#klatch
“Beti?” said Nobby, glowering under his veils.
Three fruits arced gently out of the green whirl and thumped on to Al-jibla’s tray.
The guards looked carefully, and to Colon’s mind nervously, at the cross-dressed figure of the cross corporal.
“She’s not going to do any kind of dance, is she?” one of them ventured.
“No!” snapped Beti.
“Promise?”
Nobby grabbed three of the knives and tugged them out of the man’s belt.
“I’ll give them to his lor- to him, shall I, Beti?” said Colon, suddenly quite sure that keeping the Patrician alive was almost certainly the only way to avoid a brief cigarette in the sunshine. He was also aware that other people were drifting over to watch the show.
“To me, please… Al,” said the Patrician, nodding.
-Jingo, Terry Pratchett
After a short while a guard said, “Seven is pretty good. But it’s just melons.”
Colon opened his eyes.
The Klatchian guard twitched his robe aside. Half a dozen throwing knives glinted. And so did his teeth.
Lord Vetinari nodded. To Colon’s growing surprise he did not seem to be watching the tumbling melons at all.
“Four melons and three knives,” he said. “If you would care to give the knives to my charming assistant Beti…”
“Who?” said Nobby.
“Oh? Why not seven knives, then?”
“Kind sirs, that would be too simple,” said Lord Vetinari. “I am but a humble tumbler. Please let me practice my art.”
“Beti?” said Nobby, glowering under his veils.
Three fruits arced gently out of the green whirl and thumped on to Al-jibla’s tray.
-Jingo, Terry Pratchett
A couple of armed men had drifted over to them. Sergeant Colon’s heart sank. In those bearded faces he saw himself and Nobby, who at home would always saunter over to anything on the street that looked interesting.
“You are jugglers, are you?” said one of them. “Let’s see you juggle, then.”
Lord Vetinari gave them a blank look and then glanced down at the tray around Al-jibla’s neck. Among the more identifiable foodstuffs were a number of green melons.
“Very well,” he said, and picked up three of them.
Sergeant Colon shut his eyes.
After a few seconds he opened them again because a guard had said, “All right, but anyone can do it with three.”
“In that case perhaps Mr. Al-jibla will throw me a few more?” said the Patrician, as the balls spun through his hands.
Sergeant Colon shut his eyes again.
After a short while a guard said, “Seven is pretty good. But it’s just melons.”
-Jingo, Terry Pratchett
Lord Vetinari strode on ahead. The streets were already filling up. Al-Khali liked to get the business of the day started in the cool of dawn, before full day flamethrowered the landscape. No one paid the newcomers any attention, although a few people did turn round to watch Corporal Nobbs. Goats and chickens ambled out of the way as they passed.
[…]
“Good morning, sultan!” said a cheerful and somehow familiar voice. “New in town, are we?”
All three of them turned to a figure that had magically appeared from the mouth of an alleyway.
“Indeed, yes,” said the Patrician.
“I could see you were! Everyone is, these days. And it is your lucky day, shah! I am here to help, right? You want something, I got it!”
Sergeant Colon had been staring at the newcomer. He said, in a faraway voice, “Your name’s going to be something like… Al-jibla or something, right?”
“Heard about me, have you?” said the trader jovially.
“Sort of, yeah,” said Colon slowly. “You’re amazingly… familiar.”
Lord Vetinari pushed him aside.
-Jingo, Terry Pratchett
The bit of [water] that was immediately below them bubbled for a moment, and then the hull of the Boat rose a few inches above the surface. The lid unscrewed and Leonard’s worried face appeared.
“Ah, there you are,” he said. “We were getting concerned…”
They lowered themselves down into the fetid interior of the vessel.
Lord Vetinari was sitting with a pad of paper across his knees, writing carefully. He glanced up briefly. “Report.”
Nobby fidgeted while Sergeant Colon delivered a more or less accurate account, although there was some witty repartee with the Klatchian guards that the corporal had not hitherto recalled.
