‘Exactly, sir.’
‘In a ring binder ?’
‘Quite so, sir. People put blank pages in and the Abominations . . . turn up.’
‘You mean magically?’
‘I suppose I mean religiously, sir.’
Vimes opened a page at random. ‘Chocolate?’ he said. ‘He doesn’t like chocolate?’
‘Yes, sir. That’s an Abomination.’
‘Garlic? Well, I don’t much like that, so fair enough . . . cats?’
‘Oh, yes. He really doesn’t like cats, sir.’
‘Dwarfs? It says here “The dwarfish race which worships Gold is an Abomination unto Nuggan”! He must be mad. What happened there?’
‘Oh, the dwarfs that were here sealed their mines and vanished, your grace.’ “
‘I bet they did. They know trouble when they see it,’ said Vimes. He let ‘your grace’ pass this time; Chinny clearly derived some satisfaction from talking to a duke.
He leafed through the pages, and stopped. ‘The colour blue?’
‘Correct, sir.’
‘What’s abominable about the colour blue? It’s just a colour! The sky is blue!’
‘Yes, sir. Devout Nugganites try not to look at it these days. Um . . .’ Chinny had been trained as a diplomat. Some things he didn’t like to say directly. ‘Nuggan, sir . . . um . . . is rather . . . tetchy,’ he managed.
‘Tetchy?’ said Vimes. ‘A tetchy god? What, he complains about the noise their kids make? Objects to loud music after nine p.m.?’
‘Um . . . we get the Ankh-Morpork Times here, sir, eventually, and, er, I’d say, er, that Nuggan is very much like, er, the kind of people who write to its letter column. You know, sir. The kind who sign their letters “Disgusted of Ankh-Morpork” . . .’
‘Oh, you mean he really is mad,’ said Vimes.
‘Oh, I’d never mean anything like that, sir,’ said Chinny hurriedly.
‘What do the priests do about this?’
‘Not a lot, sir. I think they quietly ignore some of the more, er, extreme Abominations.’
‘You mean Nuggan objects to dwarfs, cats and the colour blue and there’re more insane commandments?’
Chinny coughed politely.
‘All right, then,’ growled Vimes. ‘More extreme commandments?’
‘Oysters, sir. He doesn’t like them. But that’s not a problem because no one there has ever seen an oyster. Oh, and babies. He Abominated them, too.’
‘I take it people still make them here?’
‘Oh, yes, your gr— I’m sorry. Yes, sir. But they feel guilty about it. Barking dogs, that was another one. Shirts with six buttons, too. And cheese. Er . . . people just sort of, er, avoid the trickier ones. Even the priests seem to have given up trying to explain them.’
‘Yes, I think I can see why. So what we have here is a country that tries to run itself on the commandments of a god who, the people feel, may be wearing his underpants on his head. Has he Abominated underpants?’
‘No, sir,’ Chinny sighed. ‘But it’s probably only a matter of time.’
‘So how do they manage?’
‘These days, people mostly pray to the Duchess Annagovia. You see icons of her in every house. They call her the Little Mother.’
‘Ah, yes, the Duchess. Can I get to see her?’
‘Oh, no one sees her, sir. No one except her servants has seen her for more than thirty years. To be honest, sir, she’s probably dead.’
‘Only probably?’
‘No one really knows. The official story is that she’s in mourning. It’s rather sad, sir. The young Duke died a week after they got married. Gored by a wild pig during a hunt, I believe. She went into mourning at the old castle at Prince-MarmadukePiotreAlbertHansJosephBernhardtWilhelmsberg and hasn’t appeared in public since. The official portrait was painted when she was about forty, I believe.’
‘No children?’
‘No, sir. On her death, the line is extinct.’
‘And they pray to her? Like a god?’
Chinny sighed. ‘I did put this in my briefing notes, sir. The royal family in Borogravia have always had a quasi-religious status, you see. They’re the head of the church and the peasants, at least, pray to them in the hope that they’ll put in a good word with Nuggan. They’re like . . . living saints. Celestial intermediaries. To be honest, that’s how these countries work in any case. If you want something done, you have to know the right people. And I suppose it’s easier to pray to someone in a picture than to a god you can’t see.’
Vimes sat looking at the consul for some time. When he next spoke, he frightened the man to his boots.
‘Who’d inherit?’ he said.
‘Sir?’
‘Just following the monarchy, Mr Chinny. If the Duchess isn’t on the throne, who should be?’
