Jingo

by Terry Pratchett

Page 27

 

  Er. . . no, said the Dis–organizer. Says here “Violent Row With Lord Rust”, Insert Name Here.

  Arent you supposed to tell me what Im going to do? said Vimes, opening the box. Er. . . what you should be doing, said the demon, looking very worried. What you should be doing. I dont understand it. . . er. . . something seems to be wrong. . . Angua stopped trying to rub the collar off against a bulkhead. It wasnt working, and the silver pressing against her skin seemed to freeze her and burn her at the same time. Apart from that – and a silver collar on a werewolf was a fairly major that – shed been treated well. Theyd left a plate of food, a wooden plate, and shed let her wolf side eat it while the human side shut its eyes and held its nose.

  There was a bowl of water, quite fresh by Ankh–Morpork standards. She could see the bottom of the bowl, at least. It was so hard to think in wolf shape. It was like trying to unlock a door while drunk. It was possible, but you had to concentrate every step of the way. There was a sound. Her ears pricked up. Something tapped once or twice under the hull. She hoped it was a reef. That meant. . . land, possibly. . . with any luck she could swim ashore. . . Something clinked. Shed forgotten about the chain. It was hardly necessary. She felt as weak as a kitten. There was a rhythmic noise, like something chewing at the wood. A tiny metal point splintered through the wall just in front of her nose, and rose an inch. And someone spoke. It sounded far off and distorted, and perhaps only a werewolf would have heard it, but words were happening, somewhere under her paws. ––can stop pedalling now, Corporal Nobbs.

  I am knackered, sarge. Is there anything to eat?

  Theres some more of that garlic sausage. Or theres the cheese. Or cold beans.

  Were in a tin with no air and were supposed to eat cheese? I aint even going to comment on the beans.

  Im very sorry gentlemen. Things were rather rushed and I had to take food which would keep.

  Its just that its getting a bit. . . crowded, if you get my meaning.

  I will pay out the rope as soon as its dark and we can surface and take on air.

  Just so long as we get rid of the air weve got, thats all Im saying. . . Anguas brows wrinkled as she tried to make sense of this. The voices were familiar. Even muffled as they were, she recognized the tones. The vague feeling that fought its way through the mists of animal intellect was: friends. The tiny little unchangeable centre of her thought: good grief, next thing Ill be licking hands. She laid her head down near the point again. –way to do it, young man. There you go again! Sink ships? I cant imagine how anyone could think of such a thing! Names. Some of those voices had. . . names. Thinking was getting harder. That was the silver at work. But if she stopped, she might forget how to start again. She stared at the point of metal. The point of metal with sharp edges. The tiny human part of her mind raged at the wolf brain, trying to get it to understand what it needed to do. It was after midnight.

  The lookout man knelt on the deck in front of 71–hour Ahmed and trembled. I know what I saw, wali, he moaned. And the others saw it too! Something rose up behind the ship and began chasing us! A monster! Ahmed looked at the captain, who shrugged. Who knows what lies on the floor of the sea, wali?

  Its breath! moaned the seaman. There was a great roar of breath like the stink of a thousand privies! And then it spoke!

  Really? said Ahmed. This is not usual. What did it say?

  I did not understand! The mans face screwed up as he tried to assemble the unfamiliar syllables. It sounded like. . . he swallowed, and went on, `Ye gods, that was better out than in, sarge!" Ahmed stared at him. And what did that mean to you? he said. I do not know, wali!

  You have not spent much time in Ankh–Morpork?

  No, wali!

  Then return to your post. The man stumbled out. We have lost speed, wali, said the captain. Perhaps the sea monster is clutching at our keel?

  It pleases you to joke, lord. But who knows what has been disturbed by the rising of the new land?

  I shall have to see for myself, said 71–hour Ahmed. He walked alone to the stem of the ship. Dark waters sucked and splashed and left a phosphorescent glow edging the wake. He watched for a long time. People bad at watching didnt last long in the desert, where a shadow in the moonlight could be just a shadow or it could be someone anxious to help you on your way to Paradise. The Dregs came across many shadows of the latter persuasion. Dreg wasnt their name for themselves, although they tended to adopt it now out of pride. The word meant enemy. Everyones. And if anyone else wasnt around, then one anothers. If he concentrated, he might believe that there was a darker shape about a hundred yards behind the ship, very low in the water. Waves were breaking where waves shouldnt be. It looked as though the ship was being followed by a reef. Well, well. . . 71–hour Ahmed was not superstitious. He was superstitious, which put him in a minority among humans. He didnt believe in the things everyone believed in but which nevertheless werent true. He believed instead in the things that were true in which no–one else believed. There are many such substitions, ranging from Itll get better if you dont pick at it all the way up to Sometimes things just happen.

  Currently he was disinclined to believe in sea monsters, especially ones that spoke in the language of AnkhMorpork, but he did believe that there were a lot of things in the world that he didnt know about. In the far distance he could see the lights of a ship. It didnt seem to be gaining on them. This was much more worrying. In the darkness 71–hour Ahmed reached over his shoulder and grasped the handle of his sword. Above him, the mainsail creaked in the wind. Sergeant Colon knew he was facing one of the most dangerous moments in his career. There was nothing for it. He was out of options. Er. . . if I add this A and this O and this I and this D, he said, the sweat pouring down his pink cheeks, then I can use that V to make “avoid”. Er. . . and that gets me, er, a. . . what dyou call these blue squares, Len?

