'Mwwf?' Vimes raised his head cautiously and spat out sand and fragments of tobacco. 'Mr Vimes?' Only Carrot could whisper like that. He associated whispering with concealment and untruth and compromised by whispering very loudly. To Vimes's horror the man came round the edge of a tent holding a tiny lamp. 'Put that damn–' But he didn't have time to finish the sentence because, somewhere out in the night, a man screamed. It was a high–pitched scream and was suddenly cut off. 'Ah,' said Carrot, crouching down by Vimes and blowing out the lamp. 'That was Angua.'

'That was nothing like– oh. Yeah, I think I see what you mean,' Vimes said, uneasily. 'She's out there, is she?'

'I heard her earlier. She's probably enjoying herself. She doesn't really get much of a chance to let herself go in Ankh–Morpork.'

'Er... no...' Vimes had a mental picture of a werewolf letting go. But surely, Angua wouldn't– 'You two, uh... you're getting along OK, are you?' he said, trying to make out shapes in the darkness. 'Oh, fine, sir. Fine.' So her turning into a wolf occasionally doesn't worry you? Vimes couldn't bring himself to say it. 'No... problems, then?'

'Oh, not really, sir. She buys her own dog biscuits and she's got her own flap in the door. When it's full moon I don't really get involved.' There were shouts in the night and then a shape erupted from the darkness, streaked past Vimes, and disappeared into a tent. It didn't wait for a door. It simply hit the cloth at full speed and continued until the tent collapsed around it. 'And what is that?' said Jabbar. 'This may take some explaining,' said Vimes, picking himself up. Carrot and Detritus were already hauling at the collapsed tent. 'We are D'regs,' said Jabbar reproachfully. 'We are supposed to fold tents silently in the night, not–' There was enough moonlight. Angua sat up and snatched a piece of tent out of Carrot's hands. 'Thank you,' she said, wrapping it around her. 'And before anyone says anything, I just bit him on the bum. Hard. And that was not the soft option, let me tell you.' Jabbar looked back into the desert, and then down at the sand, and then at Angua. Vimes could see him thinking, and put a fraternal arm around his shoulders. 'I'd better explain–' he began. 'There's a couple of hundred soldiers out there!' Angua snapped. '–later.'

'They're taking up positions all round you! And they don't look nice! Has anyone got any clothes that might fit? And some decent food? And a drink! There's no water in this place!'

'They will not dare attack before dawn,' said Jabbar. 'And what will you do, sir?' said Carrot. 'At dawn we will charge!'

'Ah. Uh. I wonder if I could suggest an alternative approach?'

'Alternative? It is right to charge! Charging is what dawn is for.' Carrot saluted Vimes. 'I've been reading your book, sir. While you were... asleep. Tacticus's got quite a lot to say about how to deal with overwhelming odds, sir.'

'Yes?'

'He says take every opportunity to turn them into underwhelming odds, sir. We could attack now.'

's us, sir,' said Carrot helpfully. '–because you have stolen an island that is under the sea. But what is that to us? We know no harm of you foreign devils, but the men who oil their beards in Al–Khali we do not like. So we send him back.'

'All of him?' said Vimes. 'We are not barbaric. He was clearly a madman. But we kept his horse.'

'And 71–hour Ahmed told you to keep us, didn't he?' said Vimes.

'No–one orders the D'regs! It is our pleasure to keep you here!'

'And when will it be your pleasure to let us go? When Ahmed tells you? Jabbar stared at the fire. 'I will not speak of him. He is devious and cunning and not to be trusted.'

'But you are D'regs, too.'

'Yes!' Jabbar slapped Vimes on the back again. 'We know what we are talking about!' The Klatchian fishing boat was a mile or two out of harbour when it seemed to its captain that it was suddenly riding better in the water. Perhaps the barnacles have dropped off, he thought. When his boat was lost in the evening mists a length of bent pipe rose slowly out of the swell and squeaked around until it faced the coast. A distant tinny voice said: 'Oh no...' And another tinny voice said: 'What's up, sarge?'

'Take a look through this!'

'OK.' There was a pause. Then the second tinny voice said: 'Oh, bugger...' What was riding at anchor before the city of Al–Khali wasn't a fleet. It was a fleet of fleets. The masts looked like a floating forest. Down below, Lord Vetinari took his turn to peer through the pipe. 'So many ships,' he said. 'In such a short time, too. How very well organized. Very well organized. One might almost say... astonishingly well organized. As they say, “If you would seek war, prepare for war.” '

'I believe, my lord, the saying is “If you would seek peace, prepare for war,” ' Leonard ventured. Vetinari put his head on one side and his lips moved as he repeated the phrase to himself. Finally he said, 'No, no. I just don't see that one at all.' He ducked back into his seat. 'Let us proceed with care,' he said. 'We can go ashore under cover of darkness.'

'Er... can we maybe go ashore under cover of cover?' said Sergeant Colon. 'In fact these extra ships will make our plan that much easier,' said the Patrician, ignoring him. 'Our plan?' said Colon. 'People within the Klatchian hegemony come in every shape and colour.' Vetinari glanced at Nobby. 'Practically every shape and colour,' he added. 'So our appearance on the streets should not cause undue comment.' He glanced at Nobby again. 'To any great extent.'

'But we're wearing our uniforms, sir,' said Sergeant Colon. 'It's not like we can say we're on our way to a fancy–dress party.'

'Well, I'm not taking mine off,' said Nobby firmly. 'I'm not running around in my drawers. Not in a port. Sailors are at sea a long time. You hear stories.'

'That'd be worse,' said the sergeant, without wasting time calculating how long any sailor would need to be at sea before the vision of Nobby Nobbs would present itself as anything other than a target, '

'cos if we're not in uniform, we'll be spies – and you know what happens to spies.'

'Are you going to tell me, sarge?'

'Excuse me, your lordship?' Sergeant Colon raised his voice. The Patrician looked up from a conversation with Leonard. 'Yes, sergeant?'

'What do they do to spies in Klatch, sir?'

'Er... let me see...' said Leonard. 'Oh, yes... I believe they give you to the women.' Nobby brightened up. 'Oh well, that doesn't sound too bad––'

Tags: Terry Pratchett Discworld Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net