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“The only things they haven’t found are the bunch of dates and the camel hidden under the pillow…” Belatedly, his nuptial radar detected a certain chilliness from the far side of the cruet. “Is, er, there something wrong, dear?” he said. “Can you remember when we last had dinner together, Sam?” “Tuesday, wasn’t it?” “That was the Guild of Merchants’ annual dinner, Sam. ” Vimes’s brow wrinkled. “But you were there, too, weren’t you?” A further subtle change in the dragonhouse quotient told him that this was not a well chosen answer. “And then you rushed off afterward because of that business with the barber in Gleam Street. ” “Sweeney Jones,” said Vimes. “Well, he was killing people, Sybil. The best you could say is that he didn’t mean to. He was just very bad at shaving—” “But you didn’t have to go, I’m sure. ” “Policing’s a twenty-four-hour job, dear. ” “Only for you! Your constables do their ten hours and that’s it. But you’re always working. It’s not good for you. You’re always running around during the day, and when I wake up in the middle of the night there’s always a cold space beside me…” The dots hung in the air, the ghosts of words unsaid. Little things, thought Vimes. That’s how a war starts. “There’s so much to do, Sybil,” he said, as patiently as he could. “There’s always been a lot to do. And the bigger the Watch gets the more there is to do, have you noticed that?” Vimes nodded. That was true. Rotas, receipts, notebooks, reports…the Watch might or might not be making a difference in the city, but it was certainly frightening a lot of trees. “You ought to delegate,” said Lady Sybil. “So he tells me,” muttered Vimes. “Pardon?” “Just thinking aloud, dear. ” Vimes pushed the paperwork away. “I’ll tell you what…let’s have an evening in,” he said. “There’s a nice fire in the drawing room—” “Er…no, Sam, there isn’t. ” “Hasn’t young Forthright lit it?” Forthright was the Boy; it came as news to Vimes that this was an official servant position, but the Boy’s job was to light the fires, clean the privies, help the gardener and take the blame. “He’s gone off to be a drummer boy in the Duke of Eorle’s regiment,” said Lady Sybil. “Him too? He seemed a bright lad! Isn’t he too young?” “He said he was going to lie about his age. ” “I hope he lies about his musical ability. I’ve heard him whistling. ” Vimes shook his head. “Whatever possessed him to do such a daft thing?” “He thinks the uniform will impress the girls. ” Sybil gave him a gentle smile. An evening at home suddenly began to seem very inviting. “Well, it won’t take a genius to find the woodshed,” said Vimes. “And then we can bolt the doors and—” One of the aforesaid doors shook to the sound of frantic knocking. Vimes caught Sybil’s gaze. “Go on, then. Answer it,” she sighed, and sat down. The door admitted Corporal Littlebottom, seriously out of breath. “You…got to come quick, sir…it’s…murder this…time!” Vimes looked helplessly at his wife. “Of course you must go,” she said. Angua brushed out her hair in front of the mirror. “I don’t like this,” said Carrot. “It’s not a proper way to behave. ” She patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry ,” she said. “Vimes explained it all. You’re acting as though we’re doing something wrong. ” “I like being a watchman,” said Carrot, still in the mournful depths. “And you’ve got to wear a uniform. If you don’t wear a uniform it’s like spying on people. He knows I think that. ” Angua looked at his short red hair and honest ears. “I’ve taken a lot of the work off his shoulders,” Carrot went on. “He doesn’t have to go on patrol at all , but he still tries to do everything. ” “Perhaps he doesn’t want you to be quite so helpful?” said Angua, as tactfully as possible. “It’s not as if he’s getting any younger, either. I’ve tried to point that out. ” “That was kind of you. ” “And I’ve never worn plainclothes. ” “On you they’ll never be very plain,” said Angua, pulling on her coat. It was a relief to be out of that armor. As for Carrot, there was no disguising him. The size, the ears, the red hair, the expression of muscular good-naturedness… “I suppose a werewolf is in plain clothes all the time, when you think about it,” said Carrot. “Thank you, Carrot. And you are absolutely right. ” “I just don’t feel comfortable, living a lie. ” “Walk a mile on these paws. ” “Pardon?” “Oh…nothing. ” Goriff’s son Janil had been angry. He didn’t know why. The anger was built up of a lot of things. The fire bomb last night was a big part. So were some of the words he’d been hearing in the street. He’d had an argument with his father about sending that food round to the Watch House this morning. They were an official part of the city. They had those stupid badges. They had uniforms. He was angry about a lot of things, including the fact that he was thirteen. So when, at nine in the evening while his father was baking bread, the door had slammed back and a man had rushed in, Janil had pulled his father’s elderly crossbow from under the counter and aimed it where he thought the heart was and pulled the trigger. Carrot stamped his feet once or twice and looked around. “Here,” he said. “I was standing here. And the Prince was…in that direction. ” Angua obediently walked across the square. Several people turned to look curiously at Carrot. “All right…stop…no, on a bit…stop…turn a little bit to the left…I mean my left…back a bit…now throw your arms up…” He walked over to her and followed her gaze. “He was shot from the University?” “Looks like the library building,” said Angua. “But a wizard wouldn’t do it, surely? They keep out of that sort of thing. ” “Oh, it’s not too hard to get in there, even when the gates are shut,” said Carrot. “Let’s try the unofficial way, shall we?” “Okay. Carrot?” “Yes?” “The false moustache…it’s not you, you know. And the nose is far too pink. ” “Doesn’t it make me look inconspicuous?” “No. And the hat…I should lose the hat, too. It is a good hat,” she added quickly. “But a brown bowler…it’s not your style. It doesn’t suit you. ” “Exactly!” said Carrot. “If it was my style, people would know it’s me, right?” “I mean it makes you look like a twerp, Carrot. ” “Do I normally look like a twerp?” “No, not—” “Aha!” Carrot fumbled in the pocket of his large brown overcoat. “I got this book of disguises from the joke shop in Phedre Road, look. Funny thing, Nobby was in there buying stuff, too. I asked him why and he said it was desperate measures. What d’you think he meant by that?” “I can’t imagine,” said Angua. “It’s just amazing the stuff they’ve got. False hair, false noses, false beards, even false…” He hesitated, and began to blush. “Even false…you know, chests. For ladies. But I can’t imagine for the life of me why they’d want to disguise those. ” He probably couldn’t, Angua thought. She took the very small book from Carrot and glanced through it. She sighed. “Carrot, these disguises are meant for a potato. ” “Are they?” “Look, they’re all on potatoes, see?” “I thought that was just for display. ” “Carrot, it’s got ‘Mr. Spuddy Face’ on it. ” Behind his thick black moustache Carrot looked hurt and perplexed. “What does a potato want a disguise for?” he said. They’d reached the alley alongside the University that had been known informally as Scholars’ Entry for so many centuries that this was now on a nameplate at one end. A couple of student wizards went past. The unofficial entrance to the University has always been known only to students. What most students failed to remember was that the senior members of the faculty had also been students once, and also liked to get out and about after the official shutting of the gates. This naturally led to a certain amount of embarrassment and diplomacy on dark evenings. Carrot and Angua waited patiently as a few more students climbed over, followed by the Dean. “Good evening, sir,” said Carrot, politely. “Good evening to you, Spuddy,” said the Dean, and ambled off into the night. “You see?” “Ah, but he didn’t call me Carrot,” said Carrot. “The principle is sound. |
” They dropped down onto lawns of academia and headed for the library. “It’ll be shut,” said Angua. “Remember, we have a man on the inside,” said Carrot, and knocked. The door opened a little way. “Ook?” Carrot raised his horrible little round hat. “Good evening, sir, I wonder if we could come in? It’s Watch business. ” “Ook eek ook?” “Er…” “What did he say?” said Angua. “If you must know, he said, ‘My goodness me, a walking potato,’” said Carrot. The Librarian wrinkled his nose at Angua. He did not like the smell of werewolves. But he beckoned them inside and then left them waiting while he knuckled back to his desk and rummaged in a drawer. He produced a Watch Special Constable’s badge on a string, which he hung around the general area where his neck should have been, and then stood as much to attention as an orangutan can, which is not a great deal. The central ape gets the idea but outlying areas are slow to catch on. “Ook ook!” “Was that ‘How may I be of assistance, Captain Tuber?’” said Angua. “We need to have a look on the fifth floor, over-looking the square,” said Carrot, a shade coldly. “Ook oook—ook. ” “He says that’s just old storerooms,” said Carrot. “And that last ‘ook’?” said Angua. “‘Mr. Horrible Hat,’” said Carrot. “Still, he hasn’t worked out who you are, eh?” said Angua. The fifth floor was a corridor of airless rooms, smelling sadly of old, unwanted books. They were stacked not on shelves but on wide racks, bundled up with string. A lot of them were battered and missing their covers. Judging by what remained, though, they were old textbooks that not even the most ardent bibliophile could treasure. Carrot picked up a torn copy of Woddeley’s Occult Primer. Several loose pages fell out. Angua picked one up. “‘Chapter Fifteen, Elementary Necromancy,’” she read aloud. “‘Lesson One: Correct Use of Shovel…’” She put it down again and sniffed the air. The presence of the Librarian filled the nasal room like an elephant in a matchbox, but— “Someone else has been in here,” she said. “In the last couple of days. Could you leave us, sir? When it comes to odors, you’re a bit…forthright…” “Ook?” The Librarian nodded at Carrot, shrugged at Angua and ambled out. “Don’t move,” said Angua. “Stay right where you are, Carrot. Don’t disturb the air…” She inched forward carefully. Her ears told her the Librarian was down the corridor, because she could hear the floorboards creaking. But her nose told her that he was still here. He was a little fuzzy, but— “I’m going to have to change,” she said. “I can’t get a proper picture this way. It’s too strange. ” Carrot obediently shut his eyes. She’d forbidden him to watch her en route from a human to a wolf, because of the unpleasant nature of the shapes in between. Back in Überwald people went from one shape to the other as naturally as ordinary humans would put on a different coat, but even there it was considered polite to do it behind a bush. When he reopened them Angua was slinking forward, her whole being concentrated in her nose. The olfactory presence of the Librarian was a complex shape, a mere purple blur where he had been moving but almost a solid figure where he’d been standing still. Hands, face, lips…they’d be just the center of an expanding cloud in a few hours’ time, but now she could still smell them out. There must be only the tiniest air currents in here. There weren’t even any flies buzzing in the dead air to cause a ripple of disturbance. She edged nearer to the window. Vision was a mere shadowy presence, providing a charcoal sketch of a room over which the scents painted their glorious colors. By the window…by the window … Yes! A man had stood there, and by the scent of it he hadn’t moved for some time. The smell wavered in the air, on the edge of her nasal skill. The curling, billowing traces said that the window had been opened and closed again, and was there just the merest, tiniest suggestion that he’d held an arm out in front of him ? Her nose raced, trying to form original shapes from the patterns hanging in the room like dead smoke … When she’d finished, Angua went back to her pile of clothes and coughed politely while she was pulling on her boots. “There was a man standing by the window,” she said. “Long hair, a bit dry, stinks of expensive shampoo. He was the man who nailed the boards back after Ossie got into the Barbican. ” “Are you sure?” “Is this nose ever wrong?” “Sorry. Go on. ” “I’d say he was heavyset, a bit bulky for his height. He doesn’t wash a lot, but when he does he uses Windpike’s Soap, the cheap brand. But expensive shampoo, which is odd. Quite new boots. And a green coat. ” “You can smell the color?” “No. The dye. It comes from Sto Lat, I think. And…I think he shot a bow. An expensive bow. There’s a hint of silk in the air, and that’s what the strongest bowstrings are made of, isn’t it? And you wouldn’t put one of those on a cheap bow. ” Carrot stood by the window. “He got a good view,” he said, and looked down at the floor. And then at the sill. And on the shelves nearby. “How long was he here?” “Two or three hours, I’d say. ” “He didn’t move around much. ” “No. ” “Or smoke, or spit. He just stood and waited. A professional. Mr. Vimes was right. ” “A lot more professional than Ossie,” said Angua. “Green coat,” said Carrot, as if thinking aloud. “Green coat, green coat…” “Oh…and bad dandruff,” said Angua, standing up. “ Snowy Slopes ?!” shouted Carrot. “What?” “ Really bad dandruff?” “Oh, yes, it—” “That’s why they call him Snowy,” said Carrot. “Daceyville Slopes, the man with the reinforced comb. But I’d heard he’d moved to Sto Lat—” In unison they said: “—where the dye comes from—” “Is he good with a bow?” said Angua. “Very good. He’s good at killing people he never met, too. ” “He’s an Assassin, is he?” “Oh, no. He just kills people for money. No style. Snowy can barely read and write. ” Carrot scratched his head in sympathetic recollection. “He doesn’t even look at complicated pictures. We’d have got him last year, but he shook his head fast and got away while we were trying to dig out Nobby. Well, well. I wonder where he’s staying?” “Don’t ask me to follow him in these streets. Thousands of people will have walked over the trail. ” “Oh, there’s people who will know. Someone sees everything in this town. ” M R. S LOPES ? Snowy Slopes gingerly felt his neck, or at least the neck of his soul. The human soul tends to keep to the shape of the original body for some time after death. Habit is a wonderful thing. “Who the hell was he ?” he said. N OT SOMEONE YOU KNOW ? said Death. “Well, no! I don’t know many people who cut my head off!” Snowy Slopes’s body had knocked against the table as it fell. Several bottles of medicated shampoo now dripped and mixed their contents into the other more intimate fluids from the Slopes corpse. “That stuff with the special oil in it cost me nearly four dollars,” said Snowy. Yet, somehow, it all seemed slightly…irrelevant now. Death happens to other people. The other person in this case had been him. That is, the one down there. Not the one standing here looking at it. In life, Snowy hadn’t even been able to spell “metaphysical,” but he was already beginning to view life in a different way. From the outside, for a start. “Four dollars,” he repeated. “I never even had time to try it!” I T WOULDN’T HAVE WORKED , said Death, patting the man on a fading shoulder. B UT, IF I MIGHT SUGGEST THAT YOU LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, IT WILL NO LONGER BE NECESSARY. “No more dandruff?” said Snowy, now quite transparent and fading fast. E VER , said Death. T RUST ME ON THIS. Commander Vimes ran down darkened streets, trying to buckle on his breastplate as he ran. “All right, Cheery, what’s happening?” “They say a Klatchian killed someone, sir. There’s a mob up in Scandal Alley and it’s looking bad. I was on the desk and I thought you ought to be told, sir. ” “Right!” “And anyway I couldn’t find Captain Carrot, sir. ” A little bit of acid ink scribbled its subtle entry on the ledger of Vimes’s soul. |
