Jingo

even slower, they headed toward the docks.
    “I was gonna write Bana a letter,” said Nobby, after a while.
    “Yeah, but…she thought you was a woman, Nobby.”
    “Right. So she saw, like, my inner self, shorn of…” Nobby’s lips moved as he concentrated, “shorn of surface thingy. That’s what Angua said. Anyway, then I thought, well, her boyfriend’ll be coming back, so I thought I’d be noble about it and give her up.”
    “’cos he might be a big stroppy bloke, too,” said Sergeant Colon.
    “I never thought about that, sarge.”
    They paced for a while.
    “It’s a far, far better thing I do now than I have ever done before,” said Nobby.
    “Right,” said Sergeant Colon. They walked on in silence for a while and he added: “O’ course, that’s not difficult.”
    “I still got the hanky she gave me, look.”
    “Very nice, Nobby.”
    “That’s genuine Klatchian silk, that is.”
    “Yeah, it looks very nice.”
    “I’m never going to wash it, sarge.”
    “You soppy old thing, Nobby,” said Fred Colon.
    He watched Corporal Nobbs blow his nose.
    “So…you’re going to stop using it, are you?” he said, doubtfully.
    “It still bends, sarge. See?” Nobby demonstrated.
    “Yeah, right. Silly of me to ask, really.”
    Overhead, the weathervanes started to creak round.
    “Made me a lot more understanding about women, that experience,” said Nobby.
    Colon, a much-married man, said nothing.
    “I met Verity Pushpram this afternoon,” Nobby went on, “and I said how about coming out with me tonight and I don’t mind about the squint at all and I’ve got this expensive exotic perfume which’ll totally disguise your smell, and she said bugger off and threw an eel at me.”
    “Not good, then,” said Colon.
    “Oh, yeah , sarge, ’cos she used to just cuss when she saw me. And I’ve still got the eel, and there’s a good feed off it, so I look upon it as a very positive step.”
    “Could be. Could be. Just so long as you give someone that scent soon, eh? Only even the people across the street are starting to complain.”
    Their feet, moving like bees toward a flower, had found their way to the waterfront. They looked up at the Klatchian’s Head, on its spike.
    “It’s only wooden,” said Colon.
    Nobby said nothing.
    “And it’s, like, part of our traditional heritage an’ that,” Colon went on, but hesitantly, as if he didn’t believe his own voice.
    Nobby blew his nose again, an exercise which, with all its little arpeggios and flourishes, went on for some time.
    The sergeant gave in. Some things didn’t seem quite the same any more, he had to admit. “I’ve never really liked the place. Let’s go to the Bunch of Grapes then, all right?”
    Nobby nodded.
    “Anyway, the beer here is frankly piss,” said Colon.

    Lady Sybil held her handkerchief in front of her husband.
    “Spit!” she commanded.
    Then she carefully cleaned a smut off his cheek.
    “There. Now you look very—”
    “—ducal,” said Vimes gloomily. “I thought I’d done this once already…”
    “They never actually had the Convivium after all that fuss,” said Lady Sybil, picking some microscopic lint off his doublet. “It’s got to be held.”
    “You’d think if I’m a duke I wouldn’t have to wear all this damn silly outfit, wouldn’t you?”
    “Well, I did point out that you could wear the official ducal regalia, dear.”
    “Yes, I’ve seen it. White silk stockings are not me .”
    “Well, you’ve got the calves for them—”
    “I think I’ll stick with the commander’s costume,” said Vimes quickly.
    Archchancellor Ridcully hurried up. “Ah, we’re ready for you now, Lord Vi—”
    “Call me Sir Samuel,” said Vimes. “I can just about live with that.”
    “Well, we’ve found the Bursar in one of the attics, so I think we can make a start. If you’d take your place…”
    Vimes walked to the head of the procession, feeling every gaze on him, hearing the whispers. Maybe you could get chucked out of the peerage? He’d have to look that up. Although, considering what lords had got up to in the past, it would have to be for something really, really awful.
    Still, the drawings of the statue looked good. And he’d seen what was going to go in the history books. Making history, it turned out, was quite easy. It was what got written down. It was as simple as that.
    “Jolly good,” Ridcully bellowed, above the buzz. “Now, if we all step smartly and follow