“Sam Vimes. Special envoy, which is kind of like an ambassador but without the little gold chocolates.”

“Vimes the Butcher?” said Maladicta.

“Oh, yes. I’ve heard that one,” said Vimes, grinning. “Your people haven’t really mastered the fine art of propaganda. And I’m telling you because—well, have you heard of Om?”

They shook their heads.

“No? Well, in the Old Book of Om there’s a story about some city full of wickedness, and Om decided to destroy it with holy fire, this being back in the old smiting days before he’d got religion. But Bishop Horn protested about this plan, and Om said he’d spare the city if the bishop could find one good man. Well, the bishop knocked on every door, and turned up empty-handed. It turned out, after the place had been reduced to a glass plain, that there were probably plenty of good people there and, being good, they weren’t the sort to admit it. Death by modesty, a terrible thing. And you, ladies, are the only Borogravians I know much about, apart from the military who, frankly, aren’t chatty. You don’t appear to be as insane as your country’s foreign policy. You’re the one piece of international goodwill it has. A bunch of young boys outwitting crack cavalrymen? Kicking the Prince in the fork? People at home liked that. And now it turns out that you’re girls? They’ll love that. Mr de Worde is going to have fun with that when he finds out.”

“But we don’t have any power! We can’t negotiate a—”

“What does Borogravia want? Not the country. I mean the people.”

Polly opened her mouth to reply, and then shut it again and thought about the answer. “To be left alone,” she said. “By everybody. For a while, anyway. We can change things.”

“You’ll accept the food?”

“We are a proud country.”

“What are you proud of?”

It came swiftly, like a blow, and Polly realized how wars happened. You took that shock that had run through her, and let it boil.

…it may be corrupt, benighted and stupid, but it’s ours…

Vimes was watching her face. “From this desk here,” he said, “the only thing your country has to be proud of right now is you women.”

Polly stayed silent. She was still trying to cope with the anger. It made it worse to know that he was right. We have our pride. And that’s what we’re proud of. We’re proud of being proud…

“Very well, then, will you buy some food?” said Vimes, watching her carefully. “On credit? I suppose you still have someone in your country who knows about the kind of international affairs that don’t involve edged weapons?”

“People would accept that, yes,” said Polly hoarsely.

“Good. I’ll send a clacks back tonight.”

“And why would you be so generous, Mr Ankh-Morpork?”

“Because I’m from a wonderfully warm-hearted city, corporal… hah, no, I can’t say that and keep a straight face,” said Vimes. “Do you want to know the truth? Most people in Ankh-Morpork hadn’t even heard of your country until the clacks went down. There’s dozens of little countries round here selling one another hand-painted clogs or beer made from turnips. Then they knew you as the bloody mad idiots who fight everyone. Now they know you as… well, people who’d do just what they’d do. And tomorrow they’ll laugh. And there’re other people, people who sit and think about the future every day, who believe it’s worth a little to be friends with a country like that.”

“Why?” said Maladicta suspiciously.

“Because Ankh-Morpork is a friend to all freedom-loving people everywhere!” said Vimes. “Gods, it must be the way I tell ’em. Ze chzy Brogocia proztfik!” He saw their blank expressions. “Sorry, I’ve been away from home too long. And frankly, I’d rather be back there.”

“But why did you say you were a cherry pancake?” said Polly.

“Didn’t I say I am a citizen of Borogravia?”

“No. Brogocia is the cherry pancake, Borogvia is the country.”

“Well, I made the effort, at least. Look, we’d rather Prince Heinrich wasn’t ruler of two countries. That’d make one quite big country, much bigger than the other ones round here. So it’d probably get bigger still. He wants to be like Ankh-Morpork, you see. But what he means is he wants power, and influence. He doesn’t want to earn them, he doesn’t want to grow into them or learn the hard way how to use them. He just wants them.”

“That’s playing politics!” said Maladicta.

“No. It’s just telling the truth. Make peace with him, by all means. Just leave the road and the towers alone. You’ll get the food anyway, at whatever price. Mr de Worde’s article will see to that.”

“You sent the coffee,” said Polly.

“Oh, yes. That was Corporal Buggy Swires, my eye in the sky. He’s a gnome.”

“And you set a werewolf on us?”

“Well, set is a bit strong. Angua followed you, just to be on the safe side. She’s a werewolf, yes.”

“The girl we met? She didn’t look like one!”

“Well, they don’t, usually,” said Vimes. “Right up until the moment when they do, if you see what I mean. And she was following you because I was looking for anything that’d stop thousands of people dying. And that’s not politics either,” said Vimes. He stood up. “And now, ladies, I have to go and present your document to the Alliance leaders.”

“You came out for a smoke at the right time, didn’t you?” said Polly, slowly and carefully. “You knew we were on our way, and you made sure you’d get to us first.”

“Of course. Can’t leave this to a bunch of… oh, yes… ruperts.”

“Where is my brother, Mister Vimes?” said Polly stiffly.

“You seem very sure I know…” said Vimes, not looking her in the face.

“I’m certain you do,” said Polly.

“Why?”

“Because no one else does!”

Vimes stubbed out his cigar. “Angua was right about you,” he said. “Yes, I, er, arranged for him to be put in what I like to call ‘protective custody’. He’s fine. Angua will take you to him now, if you like. Your brother, possibility of revenge, blackmail, who knows what… I thought he might be safer if I knew exactly who held the keys.”

The end of the journey, Polly thought. But it wasn’t, not any more. She got the distinct impression that the man opposite was reading her thoughts.

“That’s what all this was about, isn’t it?” he said.

“No, sir. It’s just how it started,” said Polly.

“Well, it continues like this,” said Vimes. “This is going to be a busy day. Right now I shall take this offer of a truce into the room down the passage and present it to the very important men”—his voice went flat to say those words—“who are discussing what to do about Borogravia. You’ll get a truce, the food, and probably some other help.”

“How do you know that?” said Polly. “They haven’t discussed it!”

“Not yet. But, as I said… I used to be a sergeant. Angua!”

The door opened. Angua came in. As Vimes had said, you couldn’t tell who was a werewolf until you found out…

“And now I’d better have a shave before I go to see the very important men,” said Vimes. “People set a lot of store by shaving.”

Polly felt embarrassed walking down the steps with Sergeant Angua. How did you start a conversation? “So you’re a werewolf, then?” would be sort of idiotic. She was glad that Jade and Maladicta had been left in the waiting room.

“Yes, I am,” said Angua.

“But I didn’t say it!” Polly burst out.

“No, but I’m used to situations like this. I’ve learned to recognize the way people don’t say things. Don’t worry.”

“You followed us,” said Polly.

“Yes.”

“So you must’ve known we weren’t men.”

“Oh, yes,” said Angua. “My sense of smell is much better than my eyesight, and I’ve got sharp eyes. Humans are smelly creatures. For what it’s worth, though, I wouldn’t have told Mister Vimes if I hadn’t heard you talking to one another. Anyone could have heard you, you don’t need to be a werewolf for that. Everyone’s got secrets they don’t want known. Werewolves are a bit like vampires in that way. We’re tolerated… if we’re careful.”