“Oh, gods…so who’s the officer in charge?” “Sergeant Detritus, sir. ” It seemed to the dwarf that she was suddenly standing still. Commander Vimes had become a rapidly disappearing blur. With the calm expression of someone who was methodically doing his duty, Detritus picked up a man and used him to hit some other men. When he had a clear area around him and a groaning heap of former rioters, he climbed the heap and cupped his hands round his mouth. “Listen to me, youse people!” A troll shouting at the top of his voice could easily be heard above a riot. When he seemed to have their attention he pulled a scroll out of his breastplate and waved it over his head. “Dis is der Riot Act,” he said. “You know what dat means? It means if’n I reads it out and youse don’t disb…disp…go away, der Watch can use deadly force, you unnerstand?” “What did you just use, then?” moaned someone from underneath his feet. “Dat was you helpin’ der Watch,” said Detritus, shifting his weight. He unrolled the scroll. Although there was some scuffling in alleyways and shouts from the next street, a ring of silence expanded outward from the troll. An almost genetic component of the citizens of Ankh-Morpork was their ability to spot an opportunity for amusement. Detritus held the document at arm’s length. And then a few inches from his face. He tried turning it round a few times. His lips moved uneasily. Finally, he leaned down and showed it to Constable Visit. “What dis word?” “That’s ‘Whereby,’ sergeant. ” “I knew dat. ” He straightened up again. “‘Whereby…it is…’” Beads of the troll equivalent of sweat began to form on Detritus’s forehead. “‘Whereby it is…ack-no-legg-ed…’” “Acknowledged,” whispered Constable Visit. “I knew dat. ” Detritus stared at the paper again, and then gave up. “Youse don’t want to stand here listenin’ to me all day!” he bellowed. “Dis is der Riot Act and you’ve all got to read it, right? Pass it round. ” “What if we don’t read it?” said a voice in the crowd. “You got to read it. It legal. ” “And then what happens?” “Den I shoot you,” said Detritus. “That’s not allowed!” said another voice. “You’ve got to shout ‘Stop! Armed watchman!’ first. ” “Sure, dat suits me,” said Detritus. He shrugged one huge shoulder to bring his crossbow under his arm. It was a siege bow, intended to be mounted on the cart. The bolt was six feet long. “It harder to hit runnin’ targets. ” He released the safety catch. “Anyone finishing readin’ dat thing yet?” “Sergeant!” Vimes pushed his way through the crowd. And it was a crowd now. Ankh-Morpork was always a good audience. There was a clang as Detritus saluted. “Were you proposing to shoot these people in cold blood, sergeant?” “Nossir. Just a warning shot inna head, sir. ” “Really? Just give me a moment to talk to them, then. ” Vimes looked at the man next to him. He was holding a flaming torch in one hand and a long length of wood in the other. He gave Vimes the nervously defiant stare of someone who has just felt the ground shift under his feet. Vimes pulled the torch toward him and lit a cigar. “What’s happening here, friend?” “The Klatchians have been shooting people, Mr. Vimes! Unprovoked attack!” “Really?” “People have been killed!” “Who?” “I…there were…everyone knows they’ve been killing people!” The man’s mental footsteps found safer ground. “Who do they think they are, coming over—” “That’s enough,” said Vimes. He stood back and raised his voice. “I recognize a lot of you,” he said. “And I know you’ve got homes to go to. See this?” He pulled his baton of office out of his pocket. “This says I’ve got to keep the peace. So in ten seconds I’m going somewhere else to find some peace to keep, but Detritus is going to stay here. And I just hope he doesn’t do anything to disgrace the uniform. Or get it very dirty, at least. ” Irony was not a degree-level subject among the listeners, but the brighter ones recognized Vimes’s expression. It said that here was a man hanging on to his patience by his teeth. The mob dispersed, going ragged at the edges as people legged it down side alleys, threw away their makeshift weapons and emerged at the other end walking the grave, thoughtful walk of honest citizens. “All right, what happened ?” said Vimes, turning to the troll. “We’re hearing where dis boy shot dis man,” said Detritus. “We got here, next minute it rainin’ people from everywhere, shoutin’. ” “He smote him as Hudrun smote the fleshpots of Ur,” said Constable Visit. * “Smote?” said Vimes, bewildered. “He killed someone?” “Not by der way der man was cussing, sir,” said Detritus. “Hit him in der arm. His friends brought him round der Watch House to complain. He a baker on der night shift. He said he was late for work, he come runnin’ in to pick up his dinner, next minute he flat on der floor. ” Vimes walked across the street and tried the door of the shop. It opened a little way, and then fetched up against what seemed to be a barricade. Furniture had been piled up against the window as well. “How many people were there, constable?” “A multitude thereof, sir. ” And four people in here, thought Vimes. A family. The door moved a fraction and Vimes realized he was ducking even before the crossbow protruded. There was the thung of the string. The bolt tumbled rather than sped. It corkscrewed wildly across the alley and was almost moving sideways when it hit the opposite wall. “Look,” said Vimes, keeping his body down but raising his voice. “Anyone who got hit with that , it must have been an accident. This is the Watch. Open the door. Otherwise Detritus will open it. And when he opens a door, it stays open. You know what I mean?” There was no reply. “All right. Detritus, just step over here—” There was a hissed argument inside, and then the sound of scraping as furniture was moved. He tried the door. It swung inward. The family were at the far end of the room. Vimes felt eight eyes on him. The atmosphere had a hot, worrying feel, spiced with the smell of burnt food. Mr. Goriff was holding the crossbow gingerly, and the expression on his son’s face told Vimes a lot of what he needed to know. “All right ,” he said. “Now you all listen to me. I’m not arresting anyone right now, you hear? This sounds like one of those things that make his lordship yawn. But you’d do better spending the rest of the night in the Watch House. I can’t spare the men to stand guard here. Do you understand? I could arrest you. But this is just a request. ” Mr. Goriff cleared his throat. “The man I shot—” he began, and left the question and the lie hanging in the air. Vimes forced himself not to glance at the boy. “Not badly hurt,” he said. “He…ran in,” said Mr. Goriff. “And after last night—” “You thought you were being attacked again and grabbed the crossbow?” “Yes,” said the boy, defiantly, before his father could speak. There was a brief argument in Klatchian. Then Mr. Goriff said: “We must leave the house?” “For your own good. We’ll try to have someone watch it. Now, get something together and go off with the sergeant. And give me that crossbow. ” Goriff handed it over with a look of relief. It was a typical Saturday Night Special, so badly made and erratic that the only safe place to be when it was fired would be directly behind it, and even then you would be running a risk. And then no one had told its owner that under the counter in a steamy shop and a perpetual rain of grease wasn’t the best place to keep it strung. The string sagged. Probably the only way you could reliably hurt someone with it was to beat them over the head. Vimes waited until they’d been ushered out and took a last look around the room. It wasn’t large. In the kitchen behind the shop something spicy in a pot was boiling dry. After burning his fingers a couple of times he managed to tip the pot on to the fire to put it out and then, vaguely remembering his mother doing something like this, put the pot under the pump to soak. Then he barricaded the windows as best he could and went out, locking the door behind him. |
A discreetly obvious brass Thieves’ Guild plaque over the door told the world that Mr. Goriff had conscientiously paid his annual fee, * but the world had plenty of less formal dangers and so Vimes took a piece of chalk out of his pocket and wrote on the door: U N D ER T H E P ROTE C TI O N O F T H E W ATC H As an afterthought he signed it: S G T. D ETR IT US In the imaginations of the less civically minded the majesty of the rule of law didn’t carry anything like as much weight as the dread of Detritus. The Riot Act! Where the hell had he dredged that from? Carrot, probably. It hadn’t been used for as long as Vimes could remember, and that was no wonder when you knew what it really did. Even Vetinari would hesitate to use it. Now it was nothing more than a phrase. Thank goodness for trollish illiteracy… It was when Vimes stood back to admire his handiwork that he saw the glow in the sky over Park Lane, almost at the same time as he heard the clatter of iron boots on the street. “Oh, hello, Littlebottom,” he said. “What now? Don’t tell me—someone’s set fire to the Klatchian embassy. ” “All right, sir,” said the dwarf. She stood uncertainly in the middle of the alley, looking worried. “Well?” said Vimes. “Er…you said—” With a sinking feeling Vimes remembered that the generic dwarfish skill with iron was matched only by the fumble-fingered grasp of irony. “The Klatchian embassy is really on fire?” “Yes, sir!” Mrs. Spent opened the door a crack. “Yes?” “I’m a friend of…” Carrot hesitated, wondering if Fred would have given his real name. “Er…big fat man, suit doesn’t fit—” “The one who goes around with the sex maniac?” “Pardon?” “Skinny little twerp, dresses like a clown?” “They said you’d have a room,” said Carrot desperately. “They’ve got it,” said Mrs. Spent, trying to shut the door. “They said I could use it—” “No sublettin’!” “They said I should pay you two dollars!” The pressure of the door was released a little. “On top of what they paid?” said Mrs. Spent. “Of course. ” “Well…” She looked Carrot up and down and sniffed. “All right. What shift are you on?” “Sorry?” “You’re a watchman, right?” “Er” Carrot hesitated, and then raised his voice. “No, I am not a watchman. Haha, you think I’m a watchman? Do I look like a watchman?” “Yes, you do,” said Mrs. Spent. “You’re Captain Carrot. I seen you walking about the town. Still, I suppose even coppers have to sleep somewhere. ” On the roof, Angua rolled her eyes. “No wimmin, no cookin’, no music, no pets,” said Mrs. Spent, as she led the way up the creaking stairs. Angua waited in the dark until she heard the window open. “She’s gone,” Carrot hissed. “There’s glass on the tiles out here, just like Fred reported,” said Angua, as she swung herself over the sill. Inside the room she took a deep breath and shut her eyes. First she had to forget the smell of Carrot—anxious sweat, soap, the lingering hints of armor polish… … and Fred Colon, all perspiration with a hint of beer, and then the odd ointment Nobby used for his skin condition, and the smells of feet, bodies, clothes, polish, fingernails … After an hour it was possible for the eye of the nose to see someone walk across the room, frozen in time by their smell. But after a day smells crisscrossed and entangled. You had to take them apart, remove the familiar pieces, and what you had left— “They’re so mixed up!” “All right, all right,” said Carrot soothingly. “At least three people! But I think one of them is Ossie…It’s stronger round the bed…and…” She opened her eyes wide and looked down at the floor. “Somewhere here!” “What? What is?” Angua crouched down with her nose just above the floorboards. “I can smell it but I can’t see it!” A knife appeared in front of her. Carrot got down on his knees and ran the blade along the dust-filled crack between the floorboards. Something splintery and brown popped up. It had been trodden on and rolled underfoot, but at this distance even Carrot could pick up traces of the clove smell. “Do you think Ossie made a lot of apple pies?” he whispered. “No cookin’, remember?” said Angua, and grinned. “There’s something else…” Carrot levered out more dirt and dust. In it, something glittered. “Fred said all the glass was outside, didn’t he?” “Yes. ” “Well, supposing we assume that someone didn’t pick up all the bits when they broke in?” “For someone that doesn’t like lying, Carrot, you can be quite devious, you know?” “Just logical. There’s glass outside the window, but all that means is that there is glass outside the window. Commander Vimes always says there’re no such things as clues. It’s how you look at them. ” “You think someone broke in and then carefully put the glass outside?” “Could be. ” “Carrot? Why are we whispering?” “No wimmin, remember?” “And no pets,” said Angua. “So she’s got me coming and going. Don’t look like that,” she added, when she saw his face. “It’s only bad taste if someone else says it. I’m allowed. ” Carrot scratched up some more glass fragments. Angua looked under the bed and pulled out the battered magazines. “Ye gods, do people really read this stuff?” she said, flicking through Bows and Ammo. “‘Testing the Locksley Reflex 7: A Whole Lotta Bow’…‘Footsore! We test the Ten Best Caltrops!’