might opt for thumping a table, or even take a swing at someone else. But Vimes achieved the effect by freezing, by simply doing nothing. The chill radiated off him. Lines in his face locked like a statue.

"I am not a military man."

And then Burleigh made the mistake of trying to grin disarmingly.

"Well, commander, the helmet and armor and everything...It's really all the same in the end, isn't it?"

"No. It's not."

"Gentlemen..." Lord Vetinari put his hands flat on the table, a sign that the meeting had ended. "I can only repeat that tomorrow I shall be discussing the matter with Prince Khufurah-"

"I've heard good reports of him," said Lord Rust. "Strict but fair. One can only admire what he's doing in some of those backward regions. A most-"

"No, sir. You are thinking of Prince Cadram," said Lord Vetinari. "Khufurah is the younger brother. He is arriving here as his brother's special envoy."

"Him? That That one? The man's a wastrel! A cheat! A liar! They say he takes bri-" one? The man's a wastrel! A cheat! A liar! They say he takes bri-"

"Thank you for your diplomatic input, Lord Rust," said the Patrician. "We must deal with facts as they are. There is always a way. Our nations have many interests in common. And of course it says a lot for the seriousness with which Cadram is treating this matter that he is sending his own brother to deal with it. It's a nod toward the international community."

"A Klatchian bigwig is coming here here?" said Vimes. "No one told me!"

"Strange as it may seem, Sir Samuel, I am occasionally capable of governing this city for minutes at a time without seeking your advice and guidance."

"I meant there's a lot of anti-Klatchian feeling around-"

"A really greasy piece of work-" Lord Rust whispered to Mr. Boggis, in that special aristocratic whisper that carries to the rafters. "It's an insult to send him here!" "It's an insult to send him here!"

"I am sure that you will see to it that the streets are safe to walk, Vimes," said the Patrician sharply. "I know you pride yourself on that sort of thing. Officially he's here because the wizards have invited him to their big award ceremony. An honorary doctorate, that sort of thing. And one of their lunches afterward. I do like negotiating with people after the faculty of Unseen University have entertained them to lunch. They tend not to move about much and they'll agree to practically anything if they think there's a chance of a stomach powder and a small gla.s.s of water. And now, gentlemen...if you will excuse me..."

The lords and leaders departed in ones and twos, talking quietly as they walked out into the hall.

The Patrician shuffled his papers into order, running a thin finger along each edge of the pile, and then looked up.

"You appear to be casting a shadow, commander."

"You're not really really going to allow them to re-form the regiments, are you?" said Vimes. going to allow them to re-form the regiments, are you?" said Vimes.

"There is absolutely no law against it, Vimes. And it will keep them occupied. Every official gentleman is ent.i.tled, in fact I believe used to be required required, to raise men when the city required it. And, of course, any citizen has the right to bear arms. Bear that in mind, please."

"Arms is one thing. Holding weapons in 'em and playing soldiers is another." Vimes put his knuckles on the table and leaned forward.

"You see, sir," he said, "I can't help but think that over there in Klatch a bunch of idiots are doing the same thing. They're saying to the Seriph 'It's time to sort out those devils in Ankh-Morpork, offendi.' And when a lot of people are running around with weapons and talking daft stuff about war, accidents happen. Have you ever been in a pub when everyone goes armed? Oh, things are a little polite at first, I'll grant you, and then some twerp drinks out of the wrong mug or picks up someone else's change by mistake and five minutes later you're picking noses out of the beer nuts-"

The Patrician looked down at Vimes's knuckles and stared fixedly until Vimes removed them.

"Vimes, you will be at the wizards' Convivium tomorrow. I sent you a memo about it."

"I never-" A vision of the piles of unread paperwork on Vimes's desk loomed treacherously in his mind. "Ah," he said.

"The Commander of the Watch leads the procession in full dress uniform. It's an ancient custom."

"Me? Walk in front of everyone?"

"Indeed. Very...civic. As I'm sure you recall. It demonstrates the friendly alliance between the University and the civil government which, I may say, seems to consist of their promising to do anything we ask provided we promise not to ask them to do anything. Anyway, it is your duty. Tradition decrees it. And Lady Sybil has agreed to see to it that you are there with a crisp bright shining morning face."

Vimes took a deep breath. "You asked my wife wife?"

"Certainly. She is very proud of you. She believes you are capable of great things, Vimes. She must be a great comfort to you."

"Well, I...I mean, I...yes..."

