'I will kill the first man that moves,' said Ahmed.

'Then the second man that moves will kill you, traitor!' shouted the Prince.

'They'll have to move very fast,' said Carrot, drawing his sword.

'Any volunteers to be the third man?' said Vimes. 'Anyone?'

General Ashal moved, but only very gently, holding up a hand. The bodyguards relaxed slightly.

'What was that... lie you uttered about a murder?' he said.

'Have you gone mad, Ashal?' said the Prince.

'Oh, sire, before I can disbelieve these pernicious lies, I do need to know what they are.'

'Vimes, you have gone insane,' said Rust. 'You can't arrest the commander of an army!'

'Actually, Mr Vimes, I think we could,' said Carrot. 'And the army, too. I mean, I don't see why we can't. We could charge them with behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace, sir. I mean, that's what warfare is.'

Vimes's face split in a manic grin. 'I like it.'

'But in fairness our – that is, the Ankh-Morpork army – are also–'

'Then you'd better arrest them too,' said Vimes. 'Arrest the lot of 'em. Conspiracy to cause an affray,' he started to count on his fingers, 'going equipped to commit a crime, obstruction, threatening behaviour, loitering within tent, loitering within tent, hah, travelling for the purposes of committing a crime, malicious lingering and carrying concealed weapons.'

'I don't think that one–' Carrot began.

'I can't see 'em,' said Vimes.

'Vimes, I order you to come to your senses this minute!' roared Lord Rust. 'Have you been out in the sun?'

'That's one count of offensive behaviour to his lordship as well,' said Vimes.

The Prince was still staring at Vimes.

'You seriously think that you can arrest an army.?' he said. 'Perhaps you think you have a bigger army?'

'Don't need one,' said Vimes. 'Power at a point, that's what Tacticus says. And here it's the one right on the end of Ahmed's crossbow. That wouldn't frighten a D'reg, but you... I reckon you don't think like them. Tell your men to stand down. I want the order to go out right now.'

'Even Ahmed would not shoot his prince in cold blood,' said Prince Cadram.

Vimes snatched the crossbow. 'I wouldn't ask him to!' He took aim. 'Give that order!'

The Prince stared at him.

'Count of three!' shouted Vimes.

General Ashal leaned down and whispered something to the Prince. The man's expression stiffened and he glanced back at Vimes again.

'That's right,' said Vimes. 'It runs in the family.'

'It would be murder!'

'Would it? In wartime? I'm from Ankh–MorporkAren't I supposed to be at war with you? Can't be murder if there's a war on. That's written down somewhere.'

The general leaned down and whispered.

'One,' said Vimes.

Now there was a hurried argument.

'Two.

'Myprincewishesmetosay–' the general began.

'All right, slow down,' said Vimes.

'If it makes you any happier, I will send out the order,' said the general. 'Let the messengers leave.'

Vimes nodded and lowered the bow. The Prince shifted uneasily.

'And the Ankh–Morpork army will stand down as well,' said Vimes.

'But, Vimes, you're on our side–' Rust began.

'Bloody hell, I'm going to shoot someone today and it could just be you, Rust,' Vimes snarled.

'Sit?' Lieutenant Hornett tugged at his commander's jacket. 'May I have a word?'

Vimes heard them whispering, and then the young man left.

'All right, we are all disarmed,' said Rust. 'We are all "under arrest". And now, commander?'

'I ought to read them their rights, sir,' said Carrot.

'What are you talking about?' said Vimes.

'The men out there, sir.'

'Oh. Yeah. Right. Do it, then.'

Oh gods, I arrested an entire battlefield, Vimes thought. And you can't do that.

But I've done it. And we've only got six cells back at the Yard, and we keep the coal in one of them.

You can't do it.

Was this the army that invaded your country, ma'am? No, officer, they were taller than that...

How about this one? Im not sure – get them to march up and down a bit...

Carrot's voice could be heard outside, slightly muffled:

'Now... can you all hear me? You gentlemen in the back there? Anyone who can't hear me, please raise... all right, has anyone got a megaphone? Some cardboard I could roll up? In that case I'll shout... '

'What now?' said the Prince.

'I'm taking you back to Ankh-Morpork–'

'I don't think so. That would be an act of war.'

'You are making a mockery of the whole business, Vimes!' said Lord Rust.

'So long as I'm doing something right, then.' Vimes nodded at Ahmed.

'Then you can answer for your crime here, sire,' he said.

'In what court?' said the Prince.

Ahmed leaned closer to Vimes. 'What was your plan from here on?' he whispered.

'I never thought we'd get this far!'

'Ah. Well... it has been interesting, Sir Samuel.'

Prince Cadram smiled at Vimes. 'Would you like some coffee while you are considering your next move?' he said. He gestured to an ornate silver pot on the table.

'We've got proof,' Vimes said. But he could feel the world dropping away. The point about burning your boats is that you shouldn't be standing on them when you drop the match.

'Really? Fascinating. And to whom will you show this proof, Sir Samuel?'

'We'll have to find a court.'

'Intriguing. A court in Ankh–Morpork, perhaps? Or a court here?'

'Someone told me that the world watches,' said Vimes.

There was silence except for the muffled sounds of Carrot, outside, and the occasional buzz of a fly.

'...bingeley–bingeley beep... ' The Dis–organizer's voice had lost its chirpy little edge, and sounded sleepy and bewildered.

Heads turned.

'...Seven eh em... Organize Defenders at River Gate ... Seven twenty–five... Hand–to–Hand Fighting in Peach Pie Street... Seven forty–eight eight eight... Rally Survivors in Sator Square... Things To Do Today: Build Build Build Barricades...'

 He was aware of surreptitious movement behind him, and then slight pressure. Ahmed was standing back to back with him.

'What is that thing talking about?'

'Search me. Sounds like it's in a different world, doesn't it... ?'

He could feel events racing towards a distant wall. Sweat filled his eyes. He couldn't remember when he'd last had a proper sleep. His legs twinged. His arms ached, pulled down by the heavy bow.

'...bingeley... Eight oh two eh em, Death of Corporal Littlebottombottom... Eight oh three eh em... Death of Sergeant Detritus... Eight oh threethreethree eh em and seven seconds seconds... Death of Constable Visit... Eight oh three eh em and nineninenine seconds... Death of death of death of...'

'They say that in Ankh–Morpork one of your ancestors killed a king,' said the Prince. 'And he also came to no good end.'

Vimes wasn't listening.

'...Death of Constable Dorfl... Eight oh three eh em and fourteenteenteen seconds...'

The figure in the throne seemed to take up the whole world.

'Death of Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson... beep...'

And Vimes thought: I nearly didn't come. I nearly stayed in Ankh–Morpork.

He had always wondered how Old Stoneface had felt, that frosty morning when he picked up the axe that had no legal blessing because the King wouldn't recognize a court even if a jury could be found, that frosty morning when he prepared to sever what people thought was a link between men and deity

'... beep... Things To Do Today Today Today: Die...'

The sensation flowed into his veins like fresh warm blood. It was the feeling that you got when the law ran out, and you looked into a mocking face on the other side of it and you decided that you couldn't go on living if you did not step over the line and do one clean thing–

There was shouting outside. He blinked away the sweat.

'Ah... Commander Vimes…' said a voice somewhere back over the border.

He kept his aching gaze sighted along the bow. 'Yes?'

