7 The Chariot

The Chariot is about movement and mobility. It usually shows a literal chariot towed by horses (or other draught animals), or at the very least some sort of wheeled machine. It has a visible driver holding the reins and steering the creatures drawing it.

Interpretation of the card is consistent: in most cases you are the driver. Are you in control of the animals? Are you in charge of them and guiding your life as you should – or are they leading you, in which case your life is out of control? In classical designs, there is usually a black horse and a white. These associate to the black and white pillar behind the throne of the High Priestess: the conscious and subconscious levels of the mind, the Id and Ego of Freud, the two root souls of the Platonists. This makes the driver the Superego steering the energies of the lower levels. Or the third, human, soul, overlaying the vegetative soul and the animal soul over which the human mind only has conditional control.

Simply put: if you aren't in control of the car, Karma will find you and you will crash - "My karma has just run over my dogma!". And then land you with insurance bills, loss of licence, and charges for dangerous/negligient driving.

Alternatively you might be one of the draught animals steering somebody else's chariot. Are you happy with this or do you long to break away and make the decisions for yourself?

Commander Vimes looked sideways to Captain Carrot on one side and to Sergeant Angua on the other. They had all taken the morning off street duties to interview a selection of hopeful new applicants to the Watch. Vimes felt happiest with his two most trusted officers at either side. He knew they were experienced officers who were well aware of what the Watch needed, and who could be trusted, on his slack reins, to lead and direct the ever-expanding City Watch in the right direction. Although he did worry about losing one or both of them – both had come to the brink of leaving the Watch in the past, and he knew neither could be easily replaced.

He put the uneasy thought out of his mind and lit a fresh cigar.;

"Sir, if you don't mind?" prompted Angua. He grinned sheepishly and stubbed it out. It wasn't fastidiousness on Angua's part: when interviewing recruits; it wasn't so much body language she looked at, as whether the smell was right and trustworthy and honest. It added a new and concealed dimension to Watch job interviews. What she didn't need was strong cigar smoke, and he respected this.

"Send the next one in, please, A.E." he directed.

Sergeant Pessimal hastened to obey, the Drumknott to Vimes' Vetinari and fourth member of the interviewing tribunal, the man who took the written record and was therefore vital too.

He opened the door to the latest would-be recruit.

"You may come in now. Stand in front of the desk and wait to be invited to sit".

The candidate was a youth of about eighteen, thin and slightly feral, like a distant better-nourished relative of Nobby Nobbs. He wore what might have been coachman's livery, with the braiding and epaulettes removed to make a passable-looking, if archaic, formal suit. The Vimes mental file index clicked into gear. I've seen this one before… oh yes. Now I know him.

"Do take a seat" he said, smiling mirthlessly. "We'll be informal here. Johnny."

"Why do you want to join the Watch?" Angua asked, watching intently for his reaction. The youth looked nervously at her, and then composed himself.

"Well, ma'am, sirs, since I lost my last job, work's been a bit thin on the ground in my chosen career. So when I heard the Watch was recruiting for drivers with exceptional proven ability, I thought, well, that's for me, and got over here double-quick to fill the forms in".

"You're certainly a driver" Vimes said, briskly shuffling papers till he found the right ones. That iconographic copier of Leonard's certainly speeds up multiple copies of paperwork, he thought. Just rotate one iconograph machine through ninety fegrees and place the paper you want to be copied in the tray underneath it. One imp on a treadmill draws the iconograph along while the other does the copy, and if necessary they've got directed salamander light to work by. Within seconds, a copy comes out of the top slot. (1)

"I know because a year or two ago, I vitally had to be home for six one evening, and you very kindly gave me a lift part of the way."(2)

Some memories never fade. Like the young coachman attempting to drive his carriage up a rapidly opening half-bridge, with the intention of jumping the gap, between the masts of a moving ship, and landing safely on the other half-bridge section opposite.

Vimes suppressed a shudder. Although he already knew, he made himself ask

"And how exactly did your last employment end?"

The youth looked away and took a deep breath.

"Sacked, sir. Without references. Although if that nightsoil cart hadn't been in the way, I'd have managed that Blockade-Runner's Spin, and the coach wouldn't have been damaged."

"Wrecked" corrected Vimes. "Written off. Destroyed totally."

He remembered the report from Traffic Division. No wonder Lady Anstruther had lost her patience and sacked him without references. Her coach destroyed, the horses only saved by the intervention of passing Igors, and everything, including Fred Colon and two Traffic trolls, smothered in night-soil.

"You have a thousand-dollar bill to pay for the coach, and Harry King's boys aren't happy either about a wrecked honey-wagon". Vimes summarised. "Not to mention charges which may yet go the length of the Patrician. And you want to join the Watch?"

"If I may, sir". Carrot said, politely. "I suggested it might be a good idea if this candidate came to us. Remember that chase the other week, one of our coaches against a souped-up Crysophrase model suspected of smuggling Slab in from the mountains? And they lost us because we simply couldn't keep up? You said then we need better police coaches, and drivers with a touch of the maniac about them who know when to take risks… well, just perhaps we've got the makings of a good pursuit driver here."

Vimes considered for a few moments.

"You've got no way of paying off Harry King and your former employer?"

"None at all, sir." said the youth. Vimes sighed. He looked to Angua for confirmation. She nodded.

"OK, here's the deal. You sign on as a probationary lance-constable and do the same training as anyone else. Then I assign you as a pursuit driver to the Flying Squad of the Cable Street Particulars. Gods know, you're enough of a maniac. I will pay off Harry King and cut a deal with Lady Anstruther, as one titled person to another. She can, I don't know borrow a spare Ramkin coach in perpetuity, we've got plenty. Anything I pay Harry in damages, you pay back to me, call it two dollars a month or something. Any driving charges, I will use my Watch discretion and consider they're now dealt with out of court. Congratulations, you're in the Watch, report to Sergeant Detritus at the Lemonade Factory at eight tomorrow morning, Johnny…."

"Moss, sir." said the youth.

"Probationary Lance-Constable Moss." Vimes said, extending a hand.

The youth grinned and took it.

"Sterling! " he said, in approval. (3)

1 (1) The Machine For Copying Iconographs By Means Of A Second Iconograph, anoher example of Leonard's genius. Within a day of having it installed, By operation of an inexorable multidimensional law, Vimes had not been surprised to find a perfect iconograph of Sally von Humpedinck's bottom in the out tray. As the Watchwomen had been out minge-drinking the night before, he let it slide.

2 (2) See Thud! by Terry Pratchett.

3(3) Sterling Moss was a British Formula One racing champion in the 1960's.