…and what’s this magazine…? Warrior of Fortune ?” “There’s always little wars somewhere,” said Carrot, pulling out the box of money. “But will you look at the size of this ax here? ‘Get A Head, Get A Burleigh and Stronginthearm “Streetsweeper” And Win By A Neck!’ Well, it must be true what they say about men who like big weapons…” “And that is?” said Carrot, lifting the lid of the box. She looked at the top of his head. As always, Carrot radiated innocence like a small sun. But he’d…They’d… Surely he… “They, er…they’re rather small,” she said. “Oh, that’s true,” said Carrot, picking up some of the Klatchian coins. “Look at dwarfs. Never happier than with a chopper the same size as them. And Nobby’s fascinated by weapons and he’s practically dwarf-sized. ” “Er…” Technically, Angua was sure she knew Carrot better than anyone else. She was pretty sure he cared a lot for her. He seldom said so, he just assumed that she knew. She’d known other men, although turning into a wolf for part of the month was one of those little flaws that could put any normal man off and, up until Carrot, always had. And she knew the sort of things men said in what might be called the heat of the moment and then forgot. But when Carrot said things, you knew that he felt that everything was now settled until further notice, so if she made any comment he’d be genuinely surprised that she’d forgotten what it was he had said and would probably quote date and time. And yet all the time there was this feeling that the greater part of him was always deep, deep inside, looking out. No one could be so simple, no one could be so creatively dumb , without being very intelligent. It was like being an actor. Only a very good actor was any good at being a bad actor. “Rather a lonely person, our Nobby,” said Carrot. “Well, yes…” “But I’m sure he’ll find the right person for him,” Carrot added, cheerfully. Probably in a bottle, said Angua to herself. She remembered the conversation with him. It was a terrible thing to think, but there was something itchy about the thought of Nobby being allowed in the gene pool, even at the shallow end. “You know, these coins are odd,” said Carrot. “How do you mean?” said Angua, grateful for the distraction. “Why would he be paid in Klatchian wols ? He wouldn’t be able to spend them here, and the money changers don’t give very good rates. ” Carrot tossed a coin in the air and caught it. “When we were leaving, Mr. Vimes said to me, ‘Make sure you find the bunch of dates and the camel hidden under the pillow. ’ I think I know what he meant. ” “Sand on the floor,” said Angua. “Now, isn’t that an obvious clue? You can tell they were Klatchian because of the sand in their sandals!” “But these cloves…” Carrot prodded the little bud. “It’s not as if it’s a common habit, even among Klatchians. |
That’s not a very obvious clue, is it?” “It smells newer,” said Angua. “I’d say he was here last night. ” “ After Ossie was dead?” “Yes. ” “Why?” “How should I know? What kind of name is 71-hour Ahmed?” said Angua. Carrot shrugged. “I don’t know. I think Mr. Vimes thinks that someone in Ankh-Morpork wants us to believe that Klatchians paid to have the Prince killed. That sounds…nasty but logical. But I don’t understand why a real Klatchian would get involved…” Their eyes met. “Politics?” they said together. “For enough money, a lot of people would do anything ,” said Angua. There was a sudden and ferocious knocking at the door. “Have you got someone in there?” said Mrs. Spent. “Out of the window!” said Carrot. “Why don’t I just stay and rip her throat out?” said Angua. “All right, all right, it was a joke , all right?” she said, swinging her legs over the sill. Ankh-Morpork no longer had a fire brigade. The citizens had a rather disturbingly direct way of thinking at times, and it did not take long for people to see the rather obvious flaw in paying a group of people by the number of fires they put out. The penny really dropped shortly after Charcoal Tuesday. Since then they had relied on the good old principle of enlightened self-interest. People living close to a burning building did their best to douse the fire, because the thatch they saved might be their own. But the crowd watching the burning embassy were doing so in a hollow-eyed, distant way, as if it was all taking place on some distant planet. They moved aside automatically as Vimes elbowed his way through to the space in front of the gates. Flames were already licking from every ground-floor window, and they could make out scurrying silhouettes in the flickering light. He turned to the crowd. “Come on! What’s up with you? Get a bucket chain going!” “It’s their bloody embassy,” said a voice. “Yeah. ’s Klatchian soil, right?” “Can’t go on Klatchian soil. ” “That’d be an invasion , that would. ” “They wouldn’t let us,” said a small boy holding a bucket. Vimes looked at the embassy gateway. There were a couple of guards. Their worried glances kept going back from the fire behind them to the crowd in front. They were nervous men, but it was much worse than that, because they were nervous men holding big swords. He advanced on them, trying to smile and holding his badge out in front of him. It had a shield on it. It was not a very big shield. “Commander Vimes, Ankh-Morpork City Watch,” he said, in what he hoped was a helpful and friendly voice. A guard waved him away. “ H you be off!” “Ah…” said Vimes. He looked down at the cobbles of the gateway and then back up at the guard. Somewhere in the flames someone was screaming. “You! Come here! You see this?” he shouted at the guard, pointing down. The man took a hesitant step forward. “That’s Ankh-Morpork soil down there, my friend,” said Vimes. “And you’re standing on it and you’re obstructing me in my—” he rammed his fist as hard as he could into the guard’s stomach “—duty!” He was already kicking out as the other guard rushed him. He caught him on the knee. Something went click. It felt like Vimes’s own ankle. Cursing and limping slightly, he ran on into the embassy and caught a scurrying man by his robe. “Are there people still in there? Are there people in there?” The man gave Vimes a panicky look. The armfuls of paper he’d been carrying spilled on to the ground. Someone else grabbed his shoulder. “Can you climb, Mr. Vimes?” “Who’re—” The newcomer turned to the cowering paper-carrier and struck him heavily across the face. “Rescuer of paper!” As the man fell back his turban was snatched from his head. “This way!” The figure plunged off through the smoke. Vimes hurried after him until they reached a wall, with a drainpipe attached. “How did you—?” “Up! Up!” Vimes put one foot in the man’s cupped hands, managed to get the other one on a bracket, and forced himself upward. “Hurry!” He managed to half climb, half pull himself up the pipe, little fireworks of pain exploding up and down his legs as he reached a parapet and hauled himself over. The other man rose behind him as if he’d run up the wall. There was a strip of cloth hiding the lower half of his face. He thrust another strip toward Vimes. “Across your nose and mouth!” he commanded. “For the smoke!” It was boiling across the roof. Beside Vimes a chimneypot gushed a roaring tongue of flame. The rest of the unwound turban was thrust into his hands. “You take this side, I’ll take the other,” said the apparition, and darted away again into the smoke. “But wh—” Vimes could feel the heat through his boots. He edged away across the roof, and heard the shouting coming from below. When he leaned over the edge here he could see the window some way below him. Someone had smashed a pane, because a hand was waving. There was more commotion down in the courtyard. Amid a press of figures he could make out the huge shape of Constable Dorfl, a golem and quite definitely fireproof. But Dorfl was bad enough at stairs as it was. There weren’t many that could take the weight. The hand in the smoke stopped waving. Vimes looked down again. Can you fly, Mr. Vimes ? He looked at the chimney, belching flame. He looked at the unwound turban. A lot of Sam Vimes’s brain had shut down, although the bits relaying the twinges of pain from his legs were operating with distressing efficiency. But there were still some thoughts operating down around the core, and they delivered for his consideration the insight: … tough-looking cloth … He looked back at the chimney. It looked stout enough. The window was about six feet below. Vimes began to move automatically. So, purely theoretically, if a man were to wrap one end of the cloth round the belching stack like this and pay it out like this and lower himself over the parapet like this and kick himself away from the wall like this , then when he swung back again his feet ought to be able to smash his way through the other panes of the window, like this — A cart squeaked along the wet street. Its progress was erratic because no two of its wheels were the same size, so it rocked and wobbled and skidded and probably involved more effort to pull than it saved overall, especially since its contents appeared to be rubbish. But then, so did its owner. Who was about the size of a man, but bent almost double, and was covered with hair or rags or quite possibly a matted mixture of both that was so felted and unwashed that small plants had taken root on it. If the thing had stopped walking and crouched down, it would have given an astonishingly good impression of a long-neglected compost heap. As it walked along, it snuffled. A foot was stuck out to impede its progress. “Good evening, Stoolie,” said Carrot as the cart halted. The heap stopped. Part of it tilted upward. “Geroff,” it muttered, from somewhere in the thatch. “Now, now, Stoolie, let’s help one another, shall we? You help me, and I’ll help you. ” “B’g’r’ ’ff, c’p’r. ” “Well, you tell me things I want to know,” said Carrot, “and I won’t search your cart. ” “I hate gnolls,” said Angua. “They smell awful. ” “Oh, that’s hardly fair. The streets’d be a lot dirtier without you and yours, eh, Stoolie?” said Carrot, still speaking quite pleasantly. “You pick up this, you pick up that, maybe bash it against a wall until it stops struggling—” “’s a vile accur’cy,” said the gnoll. There was a bubbling noise that might have been a chuckle. “So I’m hearing you might know where Snowy Slopes is these days,” said Carrot. “D’nno n’thin’. ” “Fine. ” Carrot produced a three-tined garden fork and walked round to the cart, which dripped. “D’nno n’thin’ ab’t —” said the gnoll quickly. “Yes?” said Carrot, fork poised. “D’nno n’thin’ ab’t t’ sweetsh’p ’n M’ney Tr’p L’ne. ” “The one with the Rooms To Let sign?” “R’t. ” “Well done. Thank you for being a good citizen,” said Carrot. “Incidentally, we passed a dead seagull on the way here. It’s in Brewer Street. I bet if you hurried you could beat the rush. ” “H’t d’gg’ty,” snuffled the gnoll. |
The cart started to judder forward. The watchmen watched it lurch and scrape around the corner. “They’re good fellows at heart,” said Carrot. “I think it says a lot for the spirit of tolerance in this city that even gnolls can call it home. ” “They turn my stomach,” said Angua, as they set off again. “That one had plants growing on him!” “Mr. Vimes says we ought to do something for them,” said Carrot. “All heart, that man. ” “With a flamethrower, he says. ” “Wouldn’t work. Too soggy. Has anyone ever really found out what they eat?” “It’s better to think of them as…cleaners. You certainly don’t see as much rubbish and dead animals on the streets as you used to. ” “Yes, but have you ever seen a gnoll with a brush and shovel?” “Well, that’s society for you, I’m afraid,” said Carrot. “Everything is dumped on the people below until you find someone who’s prepared to eat it. That’s what Mr. Vimes says. ” “Yes,” said Angua. They walked in silence for a while, and then she said, “You care a lot about what Mr. Vimes says, don’t you…?” “He is a fine officer and an example to us all. ” “And…you’ve never thought of getting a job in Quirm or somewhere, have you? The other cities are headhunting Ankh-Morpork watchmen now. ” “What, leave Ankh-Morpork?” The tone of voice included the answer. “No…I suppose not,” said Angua sadly. “Anyway, I don’t know what Mr. Vimes would do without me running around all the time. ” “It’s a point of view, certainly,” said Angua. It wasn’t far to Money Trap Lane. It was in a ghetto of what Lord Rust would probably call “skilled artisans,” the people too low down the social scale to be movers and shakers but slightly too high to be easily moved or shook. The sanders and polishers, generally. The people who hadn’t got very much but were proud even of that. There were little clues. Shiny house numbers, for a start. And, on the walls of houses that were effectively just one long continuous row, after centuries of building and inbuilding, very careful boundaries in the paint where people had brushed up to the very border of their property and not a gnat’s blink to each side. Carrot always said it showed the people were the kind who instinctively realized that civilization was based on a shared respect for ownership; Angua thought they were just tight little bastards who’d sell you the time of day. Carrot walked noiselessly down the alley beside the sweetshop. There was a rough wooden staircase going up to the first floor. He pointed silently to the midden below it. It seemed to consist almost entirely of bottles. “Big drinker?” Angua mouthed. Carrot shook his head. She crouched down and looked at the labels, but her nose was already giving her a hint. Dibbler’s Homoeopathic Shampoo. Mere and Stingbat’s Herbal Wash—with Herbs! Rinse ’n’ Run Scalp Tonic—with Extra Herbs !