'What're we doing?'
'We're going to the pub.' The crowd began to disperse, but with occasional amused glances back at the trio. One of the guards nodded at Colon. 'Nice show,' he said. 'Especially the bit where your lady didn't remove any veils– He darted behind his colleague as Nobby spun round like an avenging angel. 'Sergeant,' the Patrician whispered. 'It is very important that we learn the current whereabouts of Prince Cadram, do you understand? In taverns, people talk. Let us keep our ears open.'
The tavern wasn't Colon's idea of a pub. For one thing, most of it had no roof. Arched walls surrounded a courtyard. A grapevine grew out of a huge cracked urn and had been teased overhead on trellises. There was the gentle sound of tinkling water, and unlike the Mended Drum this was not because the bar backed on to the privies but because of a small fountain in the middle of the cobbles. And it was cool, much cooler than in the street, even though the vine leaves scarcely hid the sky. 'Didn't know you could juggle, sir,' Colon whispered to Lord Vetinari. 'You mean you can't, sergeant?'
'Nossir!'
'How strange. It's hardly a skill, is it? One knows what the objects are and where they want to go. After that it's just a case of letting them occupy the correct positions in time and space.'
'You're dead good at it, sir. Practise often, do you?'
'Until today, I've never tried.' Lord Vetinari looked at Colon's astonished expression. 'After Ankh–Morpork, sergeant, a handful of flying melons present a very minor problem indeed.'
'I'm amazed, sir.'
'And in politics, sergeant, it is always important to know where the chicken is.' Colon raised his fez. 'Is this one still on my head?'
'It seems to have gone to sleep. I wouldn't disturb it, if I were you.'
' 'ere, you, juggler... she can't come in here!' They looked up. Someone with a face and apron that said 'barman' in seven hundred languages was standing over them, a wine jug in each hand. 'No women in here,' he went on. 'Why not?' said Nobby. 'No women asking questions, neither.'
'Why not?'
' 'cos it is written, that's why.'
'Where'm I supposed to go, then?' The barman shrugged. 'Who knows where women go?, 'Off you go, Beti,' said the Patrician. 'And... listen for information!' Nobby grabbed the cup of wine from Colon and gulped it down. 'I dunno,' he moaned, 'I've only been a woman ten minutes and already I hate you male bastards.'
'I dunno what's got into him, sir,' whispered Colon as Nobby stamped out. 'He ain't like this normally.. I thought Klatchian women did what they were told!'
'Does your wife do what she's told, sergeant?'
'Well, yeah, obviously, a man's got to be the master in his own house, that's what I always say–'
'So why are you, I hear, always putting up kitchen furniture?'
'Well, obviously, you've got to listen to–'
'In fact Klatchian history is full of famous examples of women who even went to war with their men,' said the Patrician. 'What? On the same side?'
'Prince Arkven's wife Tistam used to ride into the battle with her husband and, according to legend, killed ten thousand thousand men.'
'That's a lot of men.'
'Legends are prone to inflation. However, I believe there is good historical evidence that Queen Sowawondra of Sumtri had more than thirty thousand people put to death during her reign. She could be quite touchy, they say.'
'You should hear my wife if I don't put the plates away,' said Sergeant Colon gloomily. 'Now we are integrated with the local population, sergeant,' said the Patrician, 'we must find out what is happening. Although an invasion is clearly planned, I feel sure Prince Cadram will have reserved some forces in case of land attack. It would be nice to know where they are, because that's where he will be.'
'Right.'
'You think you can handle this?'
'Yessir. I know Klatchians, sir. Don't you worry about that.'
'Here's some money. Buy drinks for people. Mingle.'