Vetinari did not look up. Still writing, he said, “Sergeant, Ur is an old country Rimward of the kingdom of Djelibeybi, whose occupants are a byword for bucolic stupidity. For some reason, I cannot think why, the guard must have assumed you were from there. And Morporkian is something of a lingua franca even in the Klatchian empire. When someone from Hersheba needs to trade with someone from Istanzia, they will undoubtedly haggle in Morporkian. This will serve us well, of course. The force that is being assembled here must mean that practically every man is a distant stranger with outlandish ways. Provided we do not act too foreign, we should pass muster. This means not asking for curry with swede and currants in it and refraining from ordering pints of Winkle’s Old Peculiar, do I make myself clear?”
-Jingo, Terry Pratchett
Vimes was feeling better in the colder air. He took out a crushed and damp packet of cigars, pulled a coal out of the fire, and took a deep drag.
“So… Prince Charming’s got a lot of troubles at home, has he? Does Vetinari know this?”
“Does a camel shit in the desert, sir?”
“You’re really getting the hang of Klatch, aren’t you?” said Vimes.
Jabbar rumbled something. There was more laughter.
“Er… Jabbar says a camel certainly does shit in the desert, sir, otherwise you wouldn’t have anything to light your cigar with, sir.”
Once again, there was one of those moments when Vimes felt that he was under close scrutiny. Be diplomatic, Vetinari had told him.
He took another deep draw. “Improves the flavor,” he said. “Remind me to take some home.”
-Jingo, Terry Pratchett
“Excuse me, your lordship?” Sergeant Colon raised his voice. The Patrician looked up from a conversation with Leonard.
“Yes, sergeant?”
“What do they do to spies in Klatch, sir?”
“Er… let me see…” said Leonard. “Oh, yes… I believe they give you to the women.”
Nobby brightened up. “Oh, well, that doesn’t sound too bad-”
[…]
Colon leaned forward and whispered in Nobby’s ear. The corporal’s expression changed, slowly.
“They really-”
“Yes, Nobby.”
“Theyreally-”
“Yes, Nobby.”
“They don’t do that at home.”
“We ain’t at home, Nobby. I wish we was.”
“Although you hear stories about the Agony Aunts, sarge.”
“Gentlemen,” said Lord Vetinari. “I am afraid Leonard is being rather fanciful. That may apply to some of the mountain tribes, but Klatch is an ancient civilization and that sort of thing is not done officially. I should imagine they’d give you a cigarette.”
“A cigarette?” said Fred.
“Yes, sergeant. And a nice sunny wall to stand in front of.”
Sergeant Colon examined this for any downside. “A nice roll-up and a wall to lean against?” he said.
“I think they prefer you to stand up straight, sergeant.”
“Fair enough. No need to be sloppy just because you’re a prisoner. Oh, well. I don’t mind risking it, then.”
“Well done,” said the Patrician calmly. “Tell me, sergeant… in your long military career, did anyone ever consider promoting you to an officer?”
“Nossir!”
“I cannot think why.”
-Jingo, Terry Pratchett
What was riding at anchor before the city of Al-Khali wasn’t a fleet. It was a fleet of fleets. The masts looked like a floating forest.
Down below, Lord Vetinari took his turn to peer through the pipe.
“So many ships,” he said. “In such a short time, too. How very well organized. Very well organized. One might almost say… astonishingly well organized. As they say, ‘If you would seek war, prepare for war.’”
“I believe, my lord, the saying is ‘If you would seek peace, prepare for war,’” Leonard ventured.
Vetinari put his head on one side and his lips moved as he repeated the phrase to himself. Finally he said, “No, no. I just don’t see that one at all.”
He ducked back into his seat.
“Let us proceed with care,” he said. “We can go ashore under cover of darkness.”
“Er… can we maybe go ashore under cover of cover?” said Sergeant Colon.
“In fact these extra ships will make our plan that much easier,” said the Patrician, ignoring him.
“Our plan?” said Colon.
“People within the Klatchian hegemony come in every shape and color.” Vetinari glanced at Nobby. “Practically every shape and color,” he added. “So our appearance on the streets should not cause undue comment.” He glanced at Nobby again. “To any great extent.”
-Jingo, Terry Pratchett