A hand darted down and grabbed the arrow out of its groove. Vimes blinked. His finger automatically squeezed the trigger. The string slammed back with a thunk. And the look on the Prince's face, he knew, would keep him warm on cold nights, if there were ever cold nights again.

He'd heard them all die. But they weren't dead. And yet the damn thing had sounded so... accurate...

Lord Vetinari dropped the arrow fastidiously, like a society lady who has had to handle something sticky.

'Well done, Vimes. I see you've got the donkey up the minaret. Good morning, gentlemen.' He gave the company a happy smile. 'I see I am not too late.'

'Vetinari?' said Rust, seeming to wake up. 'What are you doing here? This is a battlefield–'

'I wonder.' The Patrician gave him a very brief smile of his very own. 'Outside there seem to be a lot of men sitting around. Many of them seem to be having what I believe is known in military parlance as a brew–up. And Captain Carrot is organizing a football match.'

'He's what?' said Vimes, lowering the bow. Suddenly the world had to be real again. If Carrot was doing something as dumb as that, things were normal.

'Quite a large number of fouls so far, I'm afraid. But I wouldn't call it a battlefield.'

'Who's winning?'

'Ankh-Morpork, I believe. By two hacked shins and a broken nose.'

For the first time in ages Vimes felt a little pang of patriotism. Everything else in life was in the privy, but when it came to gouging and kicking he knew which side he was on.

'Besides,' Vetinari went on, 'I believe quite a large number of people are technically under arrest. And clearly a state of war is not, in practical fact, in being. It is merely a state of football. Therefore, I believe, I am, shall we say... back. Excuse me, sire, but this won't take a moment.'

He held up a metal cylinder and began to unscrew the end.

For some reason Vimes felt inclined to take a few steps away from it. 'What's that?'

'I thought this might become necessary,' said Vetinari. 'It took some preparation, but I am certain it will work. I hope they're readable. We did our best to keep the damp off them.'

A thick roll of paper dropped out onto the floor.

'Commander, have you nothing you should be doing?' he added. 'Refereeing, perhaps?'

Vimes picked up the roll and read the first few lines.

'Whereas... heretofore, etc, etc... City of Ankh-Morpork... Surrender?'

'What?' said Rust and the Prince together.

'Yes, surrender,' said Vetinari cheerfully. 'A little piece of paper and it's all over. I think you'll find it all in order.'

'You can't–' Rust began.

'You can't–' said the Prince.

'Unconditionally?' said General Ashal sharply.

'Yes, I think so,' said Vetinari. 'We give up all claim to Leshp in favour of Klatch, we withdraw all troops from Klatch and our citizens from the island, and as for reparations... shall we say a quarter of a million dollars? Plus various favourable trade arrangements, mostfavoured–nation status and so on and so on.

It's all here. Feel free to read it at your leisure.'

He passed the document over the head of the Prince and into the hands of the general, who flicked through the pages.

'But we haven't got–' Vimes began. Perhaps I did get killed, he thought. I'm on the other side, or someone hit me very hard on the head and this is all some kind of mirage

'It's a forgery!' snapped the Prince. 'It's a trick!'

'Well, sire, this man certainly does appear to be Lord Vetinari and these do seem to be the official seals of Ankh–Morpork,' said the general. "'Whereas... whereby... without prejudice... ratification within four days... way of trade"... yes, this does, I have to say, look genuine.'

'I won't accept it!'

'I see, sire. It does, though, appear to cover all the points which in your speech last week you–'

'I certainly wouldn't accept it!' Rust shouted. He waved a finger under Vetinari's nose. 'You'll be banished for this!'

But we haven't got that money, Vimes repeated, but this time to himself. We're a very rich city, but we haven't got any actual money. The wealth of Ankh-Morpork is in its people, we're told. And you couldn't remove it with big pliers.

He felt the wind change.

And Vetinari watching him.

And there was something about General Ashal. A certain hunger...

'I agree with Rust,' he said. 'This is dragging the good name of Ankh-Morpork in the mud. 'To his mild surprise he managed to say that without smiling.

'We lose nothing, sire,' General Ashal insisted. 'They withdraw from Klatch and Leshp–'

'Damned if we will!' screamed Lord Rust.

'Right! And have everyone know we've been beaten?' said Vimes. 'Outwitted?'

He looked at the Prince, whose gaze was hunting from man to man, but occasionally staring at nothing, as if he was watching some inner vision.

'A quarter of a million is not enough,' the Prince said.

Lord Vetinari shrugged. 'We can discuss it.'

'There is much that I need to buy.'

'Things of a sharp metallic nature, no doubt,' said Vetinari. 'Of course, if we are talking about goods rather than money, there is room for... flexibility.. .'

And now we're going to arm him too, Vimes thought.

'You'll be out of the city in a week!' Rust screamed.

Vimes thought the general smiled briefly. Ankh–Morpork without Vetinaro... ruled by people like Rust. His future was looking bright indeed.

'The surrender will need to be ratified and formally witnessed, however,' said Ashal.

'May I suggest Ankh–Morpork?' said Lord Vetinari.

'No. On neutral territory, of course,' said the general.

'But where, between Ankh-Morpork and Klatch, is there such a thing?' said Vetinari.

'I suppose... there is Leshp,' said the general thoughtfully.

'What a good idea,' said the Patrician. 'That would not have occurred to me.'

'The place is ours anyway!' snapped the Prince.

'Will be, sire. Will be,' said the general soothingly. 'We will take possession. Quite legally. While the world watches.'

'And that's it? What about my arrest?' said Vimes. 'I'm not going to–'

'These are matters of state,' said Vetinari. 'And there are... diplomatic considerations. I am afraid the good ordering of international affairs cannot hinge upon your concerns over the doings of one man.'

Once again Vimes felt that the words he was hearing were not the words that were being said.

'I won't–' he began.

'There are larger issues here.'

'But–'

'Sterling work, nevertheless.'

'There are big crimes and little crimes, is that it?' said Vimes.

'Why don't you take some well–earned rest, Sir Samuel? You are,' Vetinari flashed one of his lightning–fast smiles, 'a man of action. You deal in swords, and chases, and facts. Now, alas, it is the time for the men of words, who deal in promises and mistrust and opinions. For you the war is over. Enjoy the sunshine. I trust we shall all be returning home shortly. I would like you to stay, Lord Rust.. .'

Vimes realized that he'd been switched off. He spun round and marched out of the tent.

Ahmed followed him. 'That's your master, is it?'

'No! He's just the man who pays my wages!'

'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!'

'Now then, Nobby,' said Colon. 'Cheery can't cook, we can't let Reg do it because bits fall into the pan, and Angua–'

'–doesn't do cookery,' said Angua. She was lying back on a rock with her eyes dosed. The rock was the slumbering shape of Detritus.

'Anyway, you just started doing the cooking like you was expecting to have to do it,' said Colon.

'Kebab, sir?' said Nobby. 'There's plenty.'

'You certainly got a lot of food from somewhere,' said Vimes.

'Klatchian quartermaster, sir,' said Nobby, grinning beneath his veil. 'Used my sexual wiles on him, sir.'

Vimes's kebab stopped halfway to his mouth and dripped lamb fat onto his legs. He saw Angua's eyes slam open and stare in horror at the sky.

'I told him I'd take my clothes off and scream if he didn't give me some grub, sir.'

'That'd scare the daylights out of me, sure enough,' said Vimes. He saw Angua breathe out again.