… There were others. Herbs, she thought. Chuck a handful of weeds in the pot and you’ve got herbs… Carrot was starting up the stairs when she put her hand on his shoulder. There was another smell. It was one that drove through all the other scents of the streets like a spear. It was one that a werewolf’s nose is particularly attuned to. He nodded and went carefully to the door. Then he pointed down. There was a stain under the gap. Carrot drew his sword and kicked the door open. Daceyville Slopes hadn’t taken his condition lightly. Bottles of all shapes and colors occupied most flat surfaces, giving testimony to the alchemist’s art and humanity’s optimism. The suds of his latest experiment were still in a bowl on the table, and his body on the floor had a towel around his neck. The watchmen looked down at it. Snowy had cleaned, washed and gone. “I think we can say life is extinct,” said Carrot. “Yuk,” said Angua. She grabbed the open shampoo bottle and sniffed deeply. The sickly scent of marinated herbs assailed her sinuses, but anything was better than the sharp, beguiling smell of blood. “I wonder where his head is at?” said Carrot, in a determinedly matter-of-fact voice. “Oh, it’s rolled over there…What’s the horrible smell?” “This!” Angua flourished the shampoo. “Four dollars a bottle, it says. Sheesh!” Angua took another deep sniff at the herbal goo, to drown out the call of the wolf. “Doesn’t look as if they stole anything,” said Carrot. “Unless they were very neat—What’s the matter?” “Don’t ask!” She managed to get a window open and sucked down great draughts of comparatively fresh air, while Carrot went through the corpse’s pockets. “Er…you can’t tell if there’s a clove around, can you?” he said. “Carrot! Please! This is a room with blood all over the floor! Have you any idea ? Excuse me…” She rushed out and down the steps. The alley had the generic smell of all alleys everywhere, overlaid on the basic all-embracing smell of the city. But at least it didn’t make your hair grow and your teeth try to lengthen. She leaned against the wall and fought for control. Shampoo? She could have saved Snowy a hell of a lot of money with just one careful bite. Then he’d know all about a really bad hair day… Carrot came down a couple of minutes later, locking the door behind him. “Are you feeling better?” “A bit…” “There was something else,” said Carrot, looking thoughtful. “I think he wrote a note before he died. But it’s all rather odd. ” He waved in the air what looked like a cheap notepad. “This needs careful looking at. ” He shook his head. “Poor old Snowy. ” “He was a killer!” “Yes, but that’s a nasty way to die. ” “Decapitation? With a very sharp sword, by the look of it. I can think of worse. ” “Yes, but I can’t help thinking that if only the chap had better hair or had found the right shampoo at an early age he’d have led a different life…” “Well, at least he won’t have to worry about dandruff any more. ” “That was a little tasteless. ” “Sorry, but you know how blood makes me tense. ” “ Your hair always looks amazing,” said Carrot, changing the subject with, Angua thought, unusual tact. “I don’t know what you use, but it’s a shame he never tried it. ” “I doubt if he went to the right shop,” said Angua. “It says ‘For a Glossy Coat’ on the bottles I usually buy—What’s the matter?” “Can you smell smoke?” said Carrot. “Carrot, it’s going to be five minutes before I can smell anything except—” But he was staring past her, at the big red glow in the sky. Vimes coughed. And then coughed some more. And eventually opened his streaming eyes in the confident expectation of seeing his own lungs in front of him. “Glass of water, Mr. Vimes?” Vimes peered through the tears at the shifting shape of Fred Colon. “Thanks, Fred. What’s the horrible burning smell?” “It’s you, sir. ” Vimes was sitting on a low wall outside the wreck of the embassy. Cool air washed around him. He felt like underdone beef. The heat was radiating off him. “You was passed on for a while there, sir,” said Sergeant Colon helpfully. “But everyone saw you swing in that window, sir! And you threw that woman out for Detritus to catch! That’ll be a feather in your cap and no mistake, sir! I bet the ragh—I bet the Klatchians’ll be giving you the Order of the Camel or something for this night’s work, sir!” Colon beamed, bursting with pride by association. “A feather in my cap…” murmured Vimes. He undid his helmet and with a certain amount of exhausted delight saw that every single plume had been burned to a stub. He blinked slowly. “What about the man, Fred? Did he get out?” “What man?” “There was…” Vimes blinked again. Various parts of his body, aware that he hadn’t been taking calls, were ringing in to complain. There had been… some man? Vimes had landed on a bed or something, and there was a woman clutching at him, and he had smashed out what was left of the window, seen the big, broad and above all strong arms of Detritus down below, and had thrown her out as politely as the circumstances allowed. |
Then the man from the roof had come out of the smoke again, carrying another figure over his shoulder, screamed something at him and beckoned him to follow and … … then the floor had given way … “There were…two other people in there,” he said, coughing again. “They didn’t get out the front way, then,” said Colon. “How did I get out?” said Vimes. “Oh, Dorfl was stamping on the fire down below, sir. Very handy, a ceramic constable. You landed right on him, so of course he stopped what he was doing and brought you out. ’s gonna be handshakes and buns all round in the morning, sir!” There weren’t any right now, Vimes noted. There were still plenty of people around, carrying bundles, putting out small fires, arguing with one another…but there was a big hole where congratulating-the-hero-of-the-hour should have been. “Oh, everyone’s always a bit preoccupied after something like this, sir,” said Colon, as if reading his thoughts. “I think I’ll have a nice cold bath,” said Vimes, to the world in general. “And then some sleep. Sybil’s got some wonderful ointment for burns…Ah, hello, you two. ” “We saw the fire—” Carrot began, running up. “Is it all over?” “Mr. Vimes saved the day!” said Sergeant Colon excitedly. “Just went straight in and saved everyone, in the finest tradition of the Watch!” “Fred?” said Vimes, wearily. “Yessir?” “Fred, the finest tradition of the Watch is having a quiet smoke somewhere out of the wind at three a. m. Let’s not get carried away, eh?” Colon looked crestfallen. “Well—” he began. Vimes staggered to his feet and patted his sergeant on the back. “Oh, all right, it’s a tradition,” he conceded. “You can do the next one, Fred. And now,” he steadied himself as he stood up, “I’m going down to the Yard to write my report. ” “You’re covered in ash and you’re swaying,” said Carrot. “I should just get on home, sir. ” “Oh no,” said Vimes. “Got to do the paperwork. Anyone know the time?” “Bingeley-bingeley beep!” said a cheerful voice from his pocket. “Damn!” said Vimes, but it was too late. “It is,” said the voice, which had the squeaky friendly quality that begs to be strangled, “about…nineish. ” “Nineish?” “Yep. Nineish. Precisely about nineish. ” Vimes rolled his eyes. “ Precisely about nineish?” he said, pulling a small box out of his pocket and opening the lid. The demon inside gave him an angry look. “Yesterday you said ,” it said, “that if I, and I quote, Didn’t Stop all that Eight Fifty-Six and Six Seconds Precisely business I Would Be Looking at a Hammer From Below. And when I said, Mr. Insert Name Here, that this would invalidate my warranty, you said that I could take my warranty and—” “I thought you’d lost that thing,” said Carrot. “Hah,” said the Dis-organizer, “really? You thought he did? I don’t call putting something in your trouser pockets just before they go into the wash losing it. ” “That was an accident,” muttered Vimes. “Oh? Oh? And dropping me in the dragon’s feeding bowl, that was accidental, too, was it?” The demon mumbled to itself for a moment and then said, “Anyway, do you want to know your appointments for this evening?” Vimes looked at the smoldering wreckage of the embassy. “Do tell,” he said. “You don’t have any,” said the demon sulkily. “You haven’t told me any. ” “You see?” said Vimes. “ That’s what drives me livid! Why should I have to tell you ? Why didn’t you tell me , ‘Eightish: break up riot at Mundane Meals and stop Detritus shooting people,’ eh?” “You didn’t tell me to tell you!” “I didn’t know ! And that’s how real life works! How can I tell you to warn me about things that no one knows are going to happen? If you were any good, that’d be your job!” “He writes in the manual,” said the demon nastily. “Did you know that, everybody? He writes in the manual. ” “Well, of course I make notes—” “He’s actually sneakily trying to keep his diary in the manual so his wife won’t find out he’s never bothered to learn how to use me,” said the demon. “What about the Vimes manual, then?” snapped Vimes. “I notice you’ve never bothered to learn how to use me !” The demon hesitated. “Humans come with a manual?” it said. “It’d be a damn good idea!” said Vimes. “True,” murmured Angua. “It could say things like ‘Chapter One: Bingeley-bingeley beep and other damn fool things to spring on people at six in the morning,’” said Vimes, his eyes wild. “And ‘Troubleshooting: my owner keeps trying to drop me in the privy, what am I doing wrong?’ And—” Carrot patted him gently on the back. “I should sign off now, sir,” he said gently. “It’s been a busy few days. ” Vimes rubbed his forehead. “I daresay I could do with a rest,” he said. “Come on, there’s nothing more to see here. Let’s go home. ” “I thought you said you weren’t going—” Carrot began, but Vimes’s mind was already scolding him. “I meant the Yard, of course,” he said. “I’ll go home afterward. ” A ball of lamplight floated through the Ramkin library, drifting across the shelves of huge, leather-bound books. Many of them had never been read, Sybil knew. Various ancestors had simply ordered them from the engravers and put them on the shelves, because a library was something you had to have, don’tcher-know, like a stableyard and a servants’ wing and some ghastly landscaping mistake created by “Bloody Stupid” Johnson, although in the latter case her grandfather had shot the man before he could do any real damage. She held the lamp higher. Ramkins looked down their noses at her from their frames, through the brown varnish of the centuries. Portraits were another thing that had been collected out of unregarded habit. Most of them were of men. They were invariably in armor and always on horseback. And every single one of them had fought the sworn enemies of Ankh-Morpork. In recent times this had been quite difficult and her grandfather, for example, had to lead an expedition all the way to Howondaland in order to find some sworn enemies, although there was an adequate supply and a lot of swearing by the time he left. Earlier, of course, it had been a lot easier. Ramkin regiments had fought the city’s enemies all over the Sto Plains and had inflicted heroic casualties, quite often on people in the opposing armies. * There were a few women among the sitters, none of them holding anything heavier than a glove or a small pet dragon. Their job had largely been to roll bandages and await the return of their husbands with, she liked to think, resolution and fortitude and a general hope that said husbands would return with as many of their bits as possible. The point was, though, that they never thought about it. There was a war, and off they went. If there wasn’t a war, they looked for one. They didn’t even use words like “duty. ” It was all built in at bone level. She sighed. It was all so difficult these days, and Lady Sybil came from a class that was not used to difficulty, or at least the kind that couldn’t be sorted out by shouting at a servant. Five hundred years ago one of her ancestors had cut off a Klatchian’s head in battle and had brought it home on a pole, and no one thought any the worse of him, given what the Klatchians would have cut off if they’d caught him. That seemed straightforward. You fought them, they fought you, everyone knew the rules, and if you got your head cut off you jolly well didn’t blub about it afterward. Certainly, things were better now. But they were just…more difficult. And of course some of those antique husbands were away for months or years at a time, and for them wives and families were pretty much like the library and stableyard and the Johnson Exploding Pagoda. You got them sorted out and then didn’t think much about it. At least Sam was home every day. Well, most days. Every night, anyway. Well…part of most nights, certainly. At least they ate meals together. Well, most meals. Well, at least they made a start on most meals. Well, at least she knew he was never very far away, just somewhere where he was trying to do too much and run too fast and people were trying to kill him. All in all, she considered, she was jolly lucky. |
Vimes stared at Carrot, who was standing in front of his desk. “So what does all that add up to?” he said. “The man we know didn’t get the Prince is dead. The man who probably did …is dead. Someone tried very clumsily to make it look as if Ossie was paid by the Klatchians. Okay, I can see why someone might want to do that. That’s what Fred calls politics. They get Snowy to do the real business, and he helps poor dumb Ossie who’s there to take the fall, and then the Watch proves that Ossie was in the pay of the Klatchians and that’s another reason for fighting. And Snowy just slopes off. Only someone cured his dandruff for him. ” “ After he’d written something, sir,” said Carrot. “Ah…yes. ” Vimes looked at the notepad retrieved from Snowy’s room. It was a crude affair, the wads of mismatched bits of scrap that the engravers sold off cheaply. He sniffed at it. “Soap on the edges,” he said. “His new shampoo,” said Carrot. “First time he’d used it. ” “How do you know?” “We looked at all the bottles on the heap, sir. ” “Hmm. Looks like fresh blood here, at the spine, where they’re stitched together…” “His, sir,” said Angua. Vimes nodded. You never argued with Angua about blood. “But none of the actual pages have blood on them…” said Vimes. “Which is a bit odd. Messy business, decapitation. People tend to…spray. So the top page—” “—has been taken away, sir,” said Carrot, grinning and nodding. “But that’s not the funny part, sir. See if you can guess, sir!” Vimes glared at him and then moved the lamp closer. “Very faint impression of writing on the top page…” he muttered. “Can’t make it out…” “We can’t either, sir. We know he wrote in pencil, sir. There was one on the table. ” “ Very faint traces,” said Vimes. “Blokes like Snowy write as though they’re chipping stone. ” He flicked the notebook. “Someone tore out…not just the page he’d written on but several below it as well. ” “Clever, eh, sir? Everyone knows—” “—you can read the suspicious note by looking at the marks on the page below,” said Vimes. He tossed the book on to the table again. “Hmm. There’s a message there, yes…” “Perhaps he was blackmailing whoever’s behind all this?” said Angua. “That’s not his style,” said Vimes. “No, what I meant was—” There