Jingo

he said, his knees trembling.
    “You get back right now or there will be trouble!”
    The watchmen ran for it, dragging the donkey behind them, and didn’t stop until they were on the greasy jetty, which somehow felt like home.
    “What was that all about, s—Al?” said Nobby. “All they wanted to do was push us around a bit! Typical Watch behavior,” he added. “Not ours, of course.”
    “I suppose we had the right clothes on…”
    “You didn’t even tell them where we came from! And they spoke our language!”
    “Well, they…I mean… anyone ought to be able to speak Morporkian,” said Colon, gradually regaining his mental balance. “Even babies learn it. I bet it comes easy after learning somethin’ as complicated as Klatchian.”
    “What’re we going to do with the donkey, Al?”
    “Do you think it can pedal?”
    “I doubt it.”
    “Then leave it up here.”
    “But it’ll get pinched, Al.”
    “Oh, these Klatchians’ll pinch anything.”
    “Not like us, eh, Al?”
    Nobby looked at the forest of masts filling the bay.
    “Looks like even more of ’em from here,” he said. “You could walk from boat to boat for a mile. What’re they all here for?”
    “Don’t be daft, Nobby. It’s obvious. They’re to take everyone to Ankh-Morpork!”
    “What for? We don’t eat that much cur—”
    “ Invasion , Nobby! There’s a war on, remember?”
    They looked back at the ships. Riding lights gleamed on the water.
    The bit of it that was immediately below them bubbled for a moment, and then the hull of the Boat rose a few inches above the surface. The lid unscrewed and Leonard’s worried face appeared.
    “Ah, there you are,” he said. “We were getting concerned…”
    They lowered themselves down into the fetid interior of the vessel.
    Lord Vetinari was sitting with a pad of paper across his knees, writing carefully. He glanced up briefly.
    “Report.”
    Nobby fidgeted while Sergeant Colon delivered a more or less accurate account, although there was some witty repartee with the Klatchian guards that the corporal had not hitherto recalled.
    Vetinari did not look up. Still writing, he said, “Sergeant, Ur is an old country Rimward of the kingdom of Djelibeybi, whose occupants are a byword for bucolic stupidity. For some reason, I cannot think why, the guard must have assumed you were from there. And Morporkian is something of a lingua franca even in the Klatchian empire. When someone from Hersheba needs to trade with someone from Istanzia, they will undoubtedly haggle in Morporkian. This will serve us well, of course. The force that is being assembled here must mean that practically every man is a distant stranger with outlandish ways. Provided we do not act too foreign, we should pass muster. This means not asking for curry with swede and currants in it and refraining from ordering pints of Winkle’s Old Peculiar, do I make myself clear?”
    “Er…what is it we’re going to do , sir?”
    “We will reconnoiter initially.”
    “Ah, right. Yes. Very important.”
    “And then seek out the Klatchian high command. Thanks to Leonard I have a little…package to deliver. I hope it will end the war very quickly.”
    Sergeant Colon looked blank. At some point in the last few seconds the conversation had run away with him.
    “Sorry, sir…you said high command, sir.”
    “Yes, sergeant.”
    “Like…the top brass, or turbans or whatever…all surrounded by crack troops, sir. That’s where you always put the best troops, around the top brass.”
    “I expect this will be the case, yes. In fact, I rather hope it is.”
    Sergeant Colon, once again, tried to keep up.
    “Ah. Right. And we’ll go and look for them, will we, sir?”
    “I can hardly ask them to come to us, sergeant.”
    “Right, sir. I can see that. It could get a bit crowded.”
    At last, Lord Vetinari looked up.
    “Is there some problem, sergeant?”
    And Sergeant Colon once again knew a secret about bravery. It was arguably a kind of enhanced cowardice—the knowledge that while death may await you if you advance it will be a picnic compared to the certain living hell that awaits should you retreat.
    “Er…not as such, sir,” he said.
    “Very well.” Vetinari pushed his paperwork aside. “If there is more suitable clothing in your bag, I will get changed and we can take a look at Al-Khali.”
    “Oh, gods…”
    “Sorry, sergeant?”
    “Oh, good, sir.”
    “Good.” Vetinari began to pull other items out of