'Yeah, I reckon if I played my cards right I could be one of them fatal femmies,' said Nobby. 'I've only got to wink at a man and he runs a mile. Could be useful, that.'

'I told him he could change back into his uniform, but he says he feels more comfortable like this,' whispered Colon to Vimes. 'I'm getting a bit worried, to tell you the truth.'

I can't handle this, Vimes thought. This isn't in the book of rules.

'Er... how can I explain this... ?' he began.

'I don't want any of them in–you–endoes,' said Nobby. 'It's a good idea to walk a mile in someone else's shoes, that's all I'm saying.'

'Well, so long as it's just sh–'

'I've just been gettin' in touch with my softer side, all right? Seein' the other man's point of view, sort of thing, even if he's a woman.'

He looked at their faces and waved his hands vaguely. 'All right, all right, I'll put my uniform on after I've tidied up around the camp. Will that make you all happy?'

'Something smells nice!'

Carrot ran up, bouncing his football. He'd stripped to his waist. The whistle bounced on its string around his neck.

'I've declared half–time,' he said, sitting down. 'So I've sent some of the lads into Gebra to get four thousand oranges. Shortly the combined Ankh–Morpork regimental bands will put on a display of counter–marching while playing a selection of military favourites.'

'Have they practised counter–marching?' said Angua.

'I don't think so.'

'Should be good, then.'

'Carrot,' said Vimes, 'I don't wish to pry, but how, in the middle of a desert, did you find a football?' And the voice in the back of his mind insisted: you heard him die, you heard them all die.. . somewhere else.

'Oh, these days I carry a deflated one in my pack, sir. A very pacifying object, a football. Are you all right, sir?'

'Eh? What? Oh. Yes. Just a bit... tired. So who's winning?' Vimes patted his pockets, and found his last cigar.

'It's broadly speaking a tie, sir. I had to send four hundred and seventy–three men off, though. Klatch is now well ahead on fouls, I'm sorry to say.'

'Sport as a substitute for war, eh?' said Vimes. He rootled in the ashes of Nobby's fire and pulled out a halfconsumed... well, it helped to think of it as a desert coal.

Carrot gave him a solemn look– 'Yes, sir. No–one's using weapons. And have you noticed how the Klatchian army is getting smaller? Some of the chiefs from distant parts are taking their men away. They say there's no point in staying if there's not going to be a war. I don't think they really wanted to be here in any case, to tell you the truth. And I don't think it's going to be easy to get them to come back–'

There was shouting behind them. Men were coming out of the tent, arguing. Lord Rust was among them. He looked around, talking to his companions. Then he spotted Vimes and rocketed furiously towards him.

'Vimes!'

Vimes looked up, hand halfway to his cigar.

'We would have won, you know,' growled Rust. 'We would have won! But we were betrayed on the brink of success!'

Vimes stared at him.

'And it's your fault, Vimes! We'll be the laughing stock of Klatch! You know the value these people put on face, and we won't have any! Vetinari is finished! And so are you! And so is your stupid, mongrel, cowardly Watch! What do you say to that, Vimes? Eh?'

The watchmen sat like statues, waiting for Vimes to say something. Or even move.

'Eh? Vimes?'

Rust sniffed. 'What's that smell?'

Vimes slowly shifted his gaze to his fingers. Smoke was rising. There was a faint sizzling.

He stood up and brought his fingers up in front of Rust's face.

'Take it,' he said.

'That's... just some trick...'

'Take it,' said Vimes.

Mesmerized, Rust licked his fingers and gingerly took the ember. 'It doesn't hurt–'

'Yes, it does,' said Vimes.

'In fact it– Aargh!'

Rust jumped back, dropped the ember and sucked his blistered fingers.

'The trick is not to mind that it hurts,' said Vimes. 'Now go away.'

'You won't last long,' Rust sneered. 'You wait until we're back in the city. You just wait.' He strode off, holding his stricken hand.

Vimes went back and sat down by the fire. After a while he said: 'Where's he gone now?'

'Back to the lines, sir. I think he's ordering the men home.'

'Can he see us?'

'No.'

'You sure?'

'There's too many people in the way, sir.'

'You're quite sure?'

'Not unless he can see through camels, sir.'

'Good.' Vimes stuck his fingers in his mouth. Sweat was pouring down his face. 'Damn damn damn! Has anyone got any cold water?'

Captain Jenkins had got his ship afloat again. It had taken a lot of digging, and some careful work with balks of timber and the assistance of a Klatchian captain who had decided not to let patriotism stand in the way of profit.

He and his crew were resting on the shore when a greeting rang out from over them.

He squinted into the sun.

'That... that can't be Vimes, can it?'

The crew stared.

'Let's get aboard right now!'

A figure started down the face of the dune. It moved very fast, much faster than a man could run on the shifting sand, and moved in a zig–zag fashion. As it drew nearer, it turned out to be a man standing on a shield.

It slid to a halt a few feet away from the astonished Jenkins.

'Good of you to wait, captain!' said Carrot. 'Very many thanks! The others will be down in a minute.'

Jenkins looked back to the top of the dune. There were other, darker figures there now.

'Those are D'regs!' he shouted.

'Oh, yes. Lovely people. Have you met them at all?'

Jenkins stared at Carrot. 'Did you win?' he said.

'Oh, yes. On penalties, in the end.'

Green-blue light filtered through the tiny windows of the Boat.

Lord Vetinari pulled the steering levers until he was pretty certain that they were heading towards a suitable ship and said:

'What is it I can smell, Sergeant Colon?'

'It's Bet– It's Nobby, sir,' said Colon, pedalling industriously.

'Corporal Nobbs?'

Nobby almost blushed. 'I bought a bottle of scent, sir. For my young lady.'

Lord Vetinari coughed. 'What exactly do you mean by "your young lady"?' he said.

'Well, for when I get one,' said Nobby.

'Ah.' Even Lord Vetinari sounded relieved.

'On account of I expect I shall now, me having fully explored my sexual nature and now feeling fully comfortable with meself,' said Nobby.

'You feel comfortable with yourself?'

'Yessir!' said Nobby happily.

'And when you find this lucky lady, you will give her this bottle of–'

' 's called "Kasbah Nights", sir.'

'Of course. Very... floral, isn't it?'

'Yessir. That's 'cos of the jasmine and rare ungulants in it, sir.'

'And yet at the same time curiously... penetrative.'

Nobby grinned. 'Good value for money, sir. A little goes a long way.'

'Not far enough, possibly?'

But Nobby rusted even irony. 'I got it in the same shop that sarge got the hump, sir.'

'Ah... yes.'

There wasn't very much space in the Boat, and most of it was taken up with Sergeant Colon's souvenirs. He'd been allowed a brief shopping expedition 'to take home something for the wife, sir, otherwise I'll never hear the last of it'.

'Mrs Colon will like a stuffed camel hump, will she, sergeant?' said the Patrician doubtfully.

'Yessir. She can put things on it, sir.'

'And the set of nested brass tables?'

'To put things on, sir.'

'And the' – there was a clanking –'set of goat bells, ornamental coffee pot, miniature camel saddle and this... strange glass tube with little bands of different coloured sand in it... what are these for?'

'Conversation pieces, sir.'

'You mean people will say things like "What are they for?", do you?'

Sergeant Colon looked pleased with himself.

'See, sir? We're talking about 'em already.'

