Jingo (Discworld 21)

'I can guess. The Assassins' Guild had a contract on him in any case. And by a happy chance I am Guild member.'

'You?' Vimes tried to bite down on the word. And then: why not him? Kids got sent a thousand miles to be taught in the Assassins' Guild school... 'Oh, yes. The best years of my life, they tell me. I was in Viper House. Up School! Up School! Right Up School!' He sighed like a prince and spat like a camel driver. 'If I shut my eyes I can still recall the taste of that peculiar custard we used to get on Mondays. Dear me, how it all comes back... I remember every soggy street. Does Mr Dibbler still sell his horrible sausages inna bun in Treacle Mine Road?'

'Yes.'

'Still the same old Dibbler, eh?'

'Still the same sausages.'

'Once tasted, never forgotten.'

'True.'

'No, don't move too quickly, Sir Samuel. Otherwise I'm afraid I shall be cutting your own throat. You don't trust me, and I don't trust you.'

'Why did you drag me here?'

'Drag you? I had to sabotage my own ship so you wouldn't lose me!'

'Yes, but... you... knew how I'd react.' Vimes's heart began to sink. Everyone knew how Sam Vimes would react... 'Yes. Would you like a cigarette, Sir Samuel?'

'I thought you sucked those damn cloves.'

'In Ankh–Morpork, yes. Always be a little bit foreign wherever you are, because everyone knows foreigners are a little bit stupid. Besides, these are rather good.'

'Fresh from the desert?'

'Hah! Yes, everyone knows Klatchian cigarettes are made from camel dung.' A match flared, and for a moment Vimes caught a glimpse of the hooked nose as Ahmed lit the cigarette for him. 'That is one area where, I regret to say, prejudice has some evidence on its side. No. these are all the way from Sumtri. An island where, it is said, the women have no souls. Personally, I doubt it.' Vimes could make out a hand, holding the packet. just for a moment he wondered if he could grab and 'How is your luck?' said Ahmed. 'Running out, I suspect.'

'Yes. A man should know the length of his luck. Shall I tell you how I know you are a good man, Sir Samuel?' In the light of the rising moon Vimes saw Ahmed produce a cigarette holder, insert one, and fight up almost fastidiously. 'Do tell.'

'After the attempt on the Prince's life I suspected everyone. But you suspected only your own people. You couldn't bring yourself to think the Klatchians might have done it. Because that'd fine you up with the likes of Sergeant Colon and all the rest of the Kiatchian-fags–are–made–of–camel– dung brigade.'

'Whose policeman are you?'

'I draw my pay, let us say, as the wali of Prince Cadram.'

'I shouldn't think he's very happy with you right now, then. You were supposed to be guarding his brother, weren't you?' So was I, Vimes thought. But what the hell... 'Yes. And we thought the same way, Sir Samuel. You thought it was your people, I thought it was mine. The difference is, I was right. Khufurah's death was plotted in Klatch.'

'Oh, really? That's what they wanted the Watch to think–'

'No, Sir Samuel. The important thing is what someone wanted you to think.'

'Really? Well, you've got that wrong. All the stuff with the glass and the sand on the floor, I saw through …that... straight... away...' His voice faded into silence. After a while Ahmed said, almost sympathetically, 'Yes, you did.'

'Damn.'

'Oh, in some ways you were right. Ossie was paid in dollars, originally. And then, later on, someone broke in, making sure they dumped most of the glass outside, and swapped the money. And distributed the sand. I must say that I thought the sand was going a bit too far, too. No–one would be that stupid. But they wanted to make sure it looked like a bungled attempt.'

'Who was it?' said Vimes. 'Oh, a small–time thief. Bob–Bob Hardyoyo. He didn't even know why he was doing it, except that someone was willing to pay him. I commend your city, commander. For enough money, you can find someone to do anything.'

'Someone must have paid him.'

'A man he met in a pub.' Vimes nodded glumly. It was amazing how many people were prepared to do business with a man they'd met in a pub. 'I can believe that,' he said. 'You see, if even the redoubtable Commander Vimes, who is known even to some senior Klatchian politicians as an unbendingly honest and thorough man, if somewhat lacking in intelligence... if even he protested that it was done by his own people – well, the world is watching. The world would soon find out. Starting a war over a rock? Well... that sort of thing makes countries uneasy. They've all got rocks off their coast. But starting a war because some foreign dog had killed a man on a mission of peace... that, I think, the world would understand.'

'Lacking in intelligence?' said Vimes. 'Oh, don't be too depressed, commander. That business with the fire at the embassy. That was sheer bravery.'

'It was bloody terror!'