'We were here first!'
'Yeah? We were here first!'
'We were here first first!'
'You damaged my boat! That's piracy, that is!' There were other shouts around them. In the darkness the two flotillas had collided. Bowsprits tore away rigging. Hulls boomed. The controlled panic that is normal sailing became the frantic panic camposed of darkness, spray and too much rigging coming unrigged. At times like this the ancient traditions of the sea that unite all mariners should some to the fore and see them combine in the face of their common foe, the hungry and relentless ocean. However, at this point Mr Arif hit Mr Jackson over the head with an oar. 'Hnh? Wuh?' Vimes opened the only eye that appeared to respond. A horrible sight met it. ...I read him his rites, whereupon, he said up, yours copper. Sgnt Detritus then, cautioned him, upon which he said, ouch...
There may be a lot of things I'm not good at, thought Vimes, but at least I don't treat tile punctuation of a sentence like a game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey... He rolled his head away from Carrot's fractured grammar. The pile of paper shifted under him. Vimes's desk was becoming famous. Once there were piles, but they had slipped as piles do, forming this dense compacted layer that was now turning into something like peat. It was said there were plates and unfinished meals somewhere down there. No–one wanted to check. Some people said they'd heard movement. There was a genteel cough. Vimes rolled his head again and looked up into the big pink face of Willikins, Lady Sybil's butler. His butler too, technically, although Vimes hated to think of him like that. 'I think we had better proceed with alacrity, Sir Samuel. I have brought your dress uniform, and your shaving things are by the basin.'
'What? What?'
'You are due at the University in half an hour. Lady Sybil has vouchsafed to me that if you are not there she will utilize your intestines for hosiery accessories, sir.'
'Was she smiling?' said Vimes, staggering to his feet and making his way to the steaming basin on the wash stand. 'Only slightly, sir.'
'Oh gods...'
'Yes, sir.' Vimes made an attempt at shaving while, behind him, Willikins brushed and polished. Outside, the city's clocks began to strike ten. It must've been almost four when I sat down Vimes thought. I know I heard the shift change at eight, and then I had to sort out Nobby's expenses, that's advanced mathematics if ever there was some... He tried to yawn and shave at the same time, which is never a good idea. 'Damn!'
'I shall fetch some tissue paper directly, sir,' said Willikins, without looking round. As Vimes dabbed at his chin, the butler went on: 'I should like to take this opportunity to raise a matter of some import, sir...'
'Yes?' Vimes shared blearily at the red tights that seemed to be a major item of his dress uniform. 'Regretfully, I am afraid I must ask leave to give in my notice, sir. I wish to join the Colours.'
'Which colours are these, Willikins?' said Vimes, holding up a shirt with puffed sleeves. Then his brain caught up with his cars. 'You want to become a soldier?'
st wanted to... check up on things,' said Vimes. 'You could have left it all to me, sir,' said Carrot. 'delegation is the key to successful command.'
'Really? Is it?' said Vimes sourly. 'My word, we live and learn, don't we.' And you certainly learn, he added in the privacy of his head. And he was almost sure he was being mean and stupid. 'We've just about finished, sir. We've checked all the empty buildings. And there will be an extra squad of constables on the route. And the gargoyles will be up as high as they can. You know how good they are at watching, sir.'
'Gargoyles? I thought we just had Constable Downspout...'
'And Constable Pediment now, sir.'
'One of yours?'
'One of ours, sir. You signed–'
'Yes, yes, I'm sure I did. Damn!' A gust of wind caught the water pouring from an overloaded gutter and dumped it down Vimes's neck. 'They say this new island's upset the air streams" said Carrot. 'Not just the air,' said Vimes. 'A lot of damn fuss over a few square miles of silt and some old ruins! Who cares?'
'They say it's strategically very important,' said Carrot, falling into step beside him. 'What for? We're not at war with anyone. Hah! But we might go to war to keep some damn island that's only useful in case we have to go to war, right?'
'Oh, his lordship will have it all sorted out today. I'm sure that when moderate–mannered men of goodwill can get round a table there's no problem that can't be resolved,' said Carrot cheerfully. He is, thought Vimes glumly. He really is sure. 'Know much about Klatch?' he said. 'I've read a little, sir.'
'Very sandy place, they say.'
'Yes, sir. Apparently.' There was a crash somewhere ahead of them, and a scream. Coppers learned to be good at screams. There was to the connoisseur a world of difference between 'I'm drunk and I've just trodden on my fingers and I can't get up!' and 'Look out! He's got a knife!' Both men started to run. Light blazed out in a narrow street. Heavy footsteps vanished into the darkness. The light flickered beyond a shop's broken window. Vimes stumbled through the doorway pulled off his sodden cape and threw it over the fire in the middle of the floor. There was a hiss, and a smell of hot leather. Then Vimes stood back and tried to work out where the hell he was. People were staring at him. Dimly, his mind assembled clues: the turban, the beard, the woman's jewellery... ‘Where did he come from? Who is this man?’ ‘Er . good morning?' he said. 'Looks like there's been a bit of an accident?' He raised the cape gingerly. A broken bottle lay in a pool of sizzling oil. Vimes looked up at the broken window. 'Oh...' The other two people were a boy almost as tall as his father and a small girl trying to hide behind her mother. Vimes felt his stomach turn to lead. Carrot arrived in the doorway.
'I lost them,' he panted. 'There were three of them, I think. Can't see anything in this rain... Oh, it’s you Mr Goriff. What happened here?’ ‘Captain Carrot! Someone threw a burning bottle through out window and then this beggar man rushed in and put it out!’ 'What'd he say? What did you say?' said Vimes. 'You speak Klatchian?'
'Not very well,' said Carrot modestly. 'I just can't get the backof–the– throat sound to–'
'But... you can understand what he said?'
'Oh, yes. He just thanked you very much, by the way. It’s all right, Mr Goriff, He’s a watchman.’ 'But you speak–' Carrot knelt down and looked at the broken bottle. 'Oh, you know how it is. You come in here on night shift for a hot caraway bun and you just get chatting. You must have picked up the odd word, sir.'
'Well... vindaloo maybe, but.. .'
'This is a firebomb, sir.'