Jingo

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 toward 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 slamed 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