was a knock on the door, and Fred Colon entered. “Brung you a mug of coffee,” he said, “and there’s a bunch of wo—Klatchians to see you downstairs, Mr. Vimes. Probably come to give you a medal and gabble at you in their lingo. And if you’re on for late supper, Mrs. Goriff’s doing goat and rice and foreign gravy. ” “I suppose I’d better go down and see them,” said Vimes. “But I haven’t even had time for a wash—” “That’s evidence of your heroic endeavors,” said Colon stoutly. “Oh, all right. ” Unease began about halfway down the stairs. Vimes had never run into a group of citizens wishing to give him a medal and so he did not have a lot of experience on this score, but the group waiting for him in a tight cluster near the sergeant’s desk did not look like a committee of welcome. They were Klatchian. At least, they were wearing foreign-looking clothes and one or two of them had caught more sun than you generally got in Ankh-Morpork. The feeling crept over Vimes that Klatch was a very big place in which his city and the whole of the Sto Plains would be lost, and so there must be room in it for all kinds of peoples, including this short chap in the red fez who was practically vibrating with indignation. “Are you the man Vimes?” the enfezzed one demanded. “Well, I’m Commander Vimes—” “We demand the release of the Goriff family! And we won’t take any excuses!” Vimes blinked. “Release?” “You have locked them up! And confiscated their shop!” Vimes stared at the man, and then he looked across the room at Sergeant Detritus. “Where did you put the family, sergeant?” Detritus saluted. “In der cells, sir. ” “Aha!” said the man in the fez. “You admit it!” “Excuse me, who are you?” said Vimes, blinking with tiredness. “I don’t have to tell you and you can’t beat it out of me!” said the man, sticking out his chest. “Oh, thank you for telling me,” said Vimes. “I do hate wasted effort. ” “Oh, hello, Mr. Wazir,” said Carrot, appearing behind Vimes. “Did you get the note about that book?” There was one of those silences that happen when everyone has to reprogram their faces. Then Vimes said, “What?” “Mr. Wazir sells books in Widdy Street,” said Carrot. “Only I asked him for some books on Klatch, you see, and one of the ones he gave me was The Perfumed Allotment, or, The Garden of Delights. And I didn’t mind because the Klatchians invented gardens, sir, so I thought it might be a very useful cultural insight. Get inside the Klatchian mind, as it were. Only it, er, it…er…well, it wasn’t about gardening…er…” He started to blush. “Yes, yes, all right, bring it back if you like,” said Mr. Wazir, looking a little derailed. “I just thought you ought to know in case you hadn’t…in case you sold…well…it could shock the impressionable, you know, a book like that…” “Yes, fine—” “Corporal Angua was so shocked she couldn’t stop laughing,” Carrot went on. “I will have your money sent round directly,” said Wazir. His expression turned vengeful again. He glared at Vimes. “Books are unimportant at this time! We demand you release my countrymen now!” “Detritus, why the hell did you put them in the cells?” said Vimes wearily. “What else we got, sir? Dey’re not locked in and dey got clean blankets. ” “There’s your explanation,” said Vimes. “They’re our guests. ” “In the cells!” said Wazir, relishing the word. “They’re free to go whenever they like,” said Vimes. “I’m sure they are now ,” said Wazir, contriving to indicate that only his arrival had prevented officially sanctioned bloodshed. “You can be sure the Patrician will hear about this!” “He hears about everything else,” said Vimes. “But if they leave here, who is going to protect them?” “We are! Their fellow countrymen!” “How?” Wazir almost stood to attention. “By force of arms, if necessary. ” “Oh, good ,” said Vimes. “Then there’ll be two mobs—” “Bingeley-bingeley beep!” “ Damn !” Vimes slapped at his pocket. “I don’t want to know I haven’t got any appointments!” “You have one at eleven pee em. The Rats Chamber, at the palace,” said the Dis-organizer. “Don’t be stupid!” “Please yourself. ” “And shut up. ” “I was just trying to help. ” “Shut up. ” Vimes turned back to the Klatchian bookseller. “Mr. Wazir, if Goriff wants to leave with you, we won’t stop him—” “Aha! You may well try!” Vimes told himself that there was no reason at all why a Klatchian couldn’t be a pompous little troublemaker. But he felt uneasy about it, like a man edging along the side of a very deep crevasse. “Sergeant Colon?” “Yessir!” “See to this, will you?” “Yessir!” “Diplomatically. ” “Right, sir!” Colon tapped the side of his nose. “Is this politics, sir?” “Just…just go and fetch the Goriff family and they can…” Vimes waved a hand vaguely. “They can do whatever they like. ” He turned and walked up the stairs. “Someone has to protect my people’s rights!” shouted Wazir. They heard Vimes stop halfway up the stairs. The board creaked under his weight for a second. Then he continued upward, and several of the watchmen started breathing again. Vimes shut his office door behind him. Politics ! He sat down and scrabbled through the papers. It was much easier to think about crime. Give him good honest crime any time. He tried to shut out the outside world. Someone had beheaded Snowy Slopes. That was a fact. You couldn’t put it down to a shaving accident, or unreasonably strong shampoo. And Snowy had attempted to shoot the Prince. And so had Ossie, but Ossie only thought he was an assassin. Everyone else thought he was a weird little twerp who was as impressionable as wet clay. A lovely idea, though. You used a real murderer, a nice quiet professional, and then you had—Vimes smiled grimly—someone else to take the fall. And if he hadn’t taken a less metaphorical fall the poor twisted little sod would have believed he was the murderer. |
And the Watch was supposed to believe it was a Klatchian plot. Sand in their sandals…The nerve of it! Did they think he was stupid? He wished Fred had carefully swept up the sand, because he was damn well going to find out who’d put it there and they were going to eat it. Someone wanted Vimes to chase Klatchians. The man on the burning roof. Did he fit in? Did he have to fit in? What could Vimes recall? A man in a robe, his face hidden. And a voice of a man not just used to giving commands— Vimes was used to giving commands—but also used to having commands obeyed, whereas a member of the Watch treated orders as suggestions. But some things didn’t have to fit. That was where “clues” let you down. And the damn notebook. That was the oddest thing yet. So someone had carefully ripped out several pages after Snowy had written whatever he’d written. Someone bright enough to know the trick of looking at the pages underneath for faint impressions. So why not pinch the whole pad? It was all too complicated. But somewhere was the one thing that’d make it simple, that would turn it all into sense— He flung down his pencil and wrenched open the door to the stairs. “What the hell’s all this noise?” he yelled. Sergeant Colon was halfway up the stairs. “It was Mr. Goriff and Mr. Wazir having a bit of what you might call an argy-bargy, sir. Someone set fire to someone else’s country two hundred years ago, Carrot says. ” “What, just now ?” “’s all Klatchian to me, sir. Anyway, Wazir’s gone off with his nose in a sling. ” “Wazir comes from Smale, you see,” said Carrot. “And Mr. Gorriff comes from Elharib, and the two countries only stopped fighting ten years ago. Religious differences. ” “Run out of weapons?” said Vimes. “Ran out of rocks, sir. They ran out of weapons last century. ” Vimes shook his head. “That always chews me up,” he said. “People killing one another just because their gods have squabbled—” “Oh, they’ve got the same god, sir. Apparently it’s over a word in their holy book, sir. The Elharibians say it translates as ‘god’ and the Smalies say it’s ‘man. ’” “How can you mix them up?” “Well, there’s only one tiny dot difference in the script, you see. And some people reckon it’s only a bit of fly dirt in any case. ” “Centuries of war because a fly crapped in the wrong place?” “It could have been worse,” said Carrot. “If it had been slightly to the left the word would have been ‘liquorice. ’” Vimes shook his head. Carrot was good at picking up this sort of thing. And I know how to ask for vindaloo, he thought. And it turns out that’s just a Klatchian word meaning “mouth-scalding gristle for macho foreign idiots. ” “I wish we understood more about Klatch,” he said. Sergeant Colon tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. “Know the enemy, eh, sir?” he said. “Oh, I know the enemy ,” said Vimes. “It’s Klatchians I want to find out about. ” “Commander Vimes?” The watchmen looked round. Vimes narrowed his eyes. “You’re one of Rust’s men, aren’t you?” The young man saluted. “Lieutenant Hornett, sir. ” He hesitated. “Er…his lordship has sent me to ask you if you and your senior officers would be so good as to come to the palace at your convenience, sir. ” “Really? Those were his words?” The lieutenant decided that honesty was the only policy. “In fact he said, ‘Get Vimes and his mob up here right now,’ sir. ” “Oh, did he?” said Vimes. “Bingeley-bingeley beep!” said a small triumphant voice from his pocket. “The time is eleven pee em precisely!” The door opened before Nobby knocked, and a small stout woman glared out at him. “Yes, I am!” she snapped. Nobby stood with his hand still raised. “Er…are you Mrs. Cake?” he said. “Yes, but I don’t hold with doing it except for money. ” Nobby’s hand did not move. “Er…you can tell the future, right?” said Nobby. They stared at one another. Then Mrs. Cake thumped her own ear a couple of times, and blinked. “Drat! Left my precognition on again. ” Her gaze unfocused for a moment as she replayed the recent conversation in the privacy of her head. “I think we’re sorted out,” she said. She looked at Nobby and sniffed. “You’d better come in. Mind the carpet, it’s just been washed. And I can only give you ten minutes ’cos I’ve got cabbage boilin. ” She led Corporal Nobbs into her tiny front room. A lot of it was occupied by a round table covered with a green cloth. There was a crystal ball on the table, not very well covered by a pink knitted lady in a crinoline dress. Mrs. Cake motioned Nobby to sit down. He obediently did so. The smell of cabbage drifted through the room. “A bloke in the pub told me about you,” Nobby mumbled. “Said you do mediuming. ” “Would you care to tell me your problem?” said Mrs. Cake. She looked at Nobby again and, in a state of certainty that had nothing to do with precognition and everything to do with observation, added: “That is, which of your problems do you want to know about?” Nobby coughed. “Er…it’s a bit…you know…intimate. Affairs of the heart, sort of thing. ” “Are women involved?” said Mrs. Cake cautiously. “Er…I hope so. What else is there?” Mrs. Cake visibly relaxed. “I just want to know if I’m going to meet any,” Nobby went on. “I see. ” Mrs. Cake gave a kind of facial shrug. It wasn’t up to her to tell people how to waste their money. “Well, there’s the tenpenny future. That’s what you see. And there’s the ten-dollar future. That’s what you get. ” “Ten dollars? That’s more’n a week’s pay! I’d better take the tenpenny one. ” “A very wise choice,” said Mrs. Cake. “Give me your paw. ” “Hand,” said Nobby. “That’s what I said. ” Mrs. Cake examined Nobby’s outstretched palm while taking care not to touch it. “Are you going to moan and roll your eyes and stuff?” said Nobby, a man out to get his tenpenn’orth. “I don’t have to take cheek,” said Mrs. Cake, without looking up. “That sort of—” She peered closer, and then gave Nobby a sharp look. “Have you been playing with this hand?” “Pardon?” Mrs. Cake whipped the crinoline lady off the crystal and glared into the depths. After a while she shook her head. “I don’t know, I’m sure…oh, well. ” She cleared her throat and spoke in a more sibylic voice. “Mr. Nobbs, I see you surrounded by dusky ladies in a hot place. Looks a bit foreign to me. They’re laughing and chatting with you…in fact, one of them’s just handed you a drink…” “None of ’em are shouting or anything?” said Nobby, mystified. “Doesn’t look like it,” said Mrs. Cake, equally fascinated. “They seem quite happy. ” “You can’t see any…magnets?” “What’re they?” “Dunno,” Nobby admitted. “I ’spect you’d know ’em if you saw ’em. ” Mrs. Cake, despite a certain rigidity of character, couldn’t help but be aware of a drift in Nobby’s speculation. “Some of the ladies look…nubile,” she hinted. “Ah, right,” said Nobby, his expression not changing in any way. “If you understand what I mean…” “Right. Yes. Nubile. Right. ” Mrs. Cake gave up. Nobby counted out ten pennies. “And that’ll be soon, will it?” said Nobby. “Oh yes. I can’t see very far for tenpence. ” “Happy young ladies…” mused Nobby. “Nubile, too. Definitely something to think about. ” After he’d gone, Mrs. Cake went back to her crystal and sneaked a whole ten dollars’ worth of precognition for her own curiosity and satisfaction, and laughed about it all afternoon. Vimes was only half surprised when the doors to the Rats Chamber opened and there, sitting at the head of the table, was Lord Rust. The Patrician wasn’t there. He was half surprised. That is, at a certain shallow level he thought, that’s odd, I thought you couldn’t budge the man with a siege weapon. But at a dark level, where the daylight seldom penetrated, he thought: of course. At a time like this men like Rust rise to the top. It’s like stirring a swamp with a stick. Really big bubbles are suddenly on the surface and there’s a bad smell about everything. Nevertheless, he saluted and said: “Lord Vetinari on his holidays, then?” “Lord Vetinari stepped down this evening, Vimes,” said Lord Rust. “Pro tem, of course. Just for the duration of the emergency. ” “Really?” said Vimes. |
