Part 43 (1/2)
”He won't break it, sir,” said Carrot. ”D'regs are very particular about things like that. It's only when they swear on G.o.ds and things that they'll ever break an oath.”
”I will not tell you where he is,” said Jabbar. ”But...” he grinned again, but there was no humor in it, ”how brave are you, Mr. Vimes?”
”Stop complaining complaining, n.o.bby.”
”I'm not complaining. I'm just sayin' these trousers are a bit draughty, that's all I'm saying.”
”They look good on you, though.”
”And what're these tin bowls supposed to be doing?”
”They're supposed to be protecting the bits you haven't got, n.o.bby.”
”The way this breeze is blowing, I could do with some to protect the bits I have have.”
”Just try and act ladylike, will you, n.o.bby?”
Which would be hard, Sergeant Colon had to admit. The lady for whom the clothes had been made had been quite tall and somewhat full-figured, whereas n.o.bby without his armor could have hidden behind a short stick if you attached a toast rack to it about two-thirds of the way up. He looked like a gauzy accordion with a lot of jewelry. In theory, the costume would have been quite revealing, if Corporal n.o.bbs was something you wished to see revealed, but there were so many billows and folds now that all one could reliably say was that he was in there somewhere. He was leading the donkey, which seemed to like him. Animals tended to like n.o.bby. He didn't smell wrong.
”And them boots don't work,” Sergeant Colon went on.
”Why not? You kept yours yours on.” on.”
”Yeah, but I'm not supposed to be a flower of the desert, right? A moon of someone's delight shouldn't kick up sparks when she walks, am I right?”
”They belonged to my gran, I ain't leaving 'em around for anyone to nick, and I ain't mooning for anyone's delight,” said n.o.bby sulkily.
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 n.o.bbs. Goats and chickens ambled out of the way as they pa.s.sed.
”Watch out for people trying to sell you dirty postcards, n.o.bby,” said Colon. ”My uncle was here once and he said some bloke tried to sell him a pack of dirty postcards for five dollars. Disgusted, he was.”
”Yeah, 'cos you can get 'em in the Shades for two dollars,” said n.o.bby.
”That's what he said. And And they were Ankh-Morpork ones. Trying to flog us our own dirty postcards? I call that disgusting, frankly.” they were Ankh-Morpork ones. Trying to flog us our own dirty postcards? I call that disgusting, frankly.”
”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 your lucky day, shah! I am here to help, right? You want something, I got it!” 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. ”We are strolling entertainers,” he said. ”We were hoping to get an engagement at the Prince's palace...Perhaps you could help?”
The man rubbed his beard thoughtfully, causing various particles to cascade into the little bowls in his tray.
”Dunno about the palace,” he said. ”What's it you do?”
”We practice juggling, fire-eating, that sort of thing,” said Vetinari.
”Do we?” said Colon.
Al-jibla nodded at n.o.bby. ”What does...”
”...she...” said Lord Vetinari helpfully.
”...she do?”
”Exotic dancing,” said Vetinari, while n.o.bby scowled.
”Pretty exotic, I should think,” said Al-jibla.
”You'd be amazed.”
A couple of armed men had drifted over to them. Sergeant Colon's heart sank. In those bearded faces he saw himself and n.o.bby, 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 b.a.l.l.s 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.”
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 a.s.sistant Beti...”
”Who?” said n.o.bby.