'Remarkable.'

Sergeant Colon coughed and indicated with a tilt of his head the hunched figure of Leonard, who was sitting in the stern with his head in his hands.

'He's a bit quiet, sir,' he whispered. 'Can't seem to get a word out of him.'

'He has a lot on his mind,' said the Patrician.

The watchmen pedalled onwards for a while, but the close confines of the Boat encouraged a confidentiality that would never have been found on land.

'Sorry to hear you're getting the sack, sir,' said Colon.

'Really,' said Lord Vetinari.

'You'd definitely get my vote, if we had elections.'

'Capital.'

'I think people want the thumbscrew of firm government, myself.'

'Good.'

'Your predecessor, Lord Snapcase, now he was mental. But, like I've always said, people know where they stand with Lord Vetinari...'

'Well done.'

'They might not like where they're standing of course...'

Lord Vetinari looked up. They were under a boat now and it seemed to be going in the right direction. He steered the Boat until he heard the thunk of hull hitting hull, and gave the auger a few turns.

'Am I being sacked, sergeant?' he said, sitting back.

'Well, eh, I heard Lord Rust's people say that if you rat... rat. ..'

'Ratify,' said Lord Vetinari.

'Yeah, if you ratify that surrender next week, they'll get you exiled, sir.'

'A week is a long time in politics, sergeant.'

Colon's face widened in what he thought of as a knowing grin. He tapped the side of his nose.

'Ah, politics,' he said. 'Ah, you should've said.'

'Yeah, they'll laugh at the other foot then, eh?' said Nobby.

'Cot some secret plan, I'll be bound,' said Colon. 'You know where the chicken is all right.'

'I can see there's no fooling such skilled observers of the carnival that is life,' said Lord Vetinari. 'Yes, indeed, there is something I intend to do.'

He adjusted the position of the camel–hump pouffe, which in fact smelled of goat and was beginning to leak sand, and lay back.

'I'm going to do nothing. Wake me up if anything interesting happens.'

Nautical things happened. The wind spun about so much that a weather-cock might as well be harnessed to grinding corn. At one point there was a fall of anchovies.

And Commander Vimes tried to sleep. Jenkins showed him a hammock, and Vimes realized that this was another sheep's eyeball. No-one could possibly sleep in something like that. Sailors probably kept them up for show and had real beds tucked away somewhere.

He tried to make himself comfortable in the hold, and dozed while the others talked in the corner. They were very politely keeping out of his way.

'––ordship wouldn't give the whole thing away, would he? What were we fighting for?'

'He'll have a hard job hanging on to the job after this, that's for sure. It's dragging the good name of Ankh-Morpork in the mud, like Mr Vimes said.'

'For Ankh-Morpork, mud is up.' That was Angua.

'On der other han', everyone is still breathin'.' That was Detritus.

'That's a vitalist remark–'

'Sorry, Reg. What you scratchin' for?'

'I think I picked up a filthy foreign disease.'

'Sorry?' Angua again. 'What can a zombie catch?'

'Don't like to say...'

'You're talking to someone who knows every brand of flea powder they sell in Ankh–Morpork, Reg.'

'Oh, if you must know... Mice, miss. It's shameful. I keep myself dean, but they just find a way–'

'Have you tried everything?'

'Excepting ferrets.'

'If his lordship goes, who'll take over?' That was Cheery. 'Lord Rust?'

'He'd last five minutes.'

'Maybe the guilds will get together and–'

'They'll fight like–'

'–ferrets,' said Reg. 'The cure's worse than the disease.'

'Cheer up, there'll still be a Watch.' That was Carrot.

'Yes, but Mr Vimes'll be out on his ear. 'cos of politics.'

Vimes decided to keep his eyes closed.

A silent crowd was waiting on the quayside when the ship finally docked. They watched Vimes and his men walk down the gangway. There were one or two coughs, and then someone called out:

'Say it ain't so, Mr Vimes!'

At the foot of the gangplank Constable Dorfl saluted stiffly.

'Lord Ruses Ship Cot In This Morning, Sir,' the golem said.

'Anyone seen Vetinari?'

'No, sir.'

'Afraid to show his face!' someone shouted.

'Lord Rust Said You Were To Do Your Duty, Damn You,' said Dorfl. Golems had a certain literalness of speech.

He handed Vimes a sheet of paper. Vimes grabbed it and read the first few lines.

'What's this? "Emergency Council?" And this?... Treason? Against Vetinari? I'm not carrying this out!'

'Can I see, sir?' said Carrot.

It was Angua who noticed the wave, while the others were staring at the warrant. Even in human form a werewolf's ears are pretty sensitive.

She wandered back to the quayside and looked downriver.

A wall of white water a few feet high was running up the Ankh. As it passed, boats were lifted and rocked.

It sloshed by her, sucking at the quay and making Jenkins's boat dance for a moment. There was a crash of crockery somewhere aboard.

Then it was gone, a line of surf heading towards the next bridge. For a moment the air smelled not of the Ankh's eau de latrine but of sea winds and salt.

Jenkins appeared out of his cabin and looked over the side.

'What was that? The tide changing?' Angua called up.

'We came up on the tide,' said Jenkins. 'Beats me. One of those phenomena, I expect.'

Angua went back to the group. Vimes was already red in the face.

'It has been signed by quite a lot of the major guilds, sir,' Carrot was saying. 'In fact they're all here except the Beggars and the Seamstresses.'

'Really? Well, piss on 'em! Who are they to give me an order like that?'

'Angua saw the look of pain cross Carrot's face.

'Uh... someone has to give us orders, sir. In a general sort of way. We aren't supposed to make up our own. That's sort of... the point.'

'Yes... but... not like...'

'And I suppose they represent the will of the people–'

'That bunch? Don't give me that rubbish! We'd have been slaughtered if we'd fought! And then we'd be in just the same position as we–'

'This does look legal, sir.'

'It's... ridiculous!'

'It's not as if we are accusing him, sir. We just have to make sure he turns up at the Rats Chamber. Look, sir, you've had a very trying time–'

'But... arrest Vetinari? I can't–'

Vimes stopped, because his ears had caught up. And because that was the point, wasn't it? If you could arrest anyone, then that's what you had to do. You couldn't turn round and say 'but not him'. Ahmed would snigger. Old Stoneface would turn in all five of his graves.

'I can, can't I?' he said, sadly. 'Oh, all right. Put out a description, Dorfl.'

'That Will Not Be Necessary, Sir.'

The crowds moved aside as Lord Vetinari walked along the quay, with Nobby and Colon behind him. At least, if it wasn't Sergeant Colon it was a very strangely deformed camel.

'I think I caught quite a lot of that, commander,'

said Lord Vetinari. 'Please do your duty.'

'All you've got to do is to go to the palace, sir. Let's–'

'You're not going to handcuff me?'

Vimes's mouth dropped open. 'Why should I do that?'

'Treason is very nearly the ultimate crime, Sir Samuel. I think I should demand handcuffs.'

'All right, if you insist.' Vimes nodded at Dorfl. 'Cuff him, then.'

'You haven't any shackles, by any chance?' said Lord Vetinari, as Dorfl produced a pair of handcuffs. 'We may as well do this thing properly–'

'No. We don't have any shackles.'

'I was only trying to help, Sir Samuel. Shall we be going?'