“Yes. And I have to say that he anticipated a certain…cynicism on your part, commander, and therefore asked me to give you this letter. You will see that it is sealed with his seal. ” Vimes looked at the envelope. There was certainly the official seal in the wax, but— He met Lord Rust’s gaze and at least that suspicion faded. Rust wouldn’t try a trick like that. Men like Rust had a moral code of sorts, and some things weren’t honorable. You could own a street of crowded houses where people lived like cockroaches and the cockroaches lived like kings and that was perfectly okay, but Rust would probably die before he’d descend to forgery. “I see, sir,” said Vimes. “You wanted me?” “Commander Vimes, I must ask you to take the Klatchians resident in the city into custody. ” “On what charge, sir?” “Commander, we are on the verge of war with Klatch. Surely you understand?” “No, sir. ” “We are talking about spying, commander. Sabotage, even,” said Lord Rust. “To be frank…the city is to be placed under martial law. ” “Yessir? What kind of law’s that, sir?” said Vimes, staring straight ahead. “You know very well, Vimes. ” “Is it the kind where you shout ‘Stop!’ before you fire, sir, or the other kind?” “Ah. I see. ” Rust stood up and leaned forward. “It pleased you to be… smart with Lord Vetinari, and for some reason he indulged you,” he said. “I, on the other hand, know your type. ” “My type?” “It seems to me that the streets are full of crimes, commander. Unlicensed begging, public nuisances…but you seem to turn a blind eye, you seem to think you should have bigger ideas. But you are not required to have big ideas, commander. You are a thief-taker, nothing more. Are you eyeballing me, Vimes?” “I was trying not to turn a blind eye, sir. ” “You seem to feel, Vimes, that the law is some kind of big glowing light in the sky which is not subject to control. And you are wrong. The law is what we tell it to be. I’m not going to add ‘Do you understand?’ because I know you understand and I am not going to try to reason with you. I know a rank bad hat when I see one. ” “Bad hat?” said Vimes weakly. “Commander Vimes,” he said, “I had hoped to avoid this, but the last few days point to a succession of astonishing judgemental errors on your part. The Prince Khufurah was shot, and you seemed helpless to prevent this or find the criminal responsible. Mobs appear to run around the city unimpeded, I gather that one of your sergeants proposed to shoot innocent people in the head, and we have just heard that you took it upon yourself to arrest an innocent businessman and lock him in the cells for no reason at all. ” Vimes heard Colon gasp. But it sounded a long way off. He could feel everything crumbling under him, but his mind seemed to be flying now, flapping through a pink sky where nothing mattered very much. “Oh, I don’t know about that, sir,” he said. “He was guilty of repeatedly being Klatchian, wasn’t he? Don’t you want me to do that to all of ’em?” “ And if this was not enough ,” Rust went on, “we are told, and in other circumstances I would find this very hard to believe, even of a counter-jumper like you, that earlier tonight you, being quite unprovoked, assaulted two Klatchian guards, trespassed on Klatchian soil, entered the women’s quarters, abducted two Klatchians from their beds, ordered the destruction of Klatchian property and…well, frankly, acted quite disgracefully. ” What is the point of arguing? Vimes thought. Why play cards with a shaved deck? And yet— “Two Klatchians, sir?” “It seems Prince Khufurah has been kidnapped, Vimes. I find it hard to believe that even you would attempt that, but the Klatchians seem to be suggesting this. You were seen entering their property illegally. And you appear to have dragged a helpless lady from her bed. What have you got to say about that?” “It was on fire at the time, sir. ” Lieutenant Hornett stepped forward and whispered something. Lord Rust subsided a bit. “All right. Very well. There were perhaps mitigating circumstances, but politically it was a most ill-advised action, Vimes. I cannot pretend to know what has happened to the Prince, but frankly you seem to have taken a positive delight in making matters worse. ” Can you climb, Mr. Vimes ? Vimes said nothing. The other man had been carrying something bulky over his shoulder… “You are removed from authority, commander. And the Watch will come under the direct command of this council. Is that understood?” Rust turned to Carrot. “Captain Carrot, many of us here have heard…good reports about you, and by due authority I hereby appoint you acting Commander of the Watch—” Vimes shut his eyes. Carrot saluted smartly. “No! Sir!” Vimes opened his eyes wide. “Really?” Rust stared at Carrot for a few moments, and then gave a little shrug. “Ah, well…loyalty is a fine thing. Sergeant Colon?” “Sir!” “In the circumstances, and since you are the most experienced noncommissioned officer and have an exemp—and have a military record, you will take command of the Watch for the duration of the…emergency. ” “Nossir!” “That was an instruction, sergeant. ” Beads of sweat began to form on Colon’s brow. “Nossir!” “ Sergeant !” “You can put it where the sun does not shine, sir!” said Colon desperately. Once again, Vimes saw Rust’s milky-blue stare. Rust never looked surprised. And since he knew that a mere sergeant would never dare offer cheeky defiance, he erased Sergeant Colon from the immediate universe. The gaze turned briefly to Detritus. And he doesn’t know how to speak to a troll, Vimes thought. And he was once again impressed, in the same dark way, by the manner in which Rust dealt with the problem. He dealt with it by making it not be there. “Who is the senior corporal in the Watch, Sir Samuel?” “That would be Corporal Nobbs. ” The committee went into a huddle. There was a rush of whispering, in which the words “—an absolute little tit —” could be heard several times. Finally Rust looked up again. “And the next in seniority?” “Let me see…that would be Corporal Stronginthearm,” said Vimes. He felt oddly light-headed. “Perhaps he is a man who can take orders. ” “He’s a dwarf, you idiot!” Not a muscle moved on Rust’s face. There was a clink as Vimes’s badge was set neatly on the table. “I don’t have to take this,” Vimes said calmly. “Oh, so you’d rather be a civilian, would you?” “ A watchman is a civilian, you inbred streak of piss !” Rust’s brain erased the sounds that his ears could not possibly have heard. “And the keys to the armory, Sir Samuel,” he said. They jangled as they landed on the table. “And do the rest of you have any empty gestures to make?” said Lord Rust. Sergeant Colon took his grimy badge out of his pocket and was a little disappointed that it didn’t make a defiant tinkle when he threw it on the table but instead bounced and smashed the water jug. “I got my badge carved on my arm,” Detritus rumbled. “Someone c’n try an’ take it off if dey likes. ” Carrot laid his badge down very carefully. Rust raised his eyebrows. “You too, captain?” “Yes, sir. ” “I would have thought that you at least—” He stopped and looked up in annoyance as the doors opened. A couple of the palace guards ran in, with a group of Klatchians behind them. The council got to their feet in a hurry. Vimes recognized the Klatchian in the center of the group. He’d seen him around at official functions and, if it hadn’t been for the fact that the man was a Klatchian, would have marked him down as a shifty piece of work. “Who’s he?” he whispered to Carrot. “Prince Kalif. He’s the deputy ambassador. ” “Another prince?” The man came to a halt in front of the table, glanced at Vimes with no show of recognition and bowed to Lord Rust. “Prince Kalif,” said Lord Rust. “Your arrival is unannounced but nevertheless—” “I have grave news, my lord. ” Even in his stunned state, a part of Vimes registered that the voice was different. Khufurah had learned his second language on the street, but this one had had tutors. “At a time like this, what news isn’t?” said Rust. |
“There have been developments on the new land. Regrettable incidents. And indeed in Ankh-Morpork, too. ” He glanced at Vimes again. “Although here, I must say, reports are confused. Lord Rust, I have to tell you we are, technically, at war. ” “ Technically at war?” said Vimes. “I am afraid events are carrying us forward,” said Kalif. “The situation is delicate. ” They know they’re going to fight, Vimes thought. This is just like the start of a dance, where you hang around looking at your partner… “I must tell you that you are being given twelve hours to remove all your citizens from Leshp,” said Kalif. “If that is done, matters will be happily resolved. For the present. ” “Our response is that you have twelve hours to quit Leshp,” said Rust. “If that is not done, then we will take…steps…” Kalif bowed slightly. “We understand one another. A formal document will be with you shortly and, no doubt, we will be receiving one from you. ” “Indeed. ” “Here, hang on, you can’t just—” Vimes began. “Sir Samuel, you are no longer Commander of the Watch and you have no place at these proceedings,” said Rust sharply. He turned back to the Prince. “It is unfortunate that things have come to this,” he said stiffly. “Indeed. But there comes a time when words are no longer sufficient. ” “I must agree with you. And then it is time to test one’s strength. ” Vimes stared in fascinated horror from one face to the other. “We will, of course, allow you time to quit your embassy. Such of it as remains. ” “So kind. And of course we will extend to you the same courtesy. ” Kalif bowed slightly. So did Rust. “After all, just because our countries are at war is no reason why we should not respect one another as friends,” said Lord Rust. “What? Yes, it bloody well is!” said Vimes. “I can’t believe this! You can’t just stand there and…good grief, whatever happened to diplomacy?” “War, Vimes, is a continuation of diplomacy by other means,” said Lord Rust. “As you would know, if you were really a gentleman. ” “And you Klatchians are as bad,” Vimes went on. “It’s that green mouldy mutton Jenkins sells. You’ve all got Foaming Sheep Disease. You can’t just stand there and—” “Sir Samuel, you are, as you are at pains to point out, a civilian,” said Rust. “As such, you have no place here!” Vimes didn’t bother with a salute but just turned away and walked out of the room. The rest of the squad followed him in silence back to Pseudopolis Yard. “I told him he could put it where the sun didn’t shine,” said Sergeant Colon, as they crossed the Brass Bridge. “That’s right,” said Vimes woodenly. “Well done. ” “Right to his face. ‘Where the sun don’t shine. ’ Just like that,” said Colon. It was a little difficult to tell from his tone whether this was a matter of pride or dread. “I’m afraid Lord Rust is technically correct, sir,” said Carrot. “Really. ” “Yes, Mr. Vimes. The safety of the city is of paramount importance, so in times of war the civil power is subject to military authority. ” “Hah. ” “I told him,” said Fred Colon. “Right where the sun does not shine, I said. ” “The deputy ambassador didn’t mention Prince Khufurah,” said Carrot. “That was odd. ” “I’m going home,” said Vimes. “We’re nearly there, sir,” said Carrot. “I mean home home. I need some sleep. ” “Yes, sir. What shall I tell the lads, sir?” “Tell them anything you like. ” “I looked him right in the eye and I told him, I said, you can put it right where the—” mused Sergeant Colon. “You want me an’ some of der boys go and sort out dat Rust later on?” said Detritus. “It no problem. He bound to be guilty o’ somethin’. ” “No!” Vimes’s head felt so light now that he couldn’t touch the ground with a rope. He left them outside the Yard and let his head drag him on and up the hill and round the corner and into the house and past his astonished wife and up the stairs and into the bedroom, where he fell full length on the bed and was asleep before he hit it. At nine next morning the first recruits for Lord Venturi’s Heavy Infantry paraded down Broadway. The watchmen went out to watch. That was all that was left for them to do. “Isn’t that Mr. Vimes’s butler?” said Angua, pointing to the stiff figure of Willikins in the front rank. “Yeah, and that’s his kitchen boy banging the drum in front,” said Nobby. “You were a…military man, weren’t you, Fred?” said Carrot, as the parade passed by. “Yes, sir. Duke of Eorle’s First Heavy Infantry, sir. The Pheasant Pluckers. ” “Pardon?” said Angua. “Nickname for the regiment, miss. Oh, from ages ago. They were bivvywhacking on some estate and came across a lot of pheasant pens and, well, you know, having to live off the land and everything…anyway, that’s why we always wore a pheasant feather on our helmets. Traditional, see?” Already old Fred’s face was creasing up in the soft expression of someone who has been mugged in Memory Lane. “We even had a marching song,” he said. “Mind you, it was quite hard to sing right. Er…sorry, miss?” “Oh, it’s all right, sergeant,” said Angua. “I often start to laugh like that for no reason at all. ” Fred Colon once again stared dreamily at nothing. “And o’course before that I was in the Duke of Quirm’s Middleweight Infantry. Saw a lot of action with them. ” “I’m sure you did,” said Carrot, while Angua entertained cynical thoughts about the actual distance of Fred’s vantage point. “Your distinguished military career has obviously given you many pleasant memories. ” “The ladies liked the uniform,” said Fred Colon, with the unspoken rider that sometimes a growing lad needed all the help he could get. “An’ it…weelll…” “Yes, sarge?” Colon looked awkward, as if the bunched underwear of the past was tangling itself in the crotch of recollection. “It was…more easier, sir. Than being a copper, I mean. I mean, you’re a soldier, right, and the other buggers is the enemy. You march into some big field somewhere and all form up into them oblongs, and then a bloke with the feathery helmet gives the order, and you all forms up into big arrows—” “Good gods, do people really do that? I thought it was just how they drew the battle plans!” “Well, the old duke, sir, he did it by the book…anyway, it’s just a case of watching your back and walloping any bloke in the wrong uniform. But…” Fred Colon’s face screwed up in agonized thought, “well, when you’re a copper, well, you dunno the good guys from the bad guys without a map, miss, and that’s a fact. ” “But…there’s military law, isn’t there?” “Well, yes…but when it’s pissing with rain and you’re up to your tonk—your waist in dead horses and someone gives you an order, that ain’t the time to look up the book of rules, miss. Anyway, most of it’s about when you’re allowed to get shot, sir. ” “Oh, I’m sure there’s more to it than that, sergeant. ” “Oh, prob’ly, sir,” Colon conceded diplomatically. “I’m sure there’s lots of stuff about not killing enemy soldiers who’ve surrendered, for instance. ” “Oh, yerss, there’s that , captain. Doesn’t say you can’t duff ’em up a bit, of course. Give ’em a little something to remember you by. ” “Not torture ?” said Angua. “Oh, no , miss. But…” Memory Lane for Colon had turned into a bad road through a dark valley “…well, when your best mate’s got an arrow in his eye an’ there’s blokes and horses screamin’ all round you and you’re scared shi—you’re really scared, an’ you come across one of the enemy…well, for some reason or other you’re got this kinda urge to give him a bit of a…nudge, sort of thing. Just…you know…like, maybe in twenty years’ time his leg’ll twinge a bit on frosty days and he’ll remember what he done, that’s all. ” He rummaged in a pocket and produced a very small book, which he held up for inspection. “This belonged to my great-grandad,” he said. |
