Jingo

still attached to his leg, this is a bonus.

    The weathercocks of Ankh-Morpork creaked around in the wind.
    Very few of them were in fact representations of Avis domestica . There were various dragons, fish and miscellaneous animals. On the roof of the Assassins’ Guild a silhouette of one of the members squeaked into a new position, cloak and dagger at the ready. On the Beggars’ Guild a tin beggar’s hand asked the wind for a quarter. On the Butchers’ Guild a copper pig sniffed the air. On the roof of the Thieves’ Guild a real if rather deceased unlicensed thief turned gently, which shows what you are capable of if you try, or at least if you try stealing without a license.
    The one on the library dome of Unseen University was running slow and wouldn’t show the change for half an hour yet, but the smell of the sea drifted over the city.
    There was a tradition of soap-box public speaking in Sator Square. “Speaking” was stretching a point to cover the ranters, haranguers and occasional self-absorbed mumblers that spaced themselves at intervals amongst the crowds. And, traditionally, people said whatever was on their minds and at the top of their voices. The Patrician, it was said, looked kindly on the custom. He did. And very closely, too. He probably had someone make notes.
    So did the Watch.
    It wasn’t spying, Commander Vimes told himself. Spying was when you crept around peeking in windows. It wasn’t spying when you had to stand back a bit so that you weren’t deafened.
    He reached out without paying attention and struck a match on Sergeant Detritus.
    “Dat was me, sir,” said the troll reproachfully.
    “Sorry, sergeant,” said Vimes, lighting his cigar.
    “It not a problem.”
    They returned their attention to the speakers.
    It’s the wind, thought Vimes. It’s bringing something new…
    Usually the speakers dealt with all kinds of subjects, many of them on the cusp of sanity or somewhere in the peaceful valleys on the other side. But now they were all monomaniacs.
    “—time they were taught a lesson!” screamed the nearest one. “Why don’t our so-called masters listen to the voice of the people? Ankh-Morpork has had enough of these swaggering brigands! They steal our fish, they steal our trade and now they’re stealing our land!”
    It would have been better if people had cheered, Vimes thought. People generally cheered the speakers indiscriminately, to egg them on. But the crowd around this man just seemed to nod approval. He thought: they’re actually thinking about what he said…“They stole my merchandise!” shouted a speaker opposite him. “It’s a pirate bloody empire! I was boarded! In Ankh-Morpork waters!”
    There was a general self-righteous muttering.
    “What did they steal, Mr. Jenkins?” said a voice from the crowd.
    “A cargo of fine silks!”
    The crowd hissed.
    “Ah? Not dried fish offal and condemned meat, then? That’s your normal cargo, I believe.”
    Mr. Jenkins strained to look for the speaker.
    “Fine silks!” he said. “And what does the city care about that? Nothing!”
    There were shouts of “Shame!”
    “Has the city been told?” said the inquiring voice.
    People started to crane their heads. And then the crowd opened a little, to reveal the figure of Commander Vimes of the City Watch.
    “Well, it’s…I…” Jenkins began. “Er…I…”
    “ I care,” said Vimes calmly. “Shouldn’t be too hard to track down a cargo of fine silks that stink of fish guts.” There was laughter. Ankh-Morpork people always like some variety in their street theater.
    Vimes apparently spoke to Sergeant Detritus, while keeping his gaze locked on Jenkins. “Detritus, just you go along with Mr. Jenkins here, will you? His ship is the Milka , I believe. He’ll show you all the lading bills and manifests and receipts and things, and then we can sort him out in jig time.”
    There was a clang as Detritus’s huge hand came to rest against his helmet.
    “Yessir!”
    “Er…er…you can’t,” said Jenkins quickly. “They…er…stole the paperwork as well…”
    “Really? So they can take the stuff back to the shop if it doesn’t fit?”
    “Er…anyway, the ship’s sailed. Yes! Sailed! Got to try and recoup my losses, you know!”
    “Sailed? Without its captain?” said Vimes. “So Mr. Scoplett is in charge? Your first officer?”
    “Yes, yes—”
    “Damn!” said Vimes, snapping his fingers theatrically. “That man we’ve got in the cells