The crowd weren't jeering. That was almost frightening. They were just waiting, like an audience watching to see how the trick was going to be done. They parted again as the Patrician headed towards the centre of the city. He stopped and turned.

'What was the other thing... oh yes, I don't have to be dragged on a hurdle, do I?'

'Only if you're actually executed, my lord,' said Carrot, cheerfully. 'Traditionally, traitors are dragged to their place of execution on a hurdle. And then you're hung, drawn and quartered.' Carrot looked embarrassed. 'I know about the hanging and quartering but I'm not sure how you're drawn, sir.'

'Are you any good with a pencil, captain?' said Lord Vetinari innocently.

'No, he's not!' said Vimes.

'Do you actually have a hurdle?'

'No!' snapped Vimes.

'Oh? Well, I believe there's a sports equipment shop in Sheer Street. just in case, Sir Samuel.'

A figure walked across the trampled sand near Gebra, and paused when a voice very near ground level said, hopefully, 'Bingeley–bingeley beep?'

The Dis–organizer felt itself being picked up.

WHAT KIND OF A THING ARE YOU?

'I am the Dis–organizer Mk II, with many handy hard–touse features, Insert Name Here!'

SUCH AS?

Even the Dis–organizer's tiny mind felt slightly uneasy. The voice it was speaking to didn't sound right.

'I know what time it is everywhere,' it ventured.

SO DO I.

'Er... I can maintain an up–to–the–minute contacts directory...' The Dis–organizer felt movements that suggested the new owner had mounted a horse.

REALLY? I HAVE A GREAT MANY CONTACTS.

'There you are, then,' said the demon, trying to hold on to its rapidly draining enthusiasm. 'So I make a note of them, and when you want to contact them again–'

THAT IS GENERALLY NOT NECESSARY. MOSTLY, THEY STAY CONTACTED.

'Well... do you have many appointments?' There were hoofbeats, and then no sound but rushing wind.

MORE THAN YOU COULD POSSIBLY IMAGINE. NO... I THINK, PERHAPS, YOUR TALENTS COULD BE BETTER EMPLOYED ELSEWHERE...

There was more rushing wind, and then a splash.

The Rats Chamber was crowded. Guild leaders were entitled to be there, but there were plenty of other people who considered they had a right to be in at the death too. There were even some of the senior wizards. Everyone wanted to be able to say to their grandchildren 'I was there'.[17]

'I feel certain I ought to be wearing more chains,' said Vetinari, as they paused in the doorway and looked at the assembled crowd.

'Are you taking this seriously, sir?' said Vimes.

'Incredibly seriously, commander, I assure you. But if by some chance I survive, I authorize you to buy some shackles. We must learn to do this sort of thing properly.'

'I shall keep them handy, I assure you.'

'Good.'

The Patrician nodded at Lord Rust, who was flanked by Mr Boggis and Lord Downey.

'Good morning,' he said. 'Can we make this quick? It's going to be a busy day.'

'It pleases you to continue to make Ankh–Morpork a laughing stock,' Rust began. His glance flicked to Vimes for a moment, and wrote him out of the universe. 'This is not a formal trial, Lord Vetinari. It is an arraignment so that the charges may be known. Mr Slant tells me that it will be many weeks before a full trial can be mounted.'

'Expensive weeks no doubt. Shall we get on with it?' said Vetinari.

'Mr Slant will read the charges,' said Rust. 'But in a nutshell, as you are well aware, Havelock, you are charged with treason. You surrendered most ignobly–'

'–but I did not–'

'–and quite illegally waived all rights to our sovereignty of the country known as Leshp–'

'–but there is no such place.'

Lord Rust paused. 'Are you quite sane, sir?'

'The surrender terms were to be ratified on the island of Leshp, Lord Rust. There is no such place.'

'We passed it on the way here, man!'

'Has anyone looked recently?'

Angua tapped Vimes on the shoulder.

'A strange wave came up the river just after we arrived, sir–'

There was some urgent conversation among the wizards, and Archchancellor Ridcully stood up.

'There seems to be a bit of a problem, your lordships. The Dean says it really isn't there.'

'It's an island. Are you suggesting someone's stolen it? Are you sure you know where it is, man?'

'We do know where it is, and it isn't there. There's just a lot of seaweed and wreckage,' said the Dean coldly. He stood up, holding a small crystal ball in his hands. 'We've been watching it most evenings. For the fights, you know. Of course, the picture is pretty bad at this distance––'

Rust stared at him. But the Dean was too large to be written out of the scene.

'But an entire island can't just vanish,' said Rust.

'In theory they can't just appear either, my lord, but this one did.'

'Perhaps it's sunk again,' said Carrot.

Now Rust glared at Vetinari.

'Did you know about this?' he demanded.

'How could I know something like that?'

Vimes watched the faces around the room.

'You do know something about this!' said Rust. He glanced towards Mr Slant, who was leafing hurriedly through a large volume.

'All I know, my lord, is that Prince Cadram has, at a politically dangerous time for him, given up a huge military advantage in exchange for an island which seems to have sunk under the sea,' said Lord Vetinari. 'The Klatchians are a proud people. I wonder what they will think?'

And Vimes thought about General Ashal, standing beside Prince Cadram's throne. Klatchians like successful leaders, he thought. I wonder what happens to the unsuccessful ones? I mean, look at what when we think–

Someone nudged him.

' 's us, sir,' said Nobby. 'They said they didn't have any hurdles but they do a ping–pong table for ten dollars. There's a small trampoline we could drag him on but sarge thinks that'd be a bit ridiculous.'

Vimes walked out of the room, dragging Nobby with him, and pushed the little man against the wall.

'Where did you get to with Vetinari, corporal? And remember I know when you tell me lies. Your lips move.

'We... we... we... just went on a little voyage, sir. He said I wasn't to say we went under the island, sir!'

'So you – Under Leshp?'

'Nossir! We didn't go down there! Stinking hole it was, too. Stunk of rotten eggs, the whole bloody cave, and as big as the city, believe me!'

'I bet you're glad you didn't go, then.'

Nobby looked relieved. 'That's right, sir.'

Vimes sniffed. 'Are you using some kind of aft–' – he corrected himself –'some kind of insteadofshave, Nobby?'

'No, sir?'

'Something smells of fermented flowers.'

'Oh, it's just a souvenir I picked up in foreign parts, sir. It kind of lingers, if you know what I mean.'

Vimes shrugged and went back into the Rats Chamber.

'–and I resent most strongly the suggestion that I would have negotiated with His Highness in the knowledge that... ah, Sir Samuel. The keys to the handcuffs, please.'

'You knew! You knew all the time!' Rust shouted.

'Is Lord Vetinari charged with anything?' said Vimes.

Mr Slant was scrabbling through another volume. He looked quite flustered, for a zombie. His greygreen shade was distinctly greener.

'Not as such...' he muttered.

'But he will be!' said Lord Rust.

'Well, when you find out what it is you be sure and let me know, and I'll go and arrest him for it,' said Vimes, unlocking the handcuffs.

He was aware of cheering outside. Nothing stayed secret very long in Ankh-Morpork. The damn island wasn't there any more. And, somehow, it had all worked out.

He met Vetinari's eyes. 'Piece of luck for you,– eh?' he said.

'Oh, there's always a chicken, Sir Samuel. If you look hard enough.'

The day turned out to be nearly as trying as war. At least one carpet made the flight from Klatch, and there was a constant stream of messages between the palace and the embassy. A crowd still hung around outside the palace. Things were happening, and even if they did not know what they were they weren't going to miss them. If any history was going to occur, they wanted to watch it.

