Jingo - Terry Pratchett [9]
“A Klatchian bigwig is coming here?” said Vimes. “No one told me!”
“Strange as it may seem, Sir Samuel, I am occasionally capable of governing this city for minutes at a time without seeking your advice and guidance.”
“I meant there’s a lot of anti-Klatchian feeling around—”
“A really greasy piece of work—” Lord Rust whispered to Mr. Boggis, in that special aristocratic whisper that carries to the rafters. “It’s an insult to send him here!”
“I am sure that you will see to it that the streets are safe to walk, Vimes,” said the Patrician sharply. “I know you pride yourself on that sort of thing. Officially he’s here because the wizards have invited him to their big award ceremony. An honorary doctorate, that sort of thing. And one of their lunches afterward. I do like negotiating with people after the faculty of Unseen University have entertained them to lunch. They tend not to move about much and they’ll agree to practically anything if they think there’s a chance of a stomach powder and a small glass of water. And now, gentlemen…if you will excuse me…”
The lords and leaders departed in ones and twos, talking quietly as they walked out into the hall.
The Patrician shuffled his papers into order, running a thin finger along each edge of the pile, and then looked up.
“You appear to be casting a shadow, commander.”
“You’re not really going to allow them to re-form the regiments, are you?” said Vimes.
“There is absolutely no law against it, Vimes. And it will keep them occupied. Every official gentleman is entitled, in fact I believe used to be required, to raise men when the city required it. And, of course, any citizen has the right to bear arms. Bear that in mind, please.”
“Arms is one thing. Holding weapons in ’em and playing soldiers is another.” Vimes put his knuckles on the table and leaned forward.
“You see, sir,” he said, “I can’t help but think that over there in Klatch a bunch of idiots are doing the same thing. They’re saying to the Seriph ‘It’s time to sort out those devils in Ankh-Morpork, offendi.’ And when a lot of people are running around with weapons and talking daft stuff about war, accidents happen. Have you ever been in a pub when everyone goes armed? Oh, things are a little polite at first, I’ll grant you, and then some twerp drinks out of the wrong mug or picks up someone else’s change by mistake and five minutes later you’re picking noses out of the beer nuts—”
The Patrician looked down at Vimes’s knuckles and stared fixedly until Vimes removed them.
“Vimes, you will be at the wizards’ Convivium tomorrow. I sent you a memo about it.”
“I never—” A vision of the piles of unread paperwork on Vimes’s desk loomed treacherously in his mind. “Ah,” he said.
“The Commander of the Watch leads the procession in full dress uniform. It’s an ancient custom.”
“Me? Walk in front of everyone?”
“Indeed. Very…civic. As I’m sure you recall. It demonstrates the friendly alliance between the University and the civil government which, I may say, seems to consist of their promising to do anything we ask provided we promise not to ask them to do anything. Anyway, it is your duty. Tradition decrees it. And Lady Sybil has agreed to see to it that you are there with a crisp bright shining morning face.”
Vimes took a deep breath. “You asked my wife?”
“Certainly. She is very proud of you. She believes you are capable of great things, Vimes. She must be a great comfort to you.”
“Well, I…I mean, I…yes…”
“Excellent. Oh, just one other thing, Vimes. I do have the Assassins and the Thieves in agreement on this, but to cover all eventualities…I would consider it a favor if you could see to it that no one throws eggs or something at the Prince. That sort of thing always upsets people.”
The two sides watched each other carefully. They were old enemies. They had tested strengths many a time, had tasted defeat and victory, had contested turf. But this time it would go all the way.
Knuckles whitened. Boots scraped impatiently.