Jingo (Discworld 21)

'Often hard to know the difference,' said Ahmed sympathetically. Vimes sat down on the sand. He wasn't certain how he'd been managing to stand up. There was some kind of a future now. He hadn't the faintest idea what was in it, but there was one. There hadn't been one five minutes ago. He wanted to talk now. That way, he didn't have to think about the Dis–organizer's death roll. It had sounded so... accurate... 'What's going to happen to you?' he said, to drive the thought out of his mind. 'When this is over, I mean. Your boss isn't going to be pleased with you.'

'Oh, the desert can swallow me.'

'He'll send people after you. He looks the type.'

'The desert will swallow them.'

'Without chewing?'

'Believe it.'

'It shouldn't have to be like this!' Vimes shouted, at the sky in general. 'You know? Sometimes I dream that we could deal with the big crimes, that we could make a law for countries and not just for people, and people like him would have–' Ahmed pulled him upright and patted him on the shoulder. 'I know how it is,' he said. 'I dream too.'

'You do?'

'Yes. Generally of fish.' There was a roar from the crowd. 'Someone's scored a convincing foul, by the sound of it,' said Vimes. They slid and staggered up the side of a dune, and watched. Someone broke from the scrum and, punching and kicking, staggered towards the Klatchian goal. 'Isn't that man your butler?' said Ahmed. 'Yes.'

'One of your soldiers said he bit a man's nose off.' Vimes shrugged. 'He's got a very pointed look if I don't use the sugar tongs, I know that.' A white figure marched authoritatively through the mill of players, blowing a whistle. 'And that man, I believe, is your king.'

'No.'

'Really? Then I am Queen Punjitrurn of Sumtri.'

'Carrot's a copper, same as me.'

'A man like that could inspire a handful of broken men to conquer a country.'

'Fine. just so long as he does it on his day off.'

'And he too takes orders from you? You are a remarkable man, Sir Samuel. But you would not, I think, have killed the Prince.'

'No. But you'd have killed me if I had.'

'Oh, yes. Flagrant murder in front of witnesses. I am, after all, a copper.' They'd reached the camels. One looked round as Ahmed prepared to mount, thought better of spitting at him, and hit Vimes instead. With great precision. Ahmed looked back at the footballers. 'Up in Klatchistan the nomads play a game very similar to that,' he said. 'But on horseback. The aim is to get the object round the goal.'

'Object?'

'Probably best just to think of it as an “object” Sir Samuel. And now, I think, I shall head that way. There are thieves in the mountains. The air is clear up there. As you know, there is always work for policemen.'

'You thinking of returning to Ankh–Morpork at any time?'

'You'd like to see me there, Sir Samuel?'

'It's an open city. But be sure to call in at Pseudopolis Yard when you arrive.'

'Ah, and we can reminisce about old times.'

'No. So you can hand over that sword. We'd give you a receipt and you can pick it up when you leave.'

'I'd take some persuading, Sir Samuel.'

'Oh, I think Id only ask once.'

Ahmed laughed, nodded at Vimes and rode away. For a few minutes he was a shape at the base of a column of dust, and then a shifting dot in the heat haze, and then the desert swallowed him. The day wore on. Various Klatchian officials and some of the Ankh– Morpork people were summoned to the tent. Vimes wandered close to it a few times and heard the sound of voices raised in dispute. Meanwhile, the armies dug in. Someone had already erected a crude signpost, its arms pointing to various soldiers' homes. Since these were all in part of AnkhMorpork the arms all pointed exactly the same way. He found most of the Watch sitting out of the wind, while a wizened Klatchian woman cooked quite a complicated meal over a small fire. They all seemed to be fully alive, with the usual slight question the case of Reg Shoe. 'Where've you been, Sergeant Colon?' said Vimes. 'Been sworn to secrecy about that, sir. By his lordship. 'Right.' Vimes didn't press the point. Getting information out of Colon was like getting water out of a flannel. It could wait. 'And Nobby?'

'Right here, sir!' The wizened woman saluted in a clash of bangles. 'That's you?'

'Yessir! Doing the dirty work as per the woman's role in life, sir, despite the fact that there is less senior watchmen present, sir!'