Vimes went home. To his amazement, the door was answered by Willikins. He had his sleeves rolled up and was wearing a long green apron.

'You? How the hell did you get back so quickly?' said Vimes. 'Sorry. I didn't mean to be impolite–'

'I inveigled myself on to Lord Rust's ship in the general confusion, sir. I did not wish to let things go to rack and ruin here. The silverware is frankly disgusting, I am afraid. The gardener does not have the least idea how to do it. Allow me to apologize in advance for the shocking condition of the cutlery, sir.'

'A few days ago you were biting people's noses off!'

'Ah, you must not believe Private Bourke, sir,' said the butler, as Vimes stepped in. 'It was only one nose.'

'And now you've hurried back to polish the silver?'

'It does not do to let standards slip, sir.' He stopped. ‘Sir?'

'Yes?'

'Did we win?'

Vimes looked into the round pink face.

'Er... we didn't lose, Willikins,' he said.

'We couldn't let a foreign despot raise a hand to Ankh-Morpork, could we, sir?' said the butler. There was a slight tremble in his voice.

'I suppose not...'

'So it was right, what we did.'

'I suppose so...'

'The gardener was saying that Lord Vetinari put one over on the Klatchians, sir...'

'I don't see why not. He's done it with everyone else.'

'That would be very satisfactory, sir. Lady Sybil is in the Slightly Pink Drawing Room, sir.'

She was knitting inexpertly when Vimes came in, but rose and gave him a kiss.

'I heard the news,' she said. 'Well done.' She looked him up and down. As far as she could see, he was all there.

'I'm not sure that we won...'

'Getting you back alive counts as a win, Sam. Although of course I wouldn't say that in front of Lady Selachii.' Sybil waved the knitting at him. 'She's organized a committee to knit socks for our brave lads at the front, but it turns out you're back. And I haven't even worked out how to turn a heel yet. She's probably going to be annoyed.'

'Er.. . how long do you think my legs are?'

'Um...' She looked at the knitting. 'Do you need a scarf?'

He kissed her again.

'I'm going to have a bath and then something to eat,' he said.

The water was only lukewarm. Vimes had some hazy idea that Sybil thought that really hot baths might be letting the side down while there was a war on.

He was lying with his nose just above the surface when he heard, with the addition of that special gloinggloing sound that comes from listening with your ears underwater, some distant talking. Then the door opened.

'Fred's here. Vetinari wants you,' said Sybil.

'Already? But we haven't even started dinner.'

'I'm coming with you, Sam. He can't keep on calling you out at all hours, you know.'

Sam Vimes tried to look as serious as any man can when he's holding a loofah.

'Sybil, Im the Commander of the Watch and he's the ruler of the city. It's not like going to complain to the teacher because I'm not doing well in geography...'

'I said I'm coming with you, Sam.'

The Boat slipped down its rails and into the water. A stream of bubbles came up.

Leonard sighed. He had very carefully refrained from putting the cork in. The current n–tight roll it anywhere. He hoped it'd roll to the deepest pit of the ocean, or even right over the Rim.

He walked unnoticed through the crowds until he came to the palace. He let himself into the secret corridor and avoided the various traps without thinking, since he himself had designed them.

He reached the door to his airy room and unlocked it. When he was inside he locked it again, and pushed the key back under the door. And then he sighed.

So that was the world, was it? Clearly a mad place, with madmen in it. Well, from now on he'd be careful. It was clear that some men would try to turn anything into a weapon.

He made himself a cup of tea, a process slightly delayed while he designed a better sort of spoon and a small device to improve the circulation of the boiling water.

Then he sat back in his special chair and pulled a lever. Counterweights dropped. Somewhere, water sloshed from one tank to another. Bits of the chair creaked and slid into a comfortable position.

Leonard stared bleakly out of the skylight. A few seabirds turned lazily in the blue square, circling, hardly moving their wings...

After a while, his tea growing cold, Leonard began to draw.

'Lady Sybil? This is an unexpected surprise,' said Lord Vetinari. 'Good evening, Sir Samuel, and may I say what a nice scarf you're wearing. And Captain Carrot. Please sit down. We have a lot of business to finish.'

They sat.

'Firstly,' said Lord Vetinari, 'I have just drafted a proclamation for the town criers. The news is good.'

'The war is officially over, is it?' said Carrot.

'The war, captain, never happened. It was a... misunderstanding.'

'Never happened?' said Vimes. 'People got killed!'

'Quite so,' said Lord Vetinari. 'And this suggests, does it not, that we should try to understand one another as much as possible?'

'What about the Prince?'

'Oh, I am sure we can do business with him, Vimes.'

'I don't think so!'

'Prince Khufurah? I thought you rather liked the man.'

'What? What happened to the other one?'

'He appears to have gone on a long visit to the country,' said the Patrician. 'At some speed.'

'You mean the kind of visit where you don't even stop to pack?'

'That kind of visit, yes. He seems to have upset people.'

'Do we know which country?' said Vimes.

'Klatchistan, I believe – I'm sorry, did I say something funny?'

'Oh, no. No. Just a thought crossed my mind, that's all.'

Vetinari leaned back. 'And so once again peace spreads her tranquil blanket.'

'I shouldn't think the Klatchians are very happy, though.'

'It is in the nature of people to turn on their leaders when they fail to be lucky,' Vetinari added, his expression not changing. 'Oh, there will no doubt be problems. We will just have to... discuss them. Prince Khufurah is an amiable man. Very much like most of his ancestors. A flask of wine, a loaf of bread and thou, or at least a selection of thous, and he'd not be too interested in politics.'

'They're as clever as us,' said Vimes.

'We just have to stay ahead of them, then,' said Vetinari.

'A brain race, sort of,' said Vimes.

'Better than an arms race. Cheaper, too,' said the Patrician. He flicked through the papers in front of him. 'Now then, what was – oh, yes. The matter of traffic?'

'Traffic?' Vimes's brain tried to do a u–turn.

'Yes. Our ancient streets are becoming very congested these days. I hear there is a carter in Kings' Way who settled down and raised a family while in the queue. And the responsibility for keeping the streets clear is, in fact, one of the most ancient ones incumbent on the Watch.'

'Maybe, sir, but these days–'

'So you will set up a department, Vimes, to regulate matters. To deal with things. Stolen carts and so on. And keeping the major crossroads clear. And perhaps to fine carters who park for too long and impede the flow. And so on. Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs would, I think, be eminently fitted for this work which, I suspect, should easily be self–financing. What is your opinion?'

A chance to be 'self–financing' and not get shot at, thought Vimes. They'll think they've died and gone to heaven.

'Is this some sort of a reward for them, sir?'

'Let us say, Vimes, that where one finds one has a square peg, one should look for a square hole.'

'I suppose that's all right, sir. Of course, that means I'll have to promote someone–'

'I am sure I can leave the details to you. A small bonus for each of them would not be out of order. Ten dollars, say. Oh, there is one other thing, Vimes. And I am particularly glad that Lady Sybil is here to hear this. I am persuaded to change the title of your office.'

'Yes?'

' "Commander" is rather a mouthful. So I have been reminded that a word that originally meant commander was "Dux".'

'Dux Vimes?' said Vimes. He heard Sybil gasp.

