Jingo

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 toward 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 Punjitrum 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 around 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