Jingo

that could put any normal man off and, up until Carrot, always had. And she knew the sort of things men said in what might be called the heat of the moment and then forgot. But when Carrot said things, you knew that he felt that everything was now settled until further notice, so if she made any comment he’d be genuinely surprised that she’d forgotten what it was he had said and would probably quote date and time.
    And yet all the time there was this feeling that the greater part of him was always deep, deep inside, looking out. No one could be so simple, no one could be so creatively dumb , without being very intelligent. It was like being an actor. Only a very good actor was any good at being a bad actor.
    “Rather a lonely person, our Nobby,” said Carrot.
    “Well, yes…”
    “But I’m sure he’ll find the right person for him,” Carrot added, cheerfully.
    Probably in a bottle, said Angua to herself. She remembered the conversation with him. It was a terrible thing to think, but there was something itchy about the thought of Nobby being allowed in the gene pool, even at the shallow end.
    “You know, these coins are odd,” said Carrot.
    “How do you mean?” said Angua, grateful for the distraction.
    “Why would he be paid in Klatchian wols ? He wouldn’t be able to spend them here, and the money changers don’t give very good rates.” Carrot tossed a coin in the air and caught it. “When we were leaving, Mr. Vimes said to me, ‘Make sure you find the bunch of dates and the camel hidden under the pillow.’ I think I know what he meant.”
    “Sand on the floor,” said Angua. “Now, isn’t that an obvious clue? You can tell they were Klatchian because of the sand in their sandals!”
    “But these cloves…” Carrot prodded the little bud. “It’s not as if it’s a common habit, even among Klatchians. That’s not a very obvious clue, is it?”
    “It smells newer,” said Angua. “I’d say he was here last night.”
    “ After Ossie was dead?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “How should I know? What kind of name is 71-hour Ahmed?” said Angua.
    Carrot shrugged. “I don’t know. I think Mr. Vimes thinks that someone in Ankh-Morpork wants us to believe that Klatchians paid to have the Prince killed. That sounds…nasty but logical. But I don’t understand why a real Klatchian would get involved…”
    Their eyes met.
    “Politics?” they said together.
    “For enough money, a lot of people would do anything ,” said Angua.
    There was a sudden and ferocious knocking at the door.
    “Have you got someone in there?” said Mrs. Spent.
    “Out of the window!” said Carrot.
    “Why don’t I just stay and rip her throat out?” said Angua. “All right, all right, it was a joke , all right?” she said, swinging her legs over the sill.

    Ankh-Morpork no longer had a fire brigade. The citizens had a rather disturbingly direct way of thinking at times, and it did not take long for people to see the rather obvious flaw in paying a group of people by the number of fires they put out. The penny really dropped shortly after Charcoal Tuesday.
    Since then they had relied on the good old principle of enlightened self-interest. People living close to a burning building did their best to douse the fire, because the thatch they saved might be their own.
    But the crowd watching the burning embassy were doing so in a hollow-eyed, distant way, as if it was all taking place on some distant planet.
    They moved aside automatically as Vimes elbowed his way through to the space in front of the gates. Flames were already licking from every ground-floor window, and they could make out scurrying silhouettes in the flickering light.
    He turned to the crowd. “Come on! What’s up with you? Get a bucket chain going!”
    “It’s their bloody embassy,” said a voice.
    “Yeah. ’s Klatchian soil, right?”
    “Can’t go on Klatchian soil.”
    “That’d be an invasion , that would.”
    “They wouldn’t let us,” said a small boy holding a bucket.
    Vimes looked at the embassy gateway. There were a couple of guards. Their worried glances kept going back from the fire behind them to the crowd in front. They were nervous men, but it was much worse than that, because they were nervous men holding big swords.
    He advanced on them, trying to smile and holding his badge out in front of him. It had a shield on it. It was not a very big shield.
    “Commander Vimes, Ankh-Morpork City Watch,” he said, in what he