'That sort of thing happens in bath tubs maybe,' said Colon. 'Not in real life. This is just a phenomena. It's not real. Next thing you'll be saying there's rocks up in the sky.'
'Yeah, but–'
'I am a sergeant, Nobby.'
'Yes. sarge.'
'It puts me in mind,' said Leonard, 'of those nautical stories about giant turtles that sleep on the surface, thus causing sailors to think they are an island. Of course, you don't get giant turtles that small.'
'Hey, Mr Quirm, this is an amazing boat,' said Nobby. 'Thank you.'
'I bet you could even smash up ships with it if you wanted.' There was an embarrassed silence. 'Altogether an interesting experience,' said Lord Vetinari, making some notes. 'And now, gentlemen downward and onward, please...' The watchmen drew their weapons. 'They're D'regs, sir,' said Carrot. 'But – this is all wrong...'
'What do you mean?'
'We're not dead yet.' They're watching us like cats watch mice, thought Vimes. We can't run away and we can't win a fight, and they want to see what we'll do next. 'What does General Tacticus have to say about sir?' said Carrot. There's a hundred of them, thought Vimes. And six of us. Except that Detritus is drifting off and there's no knowing what particular commandment Visit is obeying right now and Reg's arms tend to drop off when he gets excited 'I don't know,' he said. 'Probably something on the lines of Don't Allow This to Happen.'
'Why don't you check, sir?' said Carrot, not taking his eyes off the watching D'regs. 'What?'
'I said, why don't you check, sir?'
'Right now?'
'It might be worth a try, sir.'
'That's crazy, captain.'
'Yes, sir. The D'regs have some very strange notions about crazy people, sir.' Vimes pulled out the battered book. The D'reg nearest to him, with a grin almost as wide and as curved as his sword, had a certain additional swagger that suggested chieftainship. A huge ancient crossbow was slung on his back. 'I say!' said Vimes. 'Could we just delay things a little?' He strode towards the man, who looked very surprised, and waved the book in the air. 'This is a book by General Tacticus, don't know if you've ever heard of him, quite a big name in these parts once, probably slaughtered your great–great–great– great–grandfather in fact, and I just want to take a moment to see what he has to say about this situation. You don't mind, do you?' The man gave Vimes a puzzled look. 'This might take a moment, there's no index, but I think I saw something–' The chieftain took a step backwards and looked at the men next to him, who shrugged. 'I wonder if you could help me with this word here?' Vimes went on, reaching the man's side and holding the book under his nose. He got another puzzled grin. What Vimes did next was known in Ankh–Morpork's alleyways as the Friendly Handshake, and consisted largely of driving his elbow into the man's stomach, then bringing his knee up to meet the man's chin on its way down, gritting his own teeth because of the pain in both knee and ankle, and then drawing his sword and holding it to the D'reg's throat before he could scramble up. 'Now, captain,' said Vimes, 'I'd like you to say in a loud dear voice that unless they back off a really long way, this gentleman here is going to be in some very serious legal trouble.'
Detritus.'
'Is dis me?'
'No!'
'Sorry.' Carrot eased his way down the sloping deck and jumped onto the damp sand. He saluted. 'All present and lightly bruised, sir. Shall we. establish a beachhead?'
'A what?'
'We have to dig in, sir.' Vimes looked both ways along the beach, if such a sunnysounding word could be applied to the forsaken strand. It was really just a hem to the land. Nothing stirred except the heat haze and, in the distance, one or two carrion birds. 'What for?' he said. 'Establish a defensible position. It's just one of those things soldiers do, sir.' Vimes glanced at the birds. They were approaching with a kind of sidling sideways hop, ready to move in just as soon as anyone had been dead for a few days. Then he flicked through Tacticus until the word 'beachhead' caught his eye.
'It says here “If you want your men to spend much time wielding a shovel, encourage them to become farmers,”' he said. 'So I think we'll press on. He can't have got very far. We'll be back soon.' Jenkins waded out of the surf. He didn't look angry. He was a man who had passed through the fires of anger and was now in some strange peaceful bay 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, captain,' he said, 'we can probably find some decent balks of timber in all this driftwood, and a few days' work with block and tackle should–'
'Muh.'
'Only... we'd better get started 'cos he said they won't be long...'
'They won't be back!' said the captain. 'The water they've got won't last a day up there! They haven't got the right gear! And once they're out of sight of the sea they'll get lost!'
'Good!' It took half an hour to get to the top of the dune. The sand had been stamped down but, even as Vimes watched, the wind caught the particles and nibbled away at the prints. 'Camel tracks,' said Vimes. 'Well, camels don't go all that fast. Let's––'
'I think Detritus is having real trouble, sir,' said Carrot. The troll was standing with his knuckles on the ground. The motor of his cooling helmet sounded harsh for a moment in the dry air, and then stopped as the sand got into the mechanism. 'Feelin' fick,' he muttered. 'My brain hurts.'