“He was in the scrap we had against Pseudopolis and my great-gran gave him this book of prayers for soldiers, ’cos you need all the prayers you can get, believe you me, and he stuck it in the top pocket of his jerkin, ’cos he couldn’t afford armor, and next day in battle—whoosh, this arrow came out of nowhere, wham, straight into this book and it went all the way through to the last page before stopping, look. You can see the hole. ” “Pretty miraculous,” Carrot agreed. “Yeah, it was, I s’pose,” said the sergeant. He looked ruefully at the battered volume. “Shame about the other seventeen arrows, really. ” The drumming died away. The remnant of the Watch tried to avoid one another’s gaze. Then an imperious voice said, “Why aren’t you in uniform, young man?” Nobby turned. He was being addressed by an elderly lady with a certain turkey-like cast of feature and a capital punishment expression. “Me? Got one, missus,” said Nobby, pointing to his battered helmet. “A proper uniform,” snapped the woman, handing him a white feather. “What will you be doing when the Klatchians are ravishing us in our beds?” She glared at the rest of the guards and swept on. Angua saw several others like her passing along the crowds of spectators. Here and there was a flash of white. “I’ll be thinking: those Klatchians are jolly brave,” said Carrot. “I’m afraid, Nobby, that the white feather is to shame you into joining up. ” “Oh, that’s all right, then,” said Nobby, a man for whom shame held no shame. “What am I supposed to do with it?” “That reminds me…did I tell you what I said to Lord Rust?” said Sergeant Colon, nervously. “Seventeen times so far,” said Angua, watching the women with the feathers. She added, apparently to herself, “‘Come back with your shield or on it. ’” “I wonder if I can get the lady to give me any more?” said Nobby. “What was that?” said Carrot. “These feathers,” said Nobby. “They look like real goose. I’ve got a use for a lot more of these—” “I meant what was it that Angua said?” said Carrot. “What? Oh…it’s just something women used to say when they sent their men off to war. Come back with your shield, or on it. ” “ On your shield?” said Nobby. “You mean like…sledging, sort of thing?” “Like dead,” said Angua. “It meant come back a winner or not at all. ” “Well, I always came back with my shield,” said Nobby. “No problem there. ” “Nobby,” sighed Colon, “you used to come back with your shield, everyone else’s shield, a sack of teeth and fifteen pairs of still-warm boots. On a cart. ” “We-ell, no point in going to war unless you’re on the winning side,” said Nobby, sticking the white feather in his helmet. “Nobby, you was always on the winning side, the reason bein’, you used to lurk aroun’ the edges to see who was winning and then pull the right uniform off’f some poor dead sod. I used to hear where the generals kept an eye on what you were wearin’ so they’d know how the battle was going. ” “Lots of soldiers have served in lots of regiments,” said Nobby. “Right, what you say is true. Only not usually during the same battle,” said Sergeant Colon. They trooped back into the Watch House. Most of the shift had taken the day off. After all, who was in charge? What were they supposed to be doing today? The only ones left were those who never thought of themselves as off duty, and the new recruits who hadn’t had their keen edge blunted. “I’m sure Mr. Vimes’ll think of something,” said Carrot. “Look, I’d better take the Goriffs back to their shop. Mr. Goriff says he’s going to pack up and leave. A lot of Klatchians are leaving. You can’t blame them, either. ” Dreams rising with him like bubbles, Vimes surfaced from the black fathoms of sleep. Normally, these days, he treasured the moment of waking. It was when solutions presented themselves. He assumed bits of his brain came out at night and worked on the problems of the previous day, handing him the result just as he opened his eyes. All that arrived now were memories. He winced. Another memory turned up. He groaned. The sound of his badge bouncing on the table replayed itself. He swore. He swung his legs off the covers and groped for the bedside table. “Bingeley-bingeley beep!” “Oh, no …All right, what’s the time?” “One o’clock pee em! Hello, Insert Name Here!” Vimes looked blearily at the Dis-organizer. One day, he knew, he really would have to try to understand the manual for the damn thing. Either that or drop it off a cliff. * “What—” he began, and then groaned again. The twanging sound made by the unwound turban as it took his weight had just come back to haunt him. “Sam?” The bedroom door was pushed open and Sybil came in carrying a cup. “Yes, dear?” “How do you feel?” “I’ve got bruises on my brui—” Another memory crawled up from the pit of guilt. “Oh, good grief, did I really call him a long streak of—?” “ Yes ,” said his wife. “Fred Colon came round this morning and told me all about it. And a very good description, I’d say. I went out with Ronnie Rust once. Bit of a cold fish. ” Another recollection burst like a ball of marsh gas in Vimes’s head. “Did Fred tell you where he said Rust could put his badge?” “Yes. Three times. It seems to be weighing on his mind. Anyway, knowing Ronnie, he’d have to use a hammer. ” Vimes had long ago got used to the fact that the aristocracy all seemed to know one another by their first name. “And did Fred tell you anything else?” he said timidly. “Yes. About the shop and the fire and everything. I’m proud of you. ” She gave him a kiss. “What do I do now?” he said. “Drink your tea and have a wash and a shave. ” “I ought to go down to the Watch House and—” “A shave! There’s hot water in the jug. ” When she had left he hauled himself upright and tottered into his bathroom. There was, indeed, a jug of hot water on the marble washstand. He looked at the face in the mirror. Unfortunately, it was his. Perhaps if he shaved it first…? And then he could wash the bits that were left. Fragments of the night before kept on respectfully drawing themselves to his attention. It was a shame about that guard, but sometimes you just couldn’t stand and argue— He shouldn’t have done that with his badge. It wasn’t like the old days. He had responsibilities. He should’ve stayed on and made things just a little less— No. That never worked. He managed to get the lather on his face. The Riot Act! Good grief…He stropped his razor thoughtfully. Rust’s milky eyes stared out of his memory. Bastard! Men like that thought, they really thought, that the Watch was a kind of sheepdog, to nip at the heels of the flock, bark when spoken to and never, ever, bite the shepherd… Oh yes. Vimes knew in his bones who the enemy was. Except— No badge, no Watch, no job… Another memory arrived, late. Lather still dripping down his shirt, he pulled Vetinari’s sealed letter out of his pocket and slit it open with the razor. There was a blank sheet of paper inside. He turned it over, and there was nothing on the other side either. Mystified, he glanced at the envelope. Sir Samuel Vimes, Knight. Nice of him to be so precise about it, Vimes thought. What was the point of a message with no message? Some people might absentmindedly have slipped the wrong piece of paper in an envelope, but Vetinari wouldn’t. What was the point of sending him a note telling him he was a knight, for gods’ sake, he knew that embarrassing fact well enough— Another little memory burst open as silently as a mouse passing wind in a hurricane. Who’d said it? Any gentleman— Vimes stared. Well, he was a gentleman, wasn’t he? It was official. And then he didn’t shout, and he didn’t run out of the room. He finished shaving, had a wash and put on a change of underwear, very calmly. Downstairs, Sybil had cooked him a meal. She wasn’t a very good cook. This was fine by Vimes, because he wasn’t a very good eater. After a lifetime of street meals his stomach wasn’t set up right. What it craved was little crunchy brown bits, the food group of the gods, and Sybil reliably always left the pan too long on the dragon. |
She eyed him carefully as he chewed his fried egg and stared into the middle distance. Her manner was that of someone with a portable safety net watching a man on the high wire. After a while, as she watched him crack open a sausage, he said, “Do we have any books on chivalry, dear?” “Hundreds, Sam. ” “Is there any one which tells you what…you know, what it’s all about? I mean, what you have to do if you’re a knight, say? Responsibilities and so on?” “Most of them, I should think. ” “Good. I think I shall do a little reading. ” Vimes hit the bacon with his fork. It shattered very satisfactorily. Afterward, he went into the library. Twenty minutes later, he came back out for a pencil and some paper. Ten minutes after that, Lady Sybil took him a cup of coffee. He was hidden behind a pile of books, and apparently deep in Life of Chivalrie. She crept out and went into her own study, where she settled down to update her dragon-breeding records. It was an hour later when she heard him step out into the hall. He was humming under his breath, tunelessly, with the faraway look of preoccupation that means that some Big Thought has required the shutting down of all non-essential processes. He was also reradiating the field of angered innocence that was, to her, part of his essential Vimesness. “Are you going out, Sam?” “Yes. I’m just going to kick some arse, dear. ” “Oh, good. Just be sure you wrap up well, then. ” The Goriff family trudged along silently beside Carrot. “I’m sorry about your shop, Mr. Goriff,” he said. Goriff shifted the load he was carrying. “We can start other shops,” he said. “We’ll certainly keep an eye on it,” said Carrot. “And…when all this is over, you can come back. ” “Thank you. ” His son said something in Klatchian. There was a brief family argument. “I appreciate your strength of feeling,” said Carrot, going red, “although I must say I think your language was a little strong. ” “My son is sorry,” said Goriff automatically. “He did not remember that you speak Kl—” “No, I’m not! Why should we run away?” said the boy. “We live here! I’ve never seen Klatch!” “Oh, well, that will be something to look forward to,” said Carrot. “I hear it has many fine—” “Are you stupid ?” said Janil. He shook himself free of his father’s grasp and confronted Carrot. “I don’t care! I don’t want all this stuff about the moon rising over the Mountains of the Sun! I get that at home all the time! I live here !” “Now, you really ought to listen to your parents—” “Why? My dad works all the time and now he’s being pushed out! What good’s that? We ought to stay here and defend what’s ours!” “Ah, well, you shouldn’t take the law into your own hands—” “Why not?” “It’s our job—” “But you’re not doing it!” There was a rattle of Klatchian from Mr. Goriff. “He says I’ve got to apologize,” said Janil sullenly. “I’m sorry. ” “So am I,” said Carrot. The boy’s father gave him that complicated shrug used by adults in a situation involving adolescents. “You’ll be back, I know it,” said Carrot. “We shall see. ” They went down the quay toward a waiting boat. It was a Klatchian ship. People lined the rails, people who were getting out with what they could carry before they could only get out with what they wore. The watchmen found themselves under hostile scrutiny. “Surely Rust isn’t already forcing Klatchians out of their homes?” said Angua. “We can tell which way the wind is blowing,” said Goriff calmly. Carrot sniffed the salt air. “It’s blowing from Klatch,” he said. “For you, perhaps,” said Goriff. A whip cracked behind them and they stood aside as several coaches rumbled by. A blind at the window was pulled aside momentarily. Carrot caught a brief glimpse of a face, all gold teeth and black beard, before the cloth twitched back. “That’s him , isn’t it?” There was a faint grunt from Angua. She had her eyes closed, as she always did when she was letting her nose do the seeing… “Cloves,” she murmured, and then grabbed Carrot’s arm. “ Don’t run after it! There’s armed men on that ship! What will they think when they see a soldier running toward them?” “I’m not a soldier!” “How long do you think they’ll spend working out the difference?” The coach pushed through the press of people on the dock. The crowd surged back around it. “There’s boxes being unloaded—I can’t quite see…” said Carrot, shading his eyes. “Look, I’m sure they’ll understand if—” 71-hour Ahmed stepped out on to the dock and looked back toward the watchmen. There was a momentary sparkle as he grinned. They saw his hand reach over his shoulder and come back holding the curved sword. “I can’t just let him get away,” said Carrot. “He’s a suspect! Look, he’s laughing at us!” “With diplomatic impunity,” said Angua. “But there’s a lot of armed men down there. ” “My strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure,” said Carrot. “Really? Well, there’s eleven of them. ” 71-hour Ahmed threw his sword in the air. It spun a couple of times, making a whum-whum noise, and then his hand shot out and caught it by the handle as it fell. “That’s what Mr. Vimes was doing,” said Carrot, through gritted teeth. “Now he’s taunting us—” “You will be killed if you go on the ship,” said Goriff behind him. “I know that man. ” “You do? How?” “He is feared in the whole of Klatch. That is 71-hour Ahmed!” “Yes, why is—” “You haven’t heard of him? And he is a D’reg!” Mrs. Goriff pulled at her husband’s arm. “Dreg?” said Angua. “A warlike desert tribe,” said Carrot. “Very fierce. Honorable, though. They say that if a D’reg is your friend he’s your friend for the rest of your life. ” “And if he’s not your friend?” “That’s about five seconds. ” He drew his sword. “Nevertheless,” he added, “we can’t let—” “I have said too much. We must go,” said Goriff. The family picked up their bundles. “Look, there might be another way to find out about him,” said Angua. She pointed at the carriage. A couple of lean, long-haired and extremely graceful dogs had been let out and were straining at their leashes as they led the way up the gangplank. “Klatchistan hunting dogs,” she said. “The Klatchian nobility are very keen on them, I understand. ” “They look a bit like—” Carrot began, and then the penny dropped. “No, I can’t let you go on there by yourself,” he said. “Something would go wrong. ” “I stand a much better chance than you would, believe me,” said Angua quickly. “They won’t be leaving until the tide changes, in any case. ” “It’s too dangerous. ” “Well, they are supposed to be our enemies. ” “I meant for you !” “Why?” said Angua. “I’ve never heard of werewolves in Klatch, so they probably don’t know how to deal with us. ” She undid the little leather collar that held her badge and handed it to Carrot. “Don’t worry ,” she said. “If the worst comes to the worst, I’ll dive overboard. ” “Into the river ?” “Even the river Ankh can’t kill a werewolf. ” Angua glanced at the turgid water. “Probably, anyway. ” Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs had gone on patrol. They weren’t sure why they were patrolling, and what they were supposed to do if they saw a crime, although many years of training had enabled them not to see some quite large crimes. But they were creatures of habit. They were watchmen, so they patrolled. They didn’t patrol with a purpose. They patrolled, as it were, in pure essence. Nobby’s progress wasn’t helped by the large, leather-bound book in his arms. “A war’d do this place good,” said Sergeant Colon, after a while. “Put some backbone in people. Everything’s gone all to pot these days. ” “Not like when we were kids, sarge. ” “Not like when we were kids indeed, Nobby. ” “People trusted one another in them days, didn’t they, sarge?” “People trusted one another, Nobby. ” “Yes, sarge. I know. And people didn’t have to lock their doors, did they?” “That’s right, Nobby. And people were always ready to help. They were always in and out of one another’s houses. ” “’sright, sarge,” said Nobby vehemently. “I know no one ever locked their houses down our street. ” “That’s what I’m talking about. That’s my point. |
