'Wazir comes from Smale, you see,' said Carrot. 'And Mr Goriff comes from Elharib, and the two countries only stopped fighting ten years ago. Religious differences.'
'Run out of weapons?' said Vimes. 'Ran out of rocks, sir. They ran out of weapons last century.' Vimes shook his head. 'That always chews me up,' he said. 'People killing one another just because their gods have squabbled–'
'Oh, they've got the same god, sir. Apparently it's over a word in their holy book, sir. The Elharibians say it translates as “god” and the Smalies say it's ''man“.'
'How can you mix them up?'
'Well, there's only one tiny dot difference in the script, you see. And some people reckon it's only a bit of fly dirt m any case.'
'Centuries of war because a fly crapped in the wrong place?'
'It could have been worse,' said Carrot. 'If it had been slightly to the left the word would have been ”liquorice“.' Vimes shook his head. Carrot was good at picking up this sort of thing. And I know how to ask for vindaloo, he thought. And it turns out that's just a Klatchian word meaning 'mouth–scalding gristle for macho foreign idiots'. 'I wish we understood more about Klatch,' he said. 'Sergeant Colon tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. 'Know the enemy, eh, sir?' he said. 'Oh, I know the enemy,' said Vimes. 'It's Klatchians I want to find out about.'
'Commander Vimes?' The watchmen looked round. Vimes narrowed his eyes. 'You're one of Rust's men, aren't you?' The young man saluted. 'Lieutenant Hornett, sir.' He hesitated. 'Er... his lordship has sent me to ask you if you and your senior officers would be so good as to come to the palace at your convenience, sir.'
'Really? Those were his words?' The lieutenant decided that honesty was the only policy. 'In fact he said, ”Get Vimes and his mob up here right now," sir.'
'Oh, did he?' said Vimes. 'Bingeley–bingeley beep!' said a small triumphant voice from his pocket. 'The time is eleven pee em precisely!' The door opened before Nobby knocked, and a small stout woman glared out at him. 'Yes, I am!' she snapped. Nobby stood with his hand still raised. 'Er... are you Mrs Cake?' he said. 'Yes, but I don't hold with doing it except for money. Nobby's hand did not move.
'Er... you can tell the future, right?' said Nobby. They stared at one another. Then Mrs Cake thumped her own ear a couple of times, and blinked. 'Drat! Left my precognition on again.' Her gaze unfocused for a moment as she replayed the recent conversation in the privacy of her head. 'I think we're sorted out,' she said. She looked at Nobby and sniffed. 'You'd better come in. Mind the carpet, it's just been washed. And I can only give you ten minutes 'cos I've got cabbage boilin'.' She led Corporal Nobbs into her tiny front room. A lot of it was occupied by a round table covered with a green cloth. There was a crystal ball on the table, not very well covered by a pink knitted lady in a crinoline dress. Mrs Cake motioned Nobby to sit down. He obediently did so. The smell of cabbage drifted through the room. 'A bloke in the pub told me about you,' Nobby mumbled. 'Said you do mediuming.'
'Would you care to tell me your problem?' said Mrs Cake. She looked at Nobby again and, in a state of certainty that had nothing to do with precognition and everything to do with observation, added: 'That is, which of your problems do you want to know about?' Nobby coughed. 'Er... it's a bit... you know... intimate. Affairs of the heart, sort of thing.'
'Are women involved?' said Mrs Cake cautiously. 'Er... I hope so. What else is there?' Mrs Cake visibly relaxed. 'I just want to know if I'm going to meet any,' Nobby went on. 'I see.' Mrs Cake gave a kind of facial shrug. It wasn't up to her to tell people how to waste their money. 'Well, there's the tenpenny future. That's what you see. And there's the ten–dollar future. That's what you get.'
'Ten dollars? That's more'n a weeks pay! I'd better take the tenpenny one.'
'A very wise choice,' said Mrs Cake. 'Give me your paw.'
'Hand,' said Nobby. 'That's what I said.' Mrs Cake examined Nobby's outstretched palm while taking care not to touch it. 'Are you going to moan and roll your eyes and stuff?' said Nobby, a man out to get his tenpenn'orth. 'I don't have to take cheek,' said Mrs Cake, without looking up. 'That sort of––' She peered closer, and then gave Nobby a sharp look. 'Have you been playing with this hand?'
'Pardon?' Mrs Cake whipped the crinoline lady off the crystal and glared into the depths. After a while she shook her head.
'I don't know, I'm sure... oh, well.' She cleared her throat and spoke in a more sibyllic voice. 'Mr Nobbs, I see you surrounded by dusky ladies in a hot place. Looks a bit foreign to me. They're laughing and chatting with you... in fact, one of them's just handed you a drink...'
'None of 'ern are shouting or anything?' said Nobby, mystified. 'Doesn't look like it,' said Mrs Cake, equally fascinated. 'They seem quite happy.'
'You can't see any... magnets?'
'What're they?'
'Dunno,' Nobby admitted. 'I 'spect you'd know 'em if you saw 'em.' Mrs Cake, despite a certain rigidity of character, couldn't help but be aware of a drift in Nobby's speculation. 'Some of the ladies look... nubile,' she hinted. 'Ah, right,' said Nobby, his expression not changing in any way. 'If you understand what I mean...'
'Right. Yes. Nubile. Right.' Mrs Cake gave up. Nobby counted out ten pennies. 'And that'll be soon, will it?' said Nobby. 'Oh yes. I can't see very far for tenpence.'
'Happy young ladies...' mused Nobby. 'Nubile, too. Definitely something to think about.' After he'd gone, Mrs Cake went back to her crystal and sneaked a whole ten dollars' worth of precognition for her own curiosity and satisfaction, and laughed about it all afternoon. Vimes was only half surprised when the doors to the Rats Chamber opened and there, sitting at the head of the table, was Lord Rust. The Patrician wasn't there. He was half surprised. That is, at a certain shallow level he thought, that's odd, I thought you couldn't budge the man with a siege weapon. But at a dark level, where the daylight seldom penetrated, he thought: of course. At a time like this men like Rust rise to the top. It's like stirring a swamp with a stick. Really big bubbles are suddenly on the surface and there's a bad smell about everything. Nevertheless, he saluted and said: 'Lord Vetinari on his holidays, then?'
'Lord Vetinari stepped down this evening, Vimes,' said Lord Rust. 'Pro tem, of course. Just for the duration of the emergency.'
'Really?' said Vimes. 'Yes. And I have to say that he anticipated a certain... cynicism on your part, commander, and therefore asked me to give you this letter. You will see that it is sealed with his seal.' Vimes looked at the envelope. There was certainly the official seal in the wax, but–
He met Lord Rust's gaze and at least that suspicion faded. Rust wouldn't try a trick like that. Men like Rust had a moral code of sorts, and some things weren't honourable. You could own a street of crowded houses where people lived like cockroaches and the cockroaches lived like kings and that was perfectly OK, but Rust would probably die before he'd descend to forgery. 'I see, sir,' said Vimes. 'You wanted me?'
'Commander Vimes, I must ask you to take the Klatchians resident in the city into custody.'
'On what charge, sir?'
'Commander, we are on the verge of war with Klatch. Surely you understand?'