He was aware of a waiting hush around him, such as may be found between the fighting of a fuse and the bang. He rolled the word over and over in his mind.

'Duke?' he said. 'Oh, no– Sybil, could you wait outside?'

'Why, Sam?'

'I need to discuss this very personally with his lord

ship.'

'Have a row. you mean?'

'A discussion.'

Lady Sybil sighed. 'Oh, very well. It's up to you, Sam. You know that.'

'There are... associated matters,' said Lord Vetinari, when the door closed behind her.

'No!'

'Perhaps you should hear them.'

'No! You've done this to me before! We've got the Watch set up, we've almost got the numbers, the widows and orphans fund is so big the men are queueing up for the dangerous beats, and the dartboard we've got is nearly new! You can't bribe me into accepting this time! There is nothing we want!'

'Stoneface Vimes was a much–maligned man, I've always thought,' said Vetinari.

'I'm not accepting– What?' Vimes skidded in mid–anger.

'I've always thought that, too,' said Carrot loyally.

Vetinari stood up and went to stand by the window, looking down at Broad Way with his hands behind his back.

'The thought occurs that this might be time for... reconsideration of certain ancient assumptions,' said Vetinari.

The meaning enveloped Vimes like a chilly mist.

'You're offering to change history?' he said. 'Is that it? Rewrite the–'

'Oh, my dear Vimes, history changes all the time. It is constantly being re–examined and re–evaluated, otherwise how would we be able to keep historians occupied? We can't possibly allow people with their sort of minds to walk around with time on their hands. The Chairman of the Guild of Historians is in full agreement with me, I know, that the pivotal role of your ancestor in the city's history is ripe for fresh... analysis.'

'Discussed it with him, have you?' said Vimes.

'Not yet.'

Vimes opened and shut his mouth a few times. The Patrician went back to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper.

'And, of course, other details would have to be taken care of...' he said.

'Such as?' Vimes croaked.

'The Vimes coat of arms would be resurrected, of course. It would have to be. I know Lady Sybil was extremely upset when she found you weren't entitled to one. And a coronet, I believe, with knobs on–'

'You can take that coronet with the knobs on and–'

'–which I hope you will wear on formal occasions, such as, for example, the unveiling of the statue which has for so long disgraced the city by its absence.'

For once, Vimes managed to get ahead of the conversation.

'Old Stoneface again?' he said. 'That part of it, is it? A statue to old Stoneface?'

'Well done,' said Lord Vetinari. 'Not of you, obviously. Putting up a statue to someone who tried to stop a war is not very, um, statuesque. Of course, if you had butchered five hundred of your own men out of arrogant carelessness, we'd be melting the bronze already. No. I was thinking of the first Vimes who tried to make a future and merely made history. I thought perhaps somewhere in Peach Pie Street–'

They watched one another like cats, like poker players.

'Top of Broad Way,' Vimes said hoarsely. 'Right in front of the palace.'

The Patrician glanced out of the window. 'Agreed. I shall enjoy looking at it.'

'And right up close to the wall. Out of the wind.'

'Certainly.'

Vimes looked nonplussed for a moment. 'We lost people––'

'Seventeen, caught in skirmishes of one sort or another,' said Lord Vetinari.

'I want–'

'Financial arrangements will be made for widows and dependants.'

Vimes gave up.

'Well done, sir!' said Carrot.

The new duke rubbed his chin.

'But that means I'll have to be married to a duchess,' he said. 'That's a big fat word, duchess. And Sybil's never been very interested in that sort of thing.'

'I bow to your knowledge of the female psyche,' said Vetinari. 'I saw her face just now. No doubt when she next takes tea with her friends, who I believe include the Duchess of Quirm and Lady Selachii, she will be entirely unmoved and not faintly smug in any way.'

Vimes hesitated. Sybil was an amazingly levelheaded woman, of course, and this sort of thing... She'd left it entirely up to him, hadn't she?... This sort of thing wouldn't... Well, of course she wouldn't, she... Of course she would, wouldn't she? She wouldn't swank, she'd just be very comfortable knowing that they knew that she knew that they knew...

'All right,' he said, 'but, look I thought only a king could make someone a duke. It's not like all these knights and barons, that's just, well, political, but something like a duke needs a–'

He looked at Vetinari. And then at Carrot. Vetinari had said that he'd been reminded...

'I'm sure, if ever there is a king in Ankh–Morpork again, he will choose to ratify my decision,' said Vetinari smoothly. 'And if there never is a king, well, I see no practical problems.'

'I'm bought and sold, aren't I?' said Vimes, shaking his head. 'Bought and sold.'

'Not at all,' said Vetinari.

'Yes, I am. We all are. Even Rust. And all those poor buggers who went off to get slaughtered. We're not part of the big picture, right? We're just bought and sold.'

Vetinari was suddenly in front of Vimes, his chair hitting the floor behind his desk.

'Really? Men marched away, Vimes. And men marched back. How glorious the battles would have been that they never had to fight!' He hesitated, and then shrugged. 'And you say bought and sold? All right. But not, I think, needlessly spent.' The Patrician flashed one of those sharp, fleeting little smiles to say that something that wasn't very funny had nevertheless amused him. 'Veni, vici... Vetinari.'

Seaweed floated away on aimless currents. Apart from the driftwood, there was nothing to show that Leshp had ever been.

Seabirds wheeled. But their cries were more or less drowned out by the argument going on just above sea level.

'It is entirely our wood, you nodding acquaintance of a dog!'

'Oh? Really? On your side of the island, is it? I don't think so!'

'It floated up!'

'How do you know we didn't have some driftwood on our side of the island? Anyway, we've still got a barrel of fresh water, camel breath!'

'All right! We'll share! You can have half the raft!'

'Aha! Aha! Want to negotiate, eh, now we've got you over a barrel?'

'Can we just say yes, Dad? I'm fed up with treading water!'

'And you'll have to do your share of the paddling.'

'Of course.'

The birds glided and turned, white scribbles against the dear blue sky.

'To Ankh–Morpork!'

'To Klatch!'

Down below, as the sunken mountain of Leshp settled further onto the sea bed, the Curious Squid jetted back along its curious streets. They had no idea why, at enormous intervals, their city disappeared up into the sky, but it never went away for very long. It was just one of those things. Things happened, or sometimes they didn't The Curious Squid just assumed that it all worked out, sooner or later.

A shark swam by. If anyone had risked placing an car to its side, they would have heard: 'Bingeleybingeley beep! Three pee em... Eat, Hunger, Swim. Things To Do Today: Swim, Hunger, Eat. Three oh five pee em: Feeding Frenzy...'

It wasn't the most interesting of schedules, but it was very easy to organize.

Unusually, Sergeant Colon had put himself on the patrol roster. It was good to get out in the cool air. And also, for some reason, the news had got around that the Watch were somehow bound up with what seemed, in some indefinable way, to have been a victory, which meant that a Watch uniform was probably good for the odd free pint at the back door of the occasional pub.

He patrolled with Corporal Nobbs. They walked with the confident tread of men who had been places and seen things.

With a true copper's instinct, the tread took them past Mundane Meals. Mr Goriff was cleaning the windows. He stopped when he saw them and darted inside.

'Call that gratitude?' sniffed Colon.

The man reappeared carrying two large packages.

'My wife made this specially for you,' he said. He added, 'She said she knew you'd be along.'

Colon pulled aside the waxed paper.

'My word,' he said.

