Jingo - Terry Pratchett [61]
She eyed him carefully as he chewed his fried egg and stared into the middle distance. Her manner was that of someone with a portable safety net watching a man on the high wire.
After a while, as she watched him crack open a sausage, he said, “Do we have any books on chivalry, dear?”
“Hundreds, Sam.”
“Is there any one which tells you what…you know, what it’s all about? I mean, what you have to do if you’re a knight, say? Responsibilities and so on?”
“Most of them, I should think.”
“Good. I think I shall do a little reading.” Vimes hit the bacon with his fork. It shattered very satisfactorily.
Afterward, he went into the library. Twenty minutes later, he came back out for a pencil and some paper.
Ten minutes after that, Lady Sybil took him a cup of coffee. He was hidden behind a pile of books, and apparently deep in Life of Chivalrie. She crept out and went into her own study, where she settled down to update her dragon-breeding records.
It was an hour later when she heard him step out into the hall.
He was humming under his breath, tunelessly, with the faraway look of preoccupation that means that some Big Thought has required the shutting down of all non-essential processes. He was also reradiating the field of angered innocence that was, to her, part of his essential Vimesness.
“Are you going out, Sam?”
“Yes. I’m just going to kick some arse, dear.”
“Oh, good. Just be sure you wrap up well, then.”
The Goriff family trudged along silently beside Carrot.
“I’m sorry about your shop, Mr. Goriff,” he said.
Goriff shifted the load he was carrying. “We can start other shops,” he said.
“We’ll certainly keep an eye on it,” said Carrot. “And…when all this is over, you can come back.”
“Thank you.”
His son said something in Klatchian. There was a brief family argument.
“I appreciate your strength of feeling,” said Carrot, going red, “although I must say I think your language was a little strong.”
“My son is sorry,” said Goriff automatically. “He did not remember that you speak Kl—”
“No, I’m not! Why should we run away?” said the boy. “We live here! I’ve never seen Klatch!”
“Oh, well, that will be something to look forward to,” said Carrot. “I hear it has many fine—”
“Are you stupid?” said Janil. He shook himself free of his father’s grasp and confronted Carrot. “I don’t care! I don’t want all this stuff about the moon rising over the Mountains of the Sun! I get that at home all the time! I live here!”
“Now, you really ought to listen to your parents—”
“Why? My dad works all the time and now he’s being pushed out! What good’s that? We ought to stay here and defend what’s ours!”
“Ah, well, you shouldn’t take the law into your own hands—”
“Why not?”
“It’s our job—”
“But you’re not doing it!”
There was a rattle of Klatchian from Mr. Goriff.
“He says I’ve got to apologize,” said Janil sullenly. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” said Carrot.
The boy’s father gave him that complicated shrug used by adults in a situation involving adolescents.
“You’ll be back, I know it,” said Carrot.
“We shall see.”
They went down the quay toward a waiting boat. It was a Klatchian ship. People lined the rails, people who were getting out with what they could carry before they could only get out with what they wore. The watchmen found themselves under hostile scrutiny.
“Surely Rust isn’t already forcing Klatchians out of their homes?” said Angua.
“We can tell which way the wind is blowing,” said Goriff calmly.
Carrot sniffed the salt air. “It’s blowing from Klatch,” he said.
“For you, perhaps,” said Goriff.
A whip cracked behind them and they stood aside as several coaches rumbled by. A blind at the window was pulled aside momentarily. Carrot caught a brief glimpse of a face, all gold teeth and black beard, before the cloth twitched back.
“That’s him, isn’t it?”
There was a faint grunt from Angua. She had her eyes closed, as she always did when she was letting her nose do the seeing…
“Cloves,