"Since when their armed forces have pulled back so far that they are nearly in the next country," said Lord Vetinari, moving the paper aside. "I have to say that your observation complied only with the general thrust of my view in this matter but was, at least, succinct. Apparently you also looked at the ambassador in a very threatening way."
"It was only the way I usually look."
"To be sure. Happily, in Uberwald you will only need to look friendly."
"Ah, but you don"t want me saying things like "How about selling us all your fat really cheap?" do you?" said Vimes desperately.
"You will not be required to do any negotiating, Vimes. That will be dealt with by one of my clerks, who will set up the temporary embassy and discuss such matters with his opposite numbers among the courts of Uberwald. All clerks speak the same language. You will simply be as ducal as you can. And, of course, you will take a retinue. A staff," Vetinari added, seeing Vimes"s blank look. He sighed. "People to go with you. I suggest Sergeant Angua, Sergeant Detritus, and Corporal Littlebottom."
"Ah," said Carrot, nodding encouragingly.
"Sorry?" said Vimes. "I think there must have been a whole piece of conversation just then that I must have missed."
"A werewolf, a troll and a dwarf," said Carrot. "Ethnic minorities, sir."
"... but in Uberwald they are ethnic majorities," said Lord Vetinari. "All three officers come from there originally, I believe. Their presence will speak volumes."
"So far it hasn"t sent me a postcard," said Vimes. "I"d rather take - "
"Sir, it will show people in Uberwald that Ankh-Morpork is a multicultural society, you see?" said Carrot.
"Oh, I see. "People like us". People you can do business with," said Vimes glumly.
"Sometimes," Vetinari said testily, "it really does seem to me that the culture of cynicism in the Watch is... is..."
"Insufficient?" said Vimes. There was silence.
"All right," he sighed, "I"d better go off and polish the knobs on my coronet, hadn"t I...?"
"The ducal coronet, if I remember my heraldry, does not have knobs on. It is decidedly... spiky," said the Patrician, pushing across the desk a small pile of papers topped by a gold-edged invitation card. "Good. I will have a... a clacks sent immediately. You will be more fully briefed later. Do give my regards to the Duchess. And now, please do not let me detain you further..."
"He always says that," muttered Vimes as the two men hurried down the stairs. "He knows I don"t like being married to a duchess."
"I thought you and Lady Sybil - "
"Oh, being married to Sybil is fine, fine," said Vimes hurriedly. "It"s just the duchess bit I don"t like. Where is everyone tonight?"
"Corporal Littlebottom"s on pigeon duty, Detritus is on night patrol with Swires, and Angua"s on special duty in the Shades, sir. You remember? With Nobby?"
"Oh gods, yes. Well, when they come in tomorrow you"d better get them to report to me. Incidentally, get that bloody wig off Nobby and hide it, will you?" Vimes leafed through the paperwork. "I"ve never heard of the Low King of the dwarfs. I thought that "king" in dwarfish just meant a sort of senior engineer."
"Ah, well, the Low King is rather special," said Carrot.
"Why?"
"Well, it all starts with the Scone of Stone, sir."
"The what?"
"Would you mind a little detour on the way back to the Yard, sir? It"ll make things clearer."
The young woman stood on a corner in the Shades. Her general stance indicated that she was, in the specialized patois of the area, a lady-in-waiting. To be more precise, a lady-in-waiting for Mr. Right, or at least Mr. Right Amount.
She idly swung her handbag.
This was a very recognizable signal, for anyone with the brains of a pigeon. A member of the Thieves" Guild would have passed carefully by on the other side of the lane, giving her nothing more than a gentlemanly and above all nonaggressive nod. Even the less-polite freelance thieves who lurked in this area would have thought twice before eyeing the handbag. The Seamstresses" Guild operated a very swift and non-reversible kind of justice.
The skinny body of Done It Duncan, however, did not have the brains of a pigeon. The little man had been watching the bag like a cat for fully five minutes, and now the very thought of its contents had hypnotized him. He could practically taste the money. He rose on his toes, lowered his head, dashed out of the alley, grabbed the bag and got several inches before the world exploded behind him and he ended up flat in the mud.