'Special Ankh–Morpork curry,' said Mr Goriff. 'Containing yellow curry powder, big lumps of swede, green peas and soggy sultanas the–'

'–size of eggs!' said Nobby.

'Thank you very much,' said Colon. 'How's your lad, then, Mr Goriff?'

'He says you have set him an example and now he will be a watchman when he grows up.'

'Ah, right,' said Colon happily. 'That'll please Mr Vimes. You just tell him–'

'In Al–Khali,' said Goriff. 'He is staying with my brother.'

'Oh. Well... fair enough, then. Er... thanks for the curry, anyway.'

'What sort of example do you think he meant?' said Nobby, as they strolled away.

'The good sort, obviously,' said Colon, through a mouthful of mildly spiced swede.

'Yeah, right.'

Chewing slowly and walking even slower, they headed towards the docks.

'I was gonna write Bana a letter,' said Nobby, after a while.

'Yeah, but... she thought you was a woman, Nobby.'

'Right. So she saw, like, my inner self, shorn of...'

Nobby's lips moved as he concentrated, 'shorn of surface thingy. That's what Angua said. Anyway, then I thought, well, her boyfriend'll be coming back, so I thought I'd be noble about it and give her up.'

' 'cos he might be a big stroppy bloke, too,' said Sergeant Colon.

'I never thought about that, sarge.'

They paced for a while.

'It's a far, far better thing I do now than I have ever done before,' said Nobby.

'Right,' said Sergeant Colon. They walked on in silence for a while and he added: 'O'course, that's not difficult.'

'I still got the hanky she gave me, look.'

'Very nice, Nobby.'

'That's genuine Klatchian silk, that is.'

'Yeah, it looks very nice.'

'I'm never going to wash it, sarge,'

'You soppy old thing, Nobby,' said Fred Colon.

He watched Corporal Nobbs blow his nose.

'So... you're going to stop using it, are you?' he said, doubtfully.

'It still bends, sarge. See?' Nobby demonstrated.

'Yeah, right. Silly of me to ask, really.'

Overhead, the weathervanes started to creak round.

'Made me a lot more understanding about women, that experience,' said Nobby.

Colon, a much–married man, said nothing.

'I met Verity Pushpram this afternoon,' Nobby went on, 'and I said how about coming out with me tonight and I don't mind about the squint at all and I've got this expensive exotic perfume which'll totally disguise your smell, and she said bugger off and threw an eel at me.'

'Not good, then,' said Colon.

'Oh, yeah, sarge, 'cos she used to just cuss when she saw me. And I've still got the eel, and there's a good feed off it, so I look upon it as a very positive step.'

'Could be. Could be. just so long as you give someone that scent soon, eh? Only even the people across the street are starting to complain.'

Their feet, moving like bees towards a flower, had found their way to the waterfront. They looked up at the KIatchian's Head, on its spike.

'It's only wooden,' said Colon.

Nobby said nothing.

'And it's, like, part of our traditional heritage an' that,' Colon went on, but hesitantly, as if he didn't believe his own voice.

Nobby blew his nose again, an exercise which, with all its little arpeggios and flourishes, went on for some time.

The sergeant gave in. Some things didn't seem quite the same any more, he had to admit. 'I've never really liked the place. Let's go to the Bunch of Grapes then, all right?'

Nobby nodded.

'Anyway, the beer here is frankly piss,' said Colon.

Lady Sybil held her handkerchief in front of her husband.

'Spit!' she commanded.

Then she carefully cleaned a smut off his cheek.

'There. Now you look very–'

'–ducal,' said Vimes gloomily. 'I thought I'd done this once already...'

'They never actually had the Convivium. after all that fuss,' said Lady Sybil, picking some microscopic lint off his doublet. 'It's got to be held.'

'You'd think if I'm a duke I wouldn't have to wear all this damn silly outfit, wouldn't you?'

'Well, I did point out that you could wear the official ducal regalia, dear.'

'Yes, I've seen it. White silk stockings are not me.'

'Well, you've got the calves for them–'

'I think I'll stick with the commander's costume,' said Vimes quickly.

Archchancellor Ridcully hurried up. 'Ah, we're ready for you now, Lord Vi–'

'Call me Sir Samuel,' said Vimes. 'I can just about live with that.'

'Well, we've found the Bursar in one of the attics, so I think we can make a start. If you'd take your place...'

Vimes walked to the head of the procession, feeling every gaze on him, hearing the whispers. Maybe you could get chucked out of the peerage? He'd have to look that up. Although, considering what lords had got up to in the past, it would have to be for something really, really awful.

Still, the drawings of the statue looked good. And he'd seen what was going to go in the history books. Making history, it turned out, was quite easy. It was what got written down. It was as simple as that.

'Jolly good,' Ridcully bellowed, above the buzz. Now, if we all step smartly and follow Lor– Com– Sir Samuel we ought to be back here for lunch no later than half past one. Is the choir ready? No–one is treading on anyone else's robes? Then orf we go!'

Vimes set out at the mandatory slow walking pace. He heard the procession start up behind him. There were no doubt problems, as there always are on civic occasions which have to involve the old and deaf and the young and stupid. Several people were probably already walking in the wrong direction.

As he stepped out into Sator Square there were the jeers and various flatulent noises and murmurs of 'Oozee then, oozee finkee izz?' that are the traditional crowd responses on these occasions. But there were one or two cheers, too.

He tried to look straight ahead.

Silk stockings. With garters. Well, they were out. There were a lot of things he'd do for Sybil, but if garters figured anywhere in the relationship they weren't going to be on him. And everyone said he had to wear a purple robe fined with vermine. They could forget that, too.

He'd spent a desperate hour in the library, and all that stuff about the gold knobs and silk stockings was so much marsh gas. Tradition? He'd show them tradition. What the original dukes wore, as far as he could see, was good sensible chain mall with blood on it, preferably other people's––

There was a scream from the crowd. His head jerked round and he saw a stout woman sitting on the ground, waving her arms.

' 'e stole my bag! And 'e never showed me 'is Thieves' Guild badge!'

The procession shunted to a halt as Vimes stared at the figure legging it across Sator Square.

'You stop right there, Sidney Pickens!' he yelled, and leapt forward.

And, of course, very few people do know how Tradition is supposed to go. There's a, certain mysterious ridiculousness about it by its very nature – once there was a reason why you had to carry a posy of primroses on Soul Cake Tuesday, but now you did it because... that's what was Done. Besides, the intelligence of that creature known as a crowd is the square root of the number of people in it.

Vimes was running, so the University choir hurried after him. And the people behind the choir saw the gap opening up and responded to the urge to fill it. And then everyone was just running, because everyone else was running.

There were occasional whimpers from those whose heart, lungs or legs weren't up to this kind of thing, and a bellow from the Archchancellor who had tried to stand firm in the face of the frantic stampede and was now having his head repeatedly trodden into the cobbles.

And apprentice thief Sidney Pickens ran because he'd taken one look over his shoulder and seen the whole of Ankh-Morpork society bearing down on him, and that sort of thing has a terrible effect on a growing lad.

And Sam Vimes ran. He tore off his cloak and whirled away his plumed hat, and he ran and ran.

There would be trouble later on. People would ask questions. But that was later on – for now, gloriously uncomplicated and wonderfully clean, and hopefully with never an end, under a clear sky, in a world untarnished... there was only the chase.

THE END