‘Um, it’s incredibly complex, sir, because of the intermarriages and the various legal systems, which for example—’
‘Who’s the smart money on, Mr Chinny?’
‘Um, Prince Heinrich of Zlobenia.’
To Chinny’s astonishment Vimes laughed. ‘And he’s wondering how auntie’s gettin’ on, I expect. I met him this morning, didn’t I? Can’t say I took to him.’
‘But he is a friend of Ankh-Morpork,’ said Chinny reproachfully. ‘That was in my report. Educated. Very interested in the clacks. Got great plans for his country. They used to be Nugganatic in Zlobenia, but he’s banned the religion and, frankly, hardly anyone objected. He wants Zlobenia to move forward. He admires Ankh-Morpork very much.’
‘Yes, I know. He sounds almost as insane as Nuggan,’ said Vimes. ‘Okay, so what we’ve probably got is an elaborate charade to keep Heinrich out. How’s this place governed?’
‘There isn’t much. A bit of tax collecting, and that’s about all. We think some of the senior court officials just drift on as if the Duchess was alive. The only thing that really works is the aimy.’
‘All right, how about coppers? Everyone needs coppers. At least they have their feet on the ground.’
‘I believe informal citizens’ committees enforce Nugganatic law,’ said Chinny.
‘Oh, gods. Prodnoses, curtain-twitchers and vigilantes,’ said Vimes. He stood up and peered out through the narrow window at the plain below. It was night-time. Cooking-fires in the enemy camp made demonic constellations in the darkness.
‘Did they tell you why I’ve been sent here, Clarence?’ he said.
‘No, sir. My instructions were that you would, um, oversee things. Prince Heinrich is not very happy about it.’
‘Oh, well, the interests of Ankh-Morpork are the interests of all money-lov— oops, sorry, all freedom-loving people everywhere,’ said Vimes. ‘We can’t have a country that turns back our mail coaches and keeps cutting down the clacks towers. That’s expensive. They’re cutting the continent in half, they’re the pinch in the hourglass. I’m to bring things to a “satisfactory” conclusion. And frankly, Clarence, I’m wondering if it’s even worth attacking Borogravia. It’ll be cheaper to sit here and wait for it to explode. Although I notice . . . where was that report . . . ah, yes . . . it will starve first.’ ‘Regrettably so, sir.’
Igor stood mutely in front of the recruiting table.
‘Don’t often see you people these days,’ said Jackrum.
‘Yeah, run out of fresh brains, ‘ave yer?’ said the corporal nastily.
‘Now then, corporal, no call for that,’ said the sergeant, leaning back in his creaking chair. ‘There’s plenty of lads out there walking around on legs they wouldn’t still have if there hadn’t been a friendly Igor around, eh, Igor?’
‘Yeah? Well, I heard about people waking up and findin’ their friendly Igor had whipped out their brains in the middle of the night and buggered off to flog ‘em,’ said the corporal, glaring at Igor.
‘I promith you your brain ith entirely thafe from me, corporal,’ said Igor. Polly started to laugh, and stopped when she realized absolutely no one else was doing so.
‘Yeah, well, I met a sergeant who said an Igor put a man’s legs on backwards,’ said Corporal Strappi. ‘What good’s that to a soldier, eh?’
‘Could advance and retreat at the thame time?’ said Igor levelly. ‘Thargent, I know all the thtorieth, and they are nothing but vile calumnieth. I theek only to therve my country. I do not want trouble.’
‘Right,’ said the sergeant. ‘Nor do we. Make your mark, and you’ve got to promise”not to mess about with Corporal Strappi’s brain, right? Another signature? My word, I can see we’ve got ourselves a bleedin’ college of recruits today. Give him his cardboard shilling, corporal.’
‘Thank you,’ said Igor. ‘And I would like to give the picture a wipe, if it’th all the thame to you.’ He produced a small cloth.
‘Wipe it?’ said Strappi. ‘Is that allowed, sergeant?’
‘What do you want to wipe it for, mister?’ said Jackrum.
‘To remove the invithible demonth,’ said Igor.
‘I can’t see any invis—’ Strappi began, and stopped.
‘Just let him, all right?’ said Jackrum. ‘It’s one of their funny little ways.’
‘Dun’t seem right,’ muttered Strappi. ‘Practically treason . . .’
‘Can’t see why it’d be wrong just to give the old girl a wash,’ said the sergeant shortly. ‘Next. Oh . . .’