Jingo: A Novel of Discworld
Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Pages: 464
ISBN: 0062280201
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
It isn't much of an island that rises up one moonless night from the depths of the Circle Sea—just a few square miles of silt and some old ruins. Unfortunately, the historically disputed lump of land called Leshp is once again floating directly between Ankh-Morpork and the city of Al-Khali on the coast of Klatch—which is spark enough to ignite that glorious international pastime called "war." Pressed into patriotic service, Commander Sam Vimes thinks he should be leading his loyal watchmen, female watchdwarf, and lady werewolf into battle against local malefactors rather than against uncomfortably well-armed strangers in the Klatchian desert. But war is, after all, simply the greatest of all crimes—and it's Sir Samuel's sworn duty to seek out criminal masterminds wherever they may be hiding and lock them away before they can do any real damage . . . even the ones on his side.
last night—’ ‘You thought you were being attacked again and grabbed the crossbow?’ ‘Yes,’ said the boy, defiantly, before his father could speak. There was a brief argument in Klatchian. Then Mr Goriff said: ‘We must leave the house?’ ‘For your own good. We’ll try to have someone watch it. Now, get something together and go off with the sergeant. And give me that crossbow.’ Goriff handed it over with a look of relief. It was a typical Saturday Night Special, so badly made and erratic that
of less formal dangers and so Vimes took a piece of chalk out of his pocket and wrote on the door: UNDER THE PROTECTION OF THE WATCH As an afterthought he signed it: SGT DETRITUS In the imaginations of the less civically minded the majesty of the rule of law didn’t carry anything like as much weight as the dread of Detritus. The Riot Act! Where the hell had he dredged that from? Carrot, probably. It hadn’t been used for as long as Vimes could remember, and that was no wonder when you knew
exist, as it were, in appointment phase space.’ ‘What the hell does that mean?’ ‘Look,’ said the demon patiently, ‘You can have an appointment at any time, right? So therefore any appointment exists in potentia—’ ‘Where’s that?’ ‘Any particular appointment simply collapses the waveform,’ said the demon. ‘I merely select the most likely one from the projected matrix.’ ‘You’re just making this up,’ said Vimes. ‘If you were right, then any second now—’ Someone knocked at the door. It was a
beyond them. He pointed a quivering finger at his stricken ship and said ‘Muh . . . ?’ ‘Pretty good shape, all things considered,’ said Vimes. ‘Muh?’ ‘I’m sure you and your salty sailors will be able to float it again.’ ‘Muh . . .’ Jenkins and his wading crew watched the regiment as it slithered and complained its way up the side of the dune. Eventually the crew went into a huddle and drew lots and the cook, who was always unlucky in games of chance, approached the captain. ‘Never mind,
war, what in the name of seven hells could you balance him with? You’d need a policeman the size of a country. You couldn’t blame the soldiers. They’d just joined up to be pointed in the right direction. Something clicked against the fallen pillar. Vimes glanced down and pulled the baton out of his pocket. It glinted in the moonlight. What damn good was something like this? All it really meant was that he was allowed to chase the little criminals, who did the little crimes. There was nothing