"Excellent. Oh, just one other thing, Vimes. I do have the a.s.sa.s.sins and the Thieves in agreement on this, but to cover all all eventualities...I would consider it a favor if you could see to it that no one throws eggs or something at the Prince. That sort of thing always upsets people." eventualities...I would consider it a favor if you could see to it that no one throws eggs or something at the Prince. That sort of thing always upsets people."

The two sides watched each other carefully. They were old enemies. They had tested strengths many a time, had tasted defeat and victory, had contested turf. But this time it would go all the way.

Knuckles whitened. Boots sc.r.a.ped impatiently.

Captain Carrot bounced the ball once or twice.

"All right, lads, one more try, eh? And this time, no horseplay. William, what are you eating?"

The Artful Nudger scowled. No one No one knew his name. Kids he'd grown up with didn't know his name. His mother, if he ever found out who she was, probably didn't know his name. But Carrot had found out somehow. If anyone else had called him "William" they'd be looking for their ear. In their mouth. knew his name. Kids he'd grown up with didn't know his name. His mother, if he ever found out who she was, probably didn't know his name. But Carrot had found out somehow. If anyone else had called him "William" they'd be looking for their ear. In their mouth.

"Chewing gum, mister."

"Have you brought enough for everybody?"

"No, mister."

"Then put it away, there's a good chap. Now, let's-Gavin, what's that up your sleeve?"

The one known as Sc.u.mbag Gav didn't bother to argue.

"'s a knife, Mr. Carrot."

"And I bet bet you brought enough for everybody, eh?" you brought enough for everybody, eh?"

"'sright, mister." Sc.u.mbag grinned. He was ten.

"Go on, put them on the heap with the others..."

Constable Shoe looked over the wall in horror. There were about fifty youths in the wide alleyway. Average age in years: about eleven. Average age in cynicism and malevolent evil: about 163. Although Ankh-Morpork football doesn't usually have goals in the normal sense, two had been nevertheless made at each end of the alley using the time-honored method of piling up things to mark where the posts would be.

Two piles: one of knives, one of blunt instruments.

In the middle of the boys, who were wearing the colors of some of the nastier street gangs, Captain Carrot was bouncing an inflated pig's bladder.

Constable Shoe wondered if he ought to go and get help, but the man seemed quite at ease.

"Er, captain?" he ventured.

"Oh, h.e.l.lo, Reg. We were just having a friendly game of football. This is Constable Shoe, lads."

Fifty pairs of eyes said: We'll remember your face, copper.

Reg edged around the wall and the eyes noted the arrow which had gone straight through his breastplate and protruded several inches from his back.

"There's been a bit of trouble, sir," said Reg. "I thought I'd better fetch you. It's a hostage situation..."

"I'll come right away. Okay, lads, sorry about this. Play amongst yourselves, will you? And I hope I'll see you all on Tuesday for the sing-song and sausage sizzle."

"Yeah, mister," said the Artful Nudger.

"And Corporal Angua will see if she can teach you the campfire howl."

"Yeah, right," said Sc.u.mbag.

"But what do we do before we part?" said Carrot expectantly.

The bloods of the Skats and the Mohocks looked bashfully at one another. Usually they were nervous of nothing, it being a banishment matter to show fear in any circ.u.mstances. But when they'd variously drawn up the clan rules, no one had ever thought there'd be someone like Carrot.

Glaring at one another with I'll-kill-you-if-you-ever-mention-this expressions, they all raised the index fingers of both hands to the level of their ears and chorused: "Wib wib wib."

"Wob wob wob," Carrot replied heartily. "Okay, Reg, let's go."

"How'd you do that, captain?" said Constable Shoe, as the watchmen hurried off.

"Oh, you just raise both fingers like this this," said Carrot. "But I'd be obliged if you don't tell anyone, because it's meant to be a secret sig-"

"But they're thugs, captain! Young killers! Villains!"

"Oh, they're a bit cheeky, but nice enough boys underneath, when you take the time to understand-"

"I heard they never give anyone enough time time to understand! Does Mr. Vimes know you're doing this?" to understand! Does Mr. Vimes know you're doing this?"

"He sort of knows, yes. I said I'd like to start a club for the street kids and he said it was fine provided I took them camping on the edge of some really sheer cliff somewhere in a high wind. But he always says things like that. And I'm sure we wouldn't have him any other way. Now, where are these hostages?"

"It's at Vortin's again, captain. But it's...sort of worse than that..."

Behind them, the Skats and the Mohocks looked at one another warily. Then they picked up their weapons and edged away with care. It's not that we don't want to fight, their manner said. It's just that we've got better things to do right now, and so we're going to go away and find out what they are.