'Ah.' The Patrician flicked through a stack of Leonard's drawings. 'And the hieroglyphs – an alphabet of signs and colours. Colours as a language… what a fascinating idea...'
'An emotional intensifier,' said Leonard. 'But of course we ourselves use something like it. Red for danger and so on. I never did succeed in translating it, though.'
'Colours as a language…' murmured Lord Vetinari. Sergeant Colon cleared his throat. 'I know something about seaweed, sir.'
'Yes, sergeant?'
'Yessir! If it's wet, sir, it means it's going to rain.'
'Well done, sergeant,' said Lord Vetinari, without turning his head. 'I think it is quite possible that I will never forget you said that.' Sergeant Colon beamed. He had Made A Contribution. Nobby nudged him. 'What're we doing down here, sarge? I mean, what's it all about? Poking around, looking at weird marks on the rocks, going in and out of caves.. . and the smell... well.. 'It's not me,' said Sergeant Colon. 'Smells like... sulphur...' Little bubbles streamed past the window. 'It stunk up on the surface, too,' Nobby went on. 'Nearly finished, gentlemen,' said Lord Vetinari, putting the papers aside. 'One last little venture and then we can surface. Very well, Leonard... take us underneath.'
'Er... aren't we underneath already, sir?' said Colon. 'Only underneath the sea, sergeant.'
'Ah. Right.' Colon gave this due consideration. 'Is there anything else to be under, then, sir?'
'Yes, sergeant. Now we're going under the land.'
The beach was a lot closer now. The watchmen couldn't help noticing that the sailors were all hurrying to the blunt end of the ship and hanging on to any small, lightweight and above all buoyant objects they could find. 'This seems close enough,' said Vimes. 'Right. Stop here.'
'Stop here? How?'
'Don't ask me, I'm no sailor. Aren't there some sort of brakes?' Jenkins stared at him. 'You – you landlubber!'
'I thought you never used the word!'
'I never met one like you before! You even think we call the bows the sharp en–' It was, the crew agreed later, one of the strangest landings in the history of bad seamanship. The shelving of the beach must have been right and the tide as well, because the ship did not so much hit the beach as sail up it, rising out of the water as the keel de–barnacled itself on the sand. Finally the forces of wind, water, impetus and friction all met at the point marked 'fall over slowly'. It did so, earning the title of 'world's most laughable shipwreck'. 'Well, that might have been worse,' said Vimes, when the splintering noises had died away. He eased himself out of a tangle of canvas and adjusted his helmet with as much aplomb as he could muster. He heard a groan from the lopsided hold. 'Is dat you, Cheery?'
you know everything, sarge,' said Nobby admiringly. 'That's what hieroglyphs are, is it? So, if we go any deeper, they'll be loweroglyphs?' There was something slightly off–putting about Nobby's grin. Sergeant Colon decided to go for broke. 'Don't be daft, Nobby. “Loweroglphys if you go lower...” Oh my me.'
'Sorry, sarge. 'Everyone knows you don't get loweroglyphs in these waters.' A couple of Curious Squid peered at them, curiously. Jenkins's ship was a floating wreck. Several sails were in tatters. Rigging and other string that Vimes refused to learn the nautical names for covered the deck and trailed in the water. Such sail as remained was moving them along in the brisk breeze. Atop the mast the lookout cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned down. 'Land ahoy!'
'Even I can see that,' said Vimes. 'Why does he have to shout?'
'It's lucky,' said Jenkins. He squinted into the haze. 'But your friend ain't heading for Gebra. Wonder where he's going?' Vimes stared at the pale yellow mass on the horizon, and then up at Carrot. 'We'll get her back, don't worry,' he said.
'I wasn't actually worrying, sir. Although I am very concerned,' said Carrot. 'Er... right...'Vimes waved his arms helplessly, 'Er... everyone fit and well? The men in good heart, are they?'
'It would help morale no end if you were to say a few words, sir.' The monstrous regiment of watchmen had lined up on the deck, blinking in the sunshine. Oh, dear. Round up the unusual suspects. One dwarf, one human who was brought up as a dwarf and thinks like a manual of etiquette, one zombie, one troll, me and, oh no, one religious fanatic– Constable Visit saluted. 'Permission to speak, sir.'
'Go ahead,' mumbled Vimes. 'I'm pleased to tell you, sir, that our mission is clearly divinely approved of, sir. I refer to the rain of sardines which sustained us in our extremity, sir.'
'We were a little hungry, I wouldn't say we were in extremi–'
'With respect, sir,' said Constable Visit firmly, 'the pattern is firmly established, sir. Yes, indeed. The Sykoolites when being pursued in the wilderness by the forces of Offlerian Mitolites, sir, were sustained by a rain of celestial biscuits, sir. Chocolate ones, sir.'
'Perfectly normal phenomenon,' muttered Constable Shoe. 'Probably swept up by the wind passing a baker's shop–' Visit glared at him, and went on: 'And the Murmurians, when driven into the mountains by the tribes of Miskmik, would not have survived but for a magical rain of elephants, sir–'
'Elephants?'
'Well, one elephant, sir,' Visit conceded. 'But it splashed.'
'Perfectly normal phenomenon,' said Constable Shoe. 'Probably an elephant was picked up by a freak–'
'And when they were thirsty in the desert, sir, the Four Tribes of Khanli were succoured by a sudden and supernatural rain of rain, sir.'
'A rain of rain?' said Vimes, almost mesmerized by Visit's absolute conviction. 'Perfectly normal phenomenon,' sneered Reg Shoe. 'Probably water was evaporated from the ocean, was blown through the sky, condensed around nuclei when it ran into cold air, and precipitated...' He stopped, and continued irritably, 'Anyway, I don't believe it.'
'So... which particular deity is on our case?' said Vimes, hopefully. 'I shall definitely inform you as soon as I have ascertained this, sir.'