‘Who, me?’ said Nobby, forgetting himself for a moment. ‘Oh, yeah. Lots.’
‘You do?’
‘Why not? Beer’s favourite,’ said Nobby. ‘But you can’t beat a good cigar, as long as it’s free.’
‘Hah!’ Mother-in-Law picked up a basket of washing and stamped away, followed by most of the older women. The others laughed. Even the disappointed Netal smiled.
‘I think that’s not what she meant,’ said Bana. To a chorus of giggles, she leaned down and whispered in Nobby’s ear.
His expression did not change but it did seem to solidify.
‘Oh, that,’ he said.
There were some worlds of experience which Nobby had only contemplated on a map, but he knew what she was talking about. Of course he’d patrolled certain parts of the Shades in his time — the ones where young ladies tended to hang around without very much to do, and probably catching cold too — but those areas of police work that in other places might be of interest to a Vice Squad now tended to be looked after by the Guild of Seamstresses themselves. People who neglected to obey the… no, not the law as such, call them the unwritten rules… as laid down by Mrs Palm and her committee of very experienced ladies[15] attracted the attention of the Agony Aunts, Dotsie and Sadie, and might or might not be seen again. Even Mr Vimes approved of the arrangement. It didn’t cause paperwork.
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Nobby, still staring at some inner screen.
Of course, he knew what…
‘Oh, that,’ he mumbled. ‘Well, I’ve seen a thing or two,’ he added. Largely on postcards, he had to admit.
‘It must be wonderful to have so much freedom,’ said Bana.
‘Er…’
Netal burst out crying again. Her friends fluttered around her.
‘I don’t see why the men have to go off like this,’ said Bana. ‘My betrothed has gone too.’
There was a cackle from a very old woman sitting by the well. ‘I can tell you why, dears. Because it’s better than growing melons all day. It’s better than women.’
‘Men think war is better than women?’
‘It’s always fresh, it’s always young, and you can make a good fight last all day.’
‘But they get killed!’
‘Better to die in battle than in bed, they say.’ She cracked a toothless grin. ‘But there are good ways for a man to die in bed, eh, Beti?’
Nobby hoped the glow of his ears wasn’t singeing his veil. Suddenly, he felt he’d caught up with his future. Ten damn pence worth of it hit him in the face.
‘’scuse me,’ he said. ‘Are any of you Nubilians?’
‘What are Nubilians?’ said Bana.
‘It’s a country round here,’ said Nobby. He added hopefully, ‘Isn’t it?’
Not a single face suggested that this was so.
Nobby sighed. His hand reached up to his ear for a cigarette end, but it came down again empty.
‘I’ll tell you this, girls,’ he said. ‘I wish I’d settled for the ten-dollar version. Don’t you just sometimes want to sit down and cry?’
‘You look even sadder than Netal,’ said Bana. ‘Isn’t there some way we can cheer you up?’
Nobby stared at her for a moment, and then started to sob.
Everyone was staring at Colon, their food halfway to their lips.
‘Did I just hear him say that, Faifal? What do I want to be on a camel for? I’m a plumber!’
‘He is the clown with the juggler, I think. The poor man is several palms short of an oasis.’
‘I mean the bloody things spit and they’re a bugger to get up the stairs with your toolbox—’
‘Now, come on, it’s not his fault, let’s show a little charity.’ The speaker cleared his throat. ‘Good morning, friend,’ he said. ‘May we invite you to share our couscous?’
Sergeant Colon peered at the bowl, and then dipped in a finger and tasted it.
‘Hey, this is semolina! You’ve got semolina! It’s just ordinary semol—’ He stopped, and coughed. ‘Yeah, right. Thanks. Got any strawberry jam?’
The host looked at his friends. They shrugged.
‘We know not of this “strawberry hjam” of which you speak,’ he said carefully. ‘We prefer it with lamb.’ He offered Colon a long wooden skewer.
‘Oh, you gotta have strawberry jam,’ said Colon, carried away. ‘When we were kids we’d stir it in and… and…’ He looked at their faces. ‘O’ course, that was back in Ur,’ he said.
The men nodded at one another. Suddenly it was all clear.
Colon belched loudly.
From the looks he got from everyone else, he was the only one who’d heard of this common Klatchian custom.
‘So,’ he said, ‘where’s the army these days? Approximately?’
‘Why do you ask, o full-of-gas one?’
‘Oh, we thought we could make a bit of cash entertaining the troops,’ said Colon. He was immensely proud of this idea. ‘You know… a smile, a song, a lack of exotic dancing. But that means we got to know where they are, see?’
‘Excuse me, fat one, but can you understand what I am saying?’
‘Yes, it’s very tasty,’ Colon hazarded.
‘Ah, I thought so. So he’s a spy. But whose?’
‘Really? Who would be so stupid as to use a joke like this as a spy?’
‘Ankh-Morpork?’
‘Oh, come on! He’s pretending to be an Ankh-Morpork spy, perhaps. But they’re cunning over there—’
‘You think? A people who make curry out of something called curry powder and you think they’re clever?’
‘I reckon he’s from Muntab. They’re always watching us.’
‘And pretending to be from Ankh-Morpork?’
‘Well, if you were trying to look like a joke Morporkian pretending to be Klatchian wouldn’t you look like that?’
‘But why’d he pretend to be from there?’
‘Ah… politics.’
‘Let’s call the Watch, then.’
‘Are you mad? We’ve been talking to him! They will be… inquisitive.’
‘Good point. I know…’
Faifal gave Colon a big grin.
‘I did hear the entire army has marched away to En al Sams la Laisa,’{81} he said. ‘But don’t tell anyone.’
‘Have they?’ Colon glanced at the other men. They were watching him with curiously deadpan expressions.
‘Sounds like a massive place, with a name like that,’ he said.
‘Oh, huge,’ said his neighbour. One of the other men made a noise that you might think was a suppressed chuckle.
‘It’s a long way, is it?’
‘No, very close. You’re practically on top of it,’ said Faifal. He nudged a colleague, whose shoulders were shaking.
‘Oh, right. Big army, is it?’
‘Could easily be very big, yes.’
‘Fine. Fine,’ said Colon. ‘Er… anyone got a pencil? I could’ve sworn I had one when—’
There was a noise outside the tavern. It was the sound of many women laughing, which is always a disquieting noise to men.[16] Customers peered suspiciously through the vines.
Colon and the rest of the crowd looked around an urn at the group by the well. An old lady was rolling on the ground, laughing, and various younger ones were leaning against one another for support.
He heard one of them say, ‘What did he say again?’
15
And Mr Harris of the Blue Cat Club. His admission caused a lot of argument in the Guild, who knew competition when they saw it, but Mrs Palm overruled opposition on the basis, she said, that unnatural acts were only natural.