It’s worse than dwarfs and trolls! All because someone’s great-to-the-power-of-umpteen grandmother slapped the face of someone’s great-ditto uncle! Borogravia and Zlobenia can’t even agree a border. They chose the river, and that changes course every spring. Suddenly the clacks towers are now on Borogravian soil—or mud, anyway—so the idiots burn them down for religious reasons.”

“Er, there is more to it than that, sir,” said Chinny.

“Yes, I know. I read the history. The annual scrap with Zlobenia is just the local derby. Borogravia fights everybody. Why?”

“National pride, sir.”

“What in? There’s nothing there! There’s some tallow mines, and they’re not bad farmers, but there’s no great architecture, no big libraries, no famous composers, no very high mountains, no wonderful views. All you can say about the place is that it isn’t anywhere else. What’s so special about Borogravia?”

“I suppose it’s special because it’s theirs. And of course there’s Nuggan, sir. Their god. I’ve brought you a copy of the Book of Nuggan.”

“I looked through one back in the city, Chinny,” said Vimes. “Seemed pretty stu—”

“That wouldn’t have been a recent edition, sir. And I suspect it wouldn’t be, er, very current that far from here. This one is more up to date,” said Chinny, putting a small but thick book on the desk.

“Up to date? What do you mean, up to date?” said Vimes, looking puzzled. “Holy writ gets… written. Do this, don’t do that, no coveting your neighbour’s ox…”

“Um… Nuggan doesn’t just leave it at that, sir. He, er… updates things. Mostly the Abominations, to be frank.”

Vimes took the new copy. It was noticeably thicker than the one he’d brought with him.

“It’s what they call a Living Testament,” Chinny explained. “They—well, I suppose you could say they ‘die’ if they’re taken out of Borogravia. They no longer… get added to. The latest Abominations are at the end, sir,” said Chinny helpfully.