  A “Three Times Ye Value of Thee Letter” score, said Leonard of Quirm. Well done, sergeant, said Lord Vetinari. I do believe that puts you in the lead.

  Er. . . I do believe it does, sir, squeaked Sergeant Colon. However, I find that you have left me the use of my U, N and A, B, L, E, the Patrician went on, which incidentally lands me on this Three Times the Whole Worde square and, I rather suspect, wins me the game. Sergeant Colon sagged with relief. A capital game, Leonard, said Vetinari. What did you say it was called?

  I call it the “Make Words With Letters That Have All Been Mixed Up Game”, my lord.

  Ah. Yes. Obviously. Well done.

  Huh, an I got three points, mumbled Nobby

  They was perfectly good words that you wouldnt let me have, too.

  Im sure the gentlemen dont want to know those words, said Colon severely. Id have got ten points for that X. Leonard looked up. Strange. We seem to have stopped moving. . . He reached up and opened the hatch. Damp night air poured in, and there was the sound of voices, quite close, echoing loudly as voices do when heard across water. Heathen Klatchian talk, said Colon. What are they gabblin about? “What nephew of a camel cut the rigging?” said Lord Vetinari, without looking up. `Not just the ropes, look at this sail – here, give me a hand. . . "

  I didnt know you spoke Klatchian, my lord.

  Not a word, said Lord Vetinari. But you–

  I did not, said Vetinari calmly.

  Ah. . . right. . .

  Where are we, Leonard?

  Well, er, my star charts are all out of date, of course, but if you would care to wait until the sun rises, and Ive invented a device for ascertaining position by reference to the sun, and devised a satisfactorily accurate watch–

  Where are we now, Leonard?

  Er. . . in the middle of the Circle Sea, I suspect.

  The middle?

  Pretty close, I should say. Look, if I can measure the wind speed–

  Then Leshp should be in this vicinity?

  Oh, yes, I should–

  Good. Unhitch us from his apparently stricken shi
p while we still have the cover of darkness and in the morning I wish to see this troublesome land. In the meantime, I suggest that everyone gets some sleep. Sergeant Colon did not get a lot of sleep. This was partly because he was woken up several times by sawing and banging coming from the front of the Boat, and partly because water kept dripping on his head, but mainly because the lull in activity was causing him to consider his position. Sometimes when he woke up he saw the Patrician hunched over Leonards drawings, a gaunt silhouette in the light of the candle – reading, making notes. . . He was in the immediate company of a man even the Assassins Guild was frightened of, another man who would stay up all night in order to invent an alarm clock to wake him up in the morning, and a man who had never knowingly changed his underwear. And he was at sea. He tried to look on the bright side. What was the main reason why he hated boats? The fact that they sank, right? But this one had the sinking built in right from the start And you didnt have to watch the waves going up and down, because they were already above you. All this was logical. It just wasnt very comforting. When he awoke at one point there were faint voices coming from the other end of the vessel. ––dont quite understand, my lord. Why them?

  They do what theyre told, they tend to believe the last thing they heard, theyre not bright enough to ask questions, and they have that certain unshakable loyalty available to those unencumbered by too much intelligence.

  I suppose so, my lord.

  Such men are valuable, believe me. Sergeant Colon turned over and tried to make himself comfortable. Clad Im not like those poor bastards, he thought as he drifted off to sleep on the bosom of the deep. Im a man with special qualities.

  Vimes shook his head. The stem light of the Klatchian ship was barely visible in the gloom. Are we gaining on them? he said. Captain Jenkins nodded. We might be. Theres a lot of sea between us.

  And has all excess weight been thrown overboard?

  Yes! What do you want me to do, shave my beard off? Carrots face appeared over the edge of the hold, All the lads are bedded down, sir.

  Right.

  Ill turn in for a few hours too, sir, if its all right with you.

  Sorry, captain?

  Ill get my head down, sir.

  But. . . but– Vimes waved vaguely at the darkening horizon, I were in hot pursuit of your girlfriend! Among other things, he added. Yes, sir.

  So arent you. . . you mean you can. . . you want to. . . captain, you intend to go and have a bit of a nap?

  To be fresh for when we catch up with them. Yes, sir. If I spend the whole night staring out there worrying then Ill probably be a bit useless When we catch up with them, sir. It made sense. It really did make sense. Of course it made sense. Vimes could see the sense all over it. Carrot had actually sat down and thought sensibly about things. Youll be able to get to sleep, will you? he said weakly. Oh, yes. I owe it to Angua.

  Oh. Well. . . goodnight, then. Carrot disappeared into the hold again. Good heavens, said Jenkins. Is he real?

  Yes, said Vimes. I mean. . . would you go and bang your ear if he was chasing your lady in that ship? Vimes said nothing. Jenkins sniggered. Mind you, if it was Lady Sybil, shed be a bit lower on the waterline–

  You just watch the. . . the sea. Dont run into any damn whales or anything, said Vimes, and strode up to the sharp end. Carrot, he thought. If you didnt know him, you wouldnt believe it. . . Theyre slowing, Mr Vimes! Jenkins called out. What?