#corporal beti

[pratchettpatricianpages]

After a short while a guard said, “Seven is pretty good. But it’s just melons.”

Colon opened his eyes.

The Klatchian guard twitched his robe aside. Half a dozen throwing knives glinted. And so did his teeth.

Lord Vetinari nodded. To Colon’s growing surprise he did not seem to be watching the tumbling melons at all.

“Four melons and three knives,” he said. “If you would care to give the knives to my charming assistant Beti…”

“Who?” said Nobby.

“Oh? Why not seven knives, then?”

“Kind sirs, that would be too simple,” said Lord Vetinari. “I am but a humble tumbler. Please let me practice my art.”

“Beti?” said Nobby, glowering under his veils.

Three fruits arced gently out of the green whirl and thumped on to Al-jibla’s tray.

-Jingo, Terry Pratchett

[pratchettpatricianpages]

Lord Vetinari pushed him aside. “We are strolling entertainers,” he said. “We were hoping to get an engagement at the Prince’s palace… Perhaps you could help?”

The man rubbed his beard thoughtfully, causing various particles to cascade into the little bowls in his tray.

“Dunno about the palace,” he said. “What’s it you do?”

“We practice juggling, fire-eating, that sort of thing,” said Vetinari.

“Do we?” said Colon.

Al-jibla nodded at Nobby. “What does…”

“…she…” said Lord Vetinari helpfully.

“…she do?”

“Exotic dancing,” said Vetinari, while Nobby scowled.

“Pretty exotic, I should think,” said Al-jibla.

“You’d be amazed.”

-Jingo, Terry Pratchett

[pratchettpatricianpages]

“Very well.” Vetinari pushed his paperwork aside. “If there is more suitable clothing in your bag, I will get changed and we can take a look at Al-Khali.”

“Oh, gods…”

“Sorry, sergeant?”

“Oh, good, sir.”

“Good.” Vetinari began to pull other items out of the liberated sack. There was a set of juggler’s clubs, a bag of colored balls and finally a placard, such as might be placed to one side of the stage during an artist’s performance.

“‘Gulli, Gulli and Beti,’” he read. “‘Exotic tricks and dances.’ Hmm,” he added. “It would seem there was a lady among the owners of this sack.”

The watchmen looked at the gauzy material that came out of the sack next. Nobby’s eyes bulged.

“What are them?”

“I believe they are called harem pants, corporal.”

“They’re very-”

“Curiously, the purpose of the clothing of the nautch girl or exotic dancer has always been less to reveal and more to suggest the imminence of revelation,” said the Patrician.

Nobby looked down at his costume, and then at Sergeant Al-Colon in his costume, and said cheerfully, “Well, I ain’t sure it’s going to suit you, sir.”

He regretted the words immediately.

“I hadn’t intended that they should suit me ,” said the Patrician calmly. “Please pass me your fez, Corporal Beti.”

-Jingo, Terry Pratchett

[pratchettpatricianpages]

“Beti?” said Nobby, glowering under his veils.

Three fruits arced gently out of the green whirl and thumped on to Al-jibla’s tray.

The guards looked carefully, and to Colon’s mind nervously, at the cross-dressed figure of the cross corporal.

“She’s not going to do any kind of dance, is she?” one of them ventured.

“No!” snapped Beti.

“Promise?”

Nobby grabbed three of the knives and tugged them out of the man’s belt.

“I’ll give them to his lor- to him, shall I, Beti?” said Colon, suddenly quite sure that keeping the Patrician alive was almost certainly the only way to avoid a brief cigarette in the sunshine. He was also aware that other people were drifting over to watch the show.

“To me, please… Al,” said the Patrician, nodding.

-Jingo, Terry Pratchett