Monstrous Regiment

Abominations were against rocks, ears, and accordion players. Okay, I might be with him on the last one, but…rocks? Hah! We can advise you if you’re going to look for a new one, by the way. Om’s very popular at the moment. Very few abominations, no special clothing, and hymns you can sing in the bath. You won’t get Offler the Crocodile God up here with your winters, and the Unorthodox Potato Church is probably a bit too uncomplicated for—”
    Polly started to laugh.
    “Look, sir, I’m just a…what is your name, please?”
    “Sam Vimes. Special envoy, which is kind of like an ambassador but without the little gold chocolates.”
    “Vimes the Butcher?” said Maladicta.
    “Oh, yes. I’ve heard that one,” said Vimes, grinning. “Your people haven’t really mastered the fine art of propaganda. And I’m telling you because—well, have you heard of Om?”
    They shook their heads.
    “No? Well, in the Old Book of Om there’s a story about some city full of wickedness, and Om decided to destroy it with holy fire, this being back in the old smiting days before he’d got religion. But Bishop Horn protested this plan, and Om said he’d spare the city if the bishop could find one good man. Well, the bishop knocked on every door, and turned up empty-handed. It turned out, after the place had been reduced to a big puddle of glass, that there were probably plenty of good people there and, being good, they weren’t the sort to admit it. Death by modesty, a terrible thing. And you, ladies, are the only Borogravians I know much about, apart from the military, who, frankly, aren’t chatty. You don’t appear to be as insane as your country’s foreign policy. You’re the one piece of international goodwill it has. A bunch of young boys outwitting crack cavalrymen? Kicking the prince in the fork? People at home liked that. And now it turns out that you’re girls? They’ll love that. Mr. de Worde is going to have fun with that when he finds out. And I’ll see he does.”
    “But we don’t have any power! We can’t negotiate a—”
    “What does Borogravia want? Not the country. I mean the people.”
    Polly opened her mouth to reply, and then shut it again and thought about the answer.
    “To be left alone,” she said. “By everybody. For a while, anyway. We can change things.”
    “You’ll accept the food?”
    “We are a proud country.”
    “What are you proud of?”
    It came swiftly, like a blow, and Polly realized how wars happened. You took that shock that had run through her, and let it boil.
    …it may be corrupt, benighted, and stupid, but it’s ours…
    Vimes was watching her face.
    “From this desk here,” he said, “the only thing your country has to be proud of right now is you women.”
    Polly stayed silent. She was still trying to cope with the anger. It made it worse to know that he was right. We have our pride. And that’s what we’re proud of. We’re proud of being proud…
    “Very well, then, will you buy some food?” said Vimes, watching her carefully. “On credit? I suppose you still have someone in your country who knows about the kind of international affairs that don’t involve edged weapons?”
    “People would accept that, yes,” said Polly hoarsely.
    “Good. I’ll send a clacks back tonight.”
    “And why would you be so generous, Mr. Ankh-Morpork?”
    “Because I’m from a wonderfully warm-hearted city, Corporal…hah, no, I can’t say that and keep a straight face,” said Vimes. “Do you want to know the truth? Most people in Ankh-Morpork hadn’t even heard of your country until the clacks went down. There’s dozens of little countries around here selling one another hand-painted clogs or beer made from turnips. Then they knew you as the bloody mad idiots who fight everyone. Now they know you as…well, people who’d do just what they’d do. And tomorrow they’ll laugh. And there’re other people, people who sit and think about the future every day, who believe it’s worth a little to be friends with a country like that.”
    “Why?” said Maladicta suspiciously.
    “Because Ankh-Morpork is a friend to all freedom-loving people everywhere!” said Vimes. “Gods, it must be the way I tell ’em. Ze chzy Brogocia proztfik! ” He saw their blank expressions. “Sorry, I’ve been away from home too long. And frankly, I’d rather be back there.”
    “But why did you say you were a cherry pancake?” said Polly.
    “Didn’t I say I am a citizen