"Draw up a team, captain?"
Fred Colon's big, round, red face screwed up in confusion and the effort of thought.
"Why?" he said eventually.
"I have absolutely no idea, Fred," Vimes said, sighing and lighting a cigar. "All Vetinari would tell me is that Klatch have got a bloody invasion bid going on."
"Klatch? I mean, I thought we settled them just the other year, captain."
"We did. They're not invading us. They're going after Omnia this time. Some religious falling-out, no doubt."
"Then…then what does his Lordship want with us, captain?"
"Ankh-Morpork is to side with Omnia on this one."
Colon's face screwed up again in thought. Finally,
"Why, captain?"
"Again, Fred, I have no idea. Oh, and Fred?"
"Yes, captain?"
"You don't have to call me 'captain'."
"Yessir!"
Vimes paused for a moment, but then gave up.
"Good," he said. "So. Interested?"
Colon paused for a moment, and squirmed uncomfortably.
"Er…I…I don't think I can. Sir."
Vimes's brain paused for a moment as it encountered an unexpected response.
"Why not?" he said, after a while.
"Er…it's Mrs Colon, sir. She says I can't go off on no more wars."
"She does?"
"'Fraid so, sir. Says it's bad for my heart, sir."
Vimes glanced at Colon's stomach, and just about prevented himself from voicing the opinion that if something was going to happen to his heart, it would have already happened. Instead he said, albeit rather gruffly,
"Well, fair enough, Fred, fair enough. I don't think anyone would dare to get on the bad side of Mrs Colon, personally, so I think I'll exempt you from the team."
"Yessir."
"Um…Fred?"
"Yessir?"
"You don't have to call me 'sir' either."
"Yessir."
"A team, sir?" Nobby Nobbs said, leaning forward over Vimes's desk with a look of innocent inquisitiveness. However, when Vimes took the marble-and-gold ashtray that Sybil had bought him a couple of months ago and stowed it safely in a desk drawer, Nobby retreated to slouching in the chair. There was no such thing as a spontaneous look of innocence on Nobby's face. It wasn't a face to which innocence came easily. The rule of thumb in the Watch House was that if Nobby looked innocent, it meant he was plotting something.
"Yes, Nobby. A team. Vetinari thinks there's going to be some sort of war between Klatch and Omnia, and he wants a team from the Watch ready to go off to Omnia when that happens."
"A war? So we're going to be out on the battlefields?"
Vimes saw the look of innocent inquisitiveness in Nobby's eyes.
"Probably. Though it'll be slim pickings for you, Nobby – the Klatchians and the Omnians mostly wear sandals."
Nobby's face fell. Boots he could sell, but a city with a million residents and no sewers didn't have much of a market for sandals.
"Jewellery?" he asked hopefully.
"Maybe on the Klatchians. The Omnians think it's unholy and won't wear it."
"Really? Unholy?"
"Well, can you see Constable Visit with an earring and a necklace?"
They shared the image. It was true that the image of Visit – a man who had once refused to wear a pair of shoes because their shape was apparently 'obscene and provocative' – with jewellery was one that didn't come easily to the mind.
"Well, not really," Nobby said. "Anyway, I think I'll pass on this team."
"You'll what?"
"I just don't think I'd be of much use, sir. I think I'd be put to better use in Ankh-Morpork…"
"Because there's so much more jewellery to steal?"
"Well…not in so many words, sir."
"Nobby?"
"Sir?"
"You're going."
"Yessir."
"A team, sir?"
Carrot Ironfoundersson leaned over the table with a look of innocent inquisitiveness – however, this one was real.
"Is this to do with the Klatchian invasion bid?"
"Yes. How do you know about it?"
"Well, sir, there's a large Omnian population up on Esoteric Street, and a lot of Klatchians in the area around Tenth Egg Street, and I walk around there quite often – there's a couple of rather nice two-hundred-year-old dwarf-wrought bollards on Tenth Egg Street, and the Omnian-run museum up on Esoteric. It's hard not to pick up current events walking through those areas, sir."
"It is?" Vimes said, and added mentally, I certainly seem to bloody manage not to. A hundred times I must have walked down both streets in the past few months, and not once have I ever had even an inkling that there was a war on the horizon.
"Oh yes, sir. And what with what I've heard over the last few months, and the way that I've seen the Omnian and Klatchian merchants squabbling in the streets, it just seemed inevitable that something was going to happen between the two of them."
"Well, anyway," Vimes said, still trying to hide the incredulity in his voice. "Are you interested in the team?"
"Of course, sir. Anything to aid our fair city."
Vimes frowned. That was the only trouble with Carrot. He used phrases like 'our fair city'…and he really meant them. Surely that wasn't to be trusted.
"Team, sir?"
Angua leant back in the chair.
"What for?"
"There's a war between Klatch and Omnia coming up, and Vetinari wants me to get a team together to go to Omnia if needed. Exactly what for, I don't know, but I feel you have some talents which are… er, quite rare and… er, quite often needed.
Vimes squirmed wretchedly.
"Oh," Angua said, and her voice took on a bitter edge. "You want me as a tracker dog."
"No! Well…well, to be quite honest…yes."
Angua sat silently for quite a long time, and said, much more warmly,
"Congratulations, commander. I think that's probably the first time anyone's ever been truly honest with me."
She flashed him one of those smiles which had men all over Ankh-Morpork lining up to be arrested, and said,
"So. Where do I sign?"
"A team, sir?"
Vimes sighed. He was getting tired of this, and his explanations were getting shorter and shorter.
"Yes, constable. A team. I'm sure you're aware of the strained relations between Omnia and Klatch – well, Vetinari wants a team set up to go to Omnia if and when the situation escalates. Interested?"
The eyes of Constable Visit-The-Infidels-With-Explanatory-Pamphlets grew wide.
"A crusade to smite the Klatchians, as Jephenis smote the mighty fire-giant of Khazadoum?"
He looked positively thrilled at the prospect.
Vimes sighed. He didn't have time for this.
"Er…not to my knowledge, constable. As far as I know, there isn't much smiting involved. No any evil Balgrogs of Khazad-dum, either."
"Er…it's Khazadoum, sir."
"Really? I'm pretty sure that, in that pamphlet you gave me…it doesn't matter. The point is…are you interested?"
"No smiting?"
"Not as far as I know."
"Is there to be any subduing? You know – as Ossory subdued the corrupt priests of Tsort?"
"Again, I don't know. Maybe."
Visit considered this for a moment, cast his eyes upwards, muttered for a moment, then said,
"You can count on my being there. Om smiles on this team."
"Really? You got that that quickly?"
Visit looked at Vimes sternly.
"For the gods, commander… speed is not an issue."
Vimes sighed in relief as Cheery Littlebottom finally left, and started to pack his things back into his desk. So…he had Nobby, Carrot, Angua, Visit and Cheery. Colon wasn't allowed to come – in any other case, Vimes would have argued, but nobody argued with Mrs Colon – and Detritus hadn't even been considered as an option. Vimes knew vaguely about silicon brains, and the effect of temperature on them – he had experienced it directly during the last war with Klatch, and didn't wish for it to happen again. Dragging several tons of a troll who was, in his own words, "too fick ter walk" wasn't an incident he wished to repeat. He checked the time – twenty to nine – and realised guiltily that he should have been at home ten minutes ago. Sybil had arranged some sort of dinner for the city's aristocrats – Gods know what for – and she had counted on him being there. He pulled on a coat, grabbed up his packet of cigars, and rushed out and towards Scoone Avenue.