” “It was ’cos the bastards even used to steal the locks. ” Colon considered the truth of this. “Yes, but at least it was each other’s stuff they were nicking, Nobby. It’s not like they was foreigners. ” “Right. ” They strolled on for a while, each entangled in his own thoughts. “Sarge?” “Yes, Nobby?” “Where’s Nubilia?” “Nubilia?” “It’s got to be a place, I reckon. Pretty warm there, I think. ” “Ah, Nubilia ,” said Colon. He invented desperately. “Right. Yes. It’s one of them Klatchian places. Yeah. Got lots of sand. And mountains. Exports dates. Why’d you want to know?” “Oh…no reason. ” “Nobby?” “Yes, sarge?” “Why are you carrying that huge book?” “Hah, clever idea, sarge. I saw what you said about that book of your great-grandad, so if there’s any fighting I got this one off’f Washpot. It’s The Book of Om. Five inches thick. ” “It’s a bit big for a pocket, Nobby. It’s a bit big for a cart , to be honest. ” “I thought I could make sort of braces to carry it. I reckon even a longbow could only get an arrow as far as the Apocrypha. ” A familiar creak made them look up. A Klatchian’s head was swinging in the breeze. “Fancy a pint?” said Sergeant Colon. “Big Anjie brews up some that’s a treat. ” “Better not, sarge. Mr. Vimes is in a bit of a mood. ” Colon sighed. “You’re right. ” Nobby looked up at the head again. It was wooden. It had been repainted many times over the centuries. The Klatchian was smiling very happily for someone who’d never have to buy a shirt ever again. “The Klatchian’s Head. My grandad said his grandad remembered when it was still the real one,” Colon said. “Of course, it was about the size of a walnut by then. ” “Bit…nasty, sticking up a bloke’s head for a pub sign,” said Nobby. “ No , Nobby. Spoils of war, right? Some bloke came back from one of the wars with a souvenir, stuck it on a pole and opened a pub. The Klatchian’s Head. Teach ’em not to do it again. ” “I used to get into enough trouble just for nicking boots,” said Nobby. “More robust times, Nobby. ” “You ever met a Klatchian, sarge?” said Nobby, as they began to pace the length of the quiet street. “I mean one of the wild ones. ” “Well, no…but you know what? They’re allowed three wives! That’s criminal, that is. ” “Yeah, ’cos here’s me and I ain’t got one,” said Nobby. “And they eat funny grub. Curry and that. ” Nobby gave this some thought. “Like…we do, when we’re on late duty. ” “Weelll, yerss—but they don’t do it properly—” “You mean runny ear-wax yellow with peas and currants in, like your mum used to do?” “Right! You poke around as much as you like in a Klatchian curry and you won’t find a single piece of swede. ” “And I heard where they eat sheep’s eyeballs, too,” said Nobby, international gastra-gnome. “Right again. ” “Not decent ordinary stuff like lambs’ fry or sweetbreads, then?” “That’s…right. ” Colon felt that he was being got at in some way. “Look, Nobby, when all’s said and done they ain’t the right color, and there’s an end to it. ” “Good job you found out, Fred!” said Nobby, so cheerfully that Sergeant Colon was almost sure that he meant it. “Well, it’s obvious,” he conceded. “Er…what is the right color?” said Nobby. “White, of course!” “Not brick-red, then? ’Cos you —” “Are you winding me up, Corporal Nobbs?” “’Course not, sarge. So…what color am I?” That caused Sergeant Colon to think. You could have found, somewhere on Corporal Nobbs, a shade appropriate to every climate on the disc and a few found only in specialist medical books. “White’s…white’s a state of, you know… mind ,” he said. “It’s like…doing an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay, that sort of thing. And washing regular. ” “Not lazing around, sort of thing. ” “Right. ” “Or…like…working all hours like Goriff does. ” “Nobby—” “And you never see those kids of his with dirty clo—” “Nobby, you’re just trying to get me going, right? You know we’re better’n Klatchians. Otherwise, what’s the point? Anyway, if we’re going to fight ’em, you could get locked up for going around talking treachery. ” “Are you going to fight them, Fred?” Fred Colon scratched his chin. “Well, as a hexperienced milit’ry man, I suppose I’ll have to…” “What’re you going to do? Join a regiment and go to the front?” “We-ell…my fore-tay lies in training, so I reckon I’d better stay here and train up the new recruits. ” “Here at the back, you might say. ” “We all have to do our bit, Nobby. If it was down to me I’d be out there like a shot to give Johnny Klatchian a taste of cold steel. ” “Their razor-sharp swords wouldn’t worry you, then?” “I should laugh at them with scorn, Nobby. ” “But s’posing the Klatchians attack here? Then you’ll be at the front, and the front will be at the back. ” “I’ll sort of try for a posting in the middle…” “The middle of the front or—” “ Gentlemen ?” They looked round to find that they had been followed by a man of medium height but with an extraordinary head. It wasn’t that he had gone bald. He had quite a lot of hair, which was long and curly and reached almost to his shoulders, and his beard was large enough to conceal a small chicken. But his head had simply risen through his hair, like a kind of intrusive dome. He gave them a friendly smile. “Am I by any chance addressing the heroic Sergeant Colon and the—” The man looked at Nobby. Expressions of amazement, dread, interest and charity passed across his otherwise sunny countenance like storm-driven clouds. “And the Corporal Nobbs?” he finished. “That is us, citizen,” said Colon. “Ah, good. I was very specifically told to find you. It’s quite amazing, you know. No one had even broken into the boathouse, although I must say I did design the locks rather well. And all I’ve had to do is replace the leatherwork around the joints and grease it up…oh, do excuse me, I’ve got rather ahead of myself. Now…there was a message I had to give you…What was it now?…Something about your hands…” He reached down into the large canvas bag by his feet and pulled out a long tube, which he handed to Nobby. “I do apologize about this,” he said, producing a smaller tube and handing it to Colon. “I had to do things in such a hurry, there really was no time to finish it off properly, and frankly the materials are not very good—” Colon looked at his tube. It was pointed at one end. “This is a firework rocket,” he said. “Look, it’s got ‘A riot of colored balls and stars’ on it…” “Yes, I do so apologize,” said the man, lifting a complex little arrangement of wood and metal out of the bag. “May I have the tube back, corporal?” He took it and screwed the arrangement on to one end. “Thank you…yes, I’m afraid that without my lathe and, indeed, my forge, I really have had to make do with what I could find lying around…Could I have the rocket back, please? Thank you. ” “They don’t go properly without a stick,” said Nobby. “Oh, in fact they do,” said the man. “Just not very accurately. ” He raised the tube to shoulder height and peered into a small wire grid. “That seems about right,” he said. “And they don’t go along,” said Nobby. “They just go up. ” “A common misconception,” said Leonard of Quirm, turning to face them. Colon could see the tip of the rocket in the depths of the tube, and had a sudden image of stars and balls. “Now, apparently you two have to step into this alley here and come with me,” said Leonard. “I’m very sorry about this, but his lordship has explained to me at great length how the needs of society as a whole may have to overrule the rights of a particular individual. Oh, and I’ve just remembered. You have to put your hands up. ” Sand had been spilled across the big table in the Rats Chamber. Lord Rust felt a sensation akin to pleasure as he surveyed it. There were the little square boxes for the towns and cities, and cut-out palm trees to indicate the known oasisies. And, although he was uneasy about the word “oasisies,” Lord Rust looked at it and saw that it was good. |
Especially since it was a map of Klatch and everyone knew that Klatch was sand anyway, which made it rather satisfying in an existential sort of way, although this sand here had been commandeered from the heap behind Chalky the troll’s wholesale pottery and bore the occasional cigarette end and trace of feline incontinence that would probably not be found in the real desert, or certainly not to scale. “ Here would be a good landing area,” he said, pointing with his stick. His equerry tried to look helpful. “The El Kinte peninsula,” he said. “That’s the closest point to us, sir. ” “Exactly! We can be across the straits in jig time. ” “Very good, sir,” said Lieutenant Hornett, “but…you don’t think the enemy might be expecting us there? It being such an obvious landing site?” “Not obvious at all to the trained military thinker, sir! They won’t be expecting us there precisely because it is so obvious, d’y’see?” “You mean…they’ll think only a complete idiot would land there, sir?” “Correct! And they know we’re not complete idiots, sir, and therefore that will be the last place they will be expecting us, d’y’see? They’ll be expecting us somewhere like”—his stick stabbed into the sand—“here. ” Hornett looked closely. In the street outside, someone started to bang a drum. “Oh, you mean Eritor,” he said. “Where I believe there is a concealed landing area, and two days’ forced march through good cover would have us at the heart of the empire, sir. ” “Exactly!” “Whereas landing at El Kinte means three days over sand dunes and past the fortified city of Gebra…” “Precisely. Wide-open spaces! And that is where we can practice the art of warfare. ” Lord Rust raised his voice above the drumming. “That’s how you settle these things. One decisive battle. Us on one side, the Klatchians on the other. THAT IS HOW THESE THINGS ARE D—” He threw down his pointer. “Who the devil is making that infernal noise?” The equerry walked across to the window. “It’s someone else recruiting, sir,” he said. “But we’re all here!” The equerry hesitated, as the bearers of bad tidings to short-tempered men often do. “It’s Vimes, sir…” “Recruiting for the Watch ?” “Er…no, my lord. For a regiment. Er…the banner says ‘Sir Samuel Vimes’s First of Foot,’ my lord—” “The arrogance of the man. Go and—No, I’ll go myself!” There was a crowd in the street. In the center there rose the bulk of Constable Dorfl, and a key thing about the golem was that if he was banging a drum then no one was going to ask him to stop. No one except possibly Lord Rust, who strode up and snatched the drumsticks out of his hands. “Yerss, it are species of your choice’s life in der First of Foot!” shouted Sergeant Detritus, unaware of the events going on behind him. “You learnin’ a trade! You learnin’ self-respek! Also you get spiffy uniform plus all der boots you can eat—here, dat’s my banner!” “What’s the meaning of this?” said Rust, flinging the homemade banner on to the ground. “Vimes can’t do this!” A figure detached itself from the wall, where it had been watching the show. “You know, I rather think I can,” said Vimes. He handed Rust a piece of paper. “It’s all here, my lord. With references citing the highest authorities, in case you are in any doubt. ” “Citing the—?” “On the role of a knight, my lord. In fact the duties of a knight, funnily enough. A lot of it is pretty damn stupid stuff, riding around the place on one of those bloody great horses with curtains round it and so on, but one of them says in time of need a knight has to raise and maintain—you’ll laugh when I tell you this—a body of armed soldiers! No one could have been more surprised than me, I don’t mind telling you! Seems there’s nothing for it but I have to go out and get some chaps together. Of course, most of the Watch have joined, well, you know how it is, disciplined lads, anxious to do their bit, so that saved me a bit of effort. Except for Nobby Nobbs, ’cos he says if he leaves it till Thursday he’s going to have enough white feathers for a mattress. ” Rust’s expression would have preserved meat for a year. “This is a nonsense,” he said. “And you, Vimes, certainly are no knight. Only a king can make—” “There’s a good few lordships in this city created by the Patricians,” said Vimes. “Your friend Lord Downey, for one. You were saying?” “Then if you persist in playing games I will say that before a knight is created he must spend a night’s vigil watching his armor—” “Practically every night of my life,” said Vimes. “A man doesn’t keep an eye on his armor round here, that man’s got no armor in the morning. ” “In prayer ,” said Rust sharply. “That’s me,” said Vimes. “Not a night has gone by without me thinking, ‘Ye gods, I hope I get through this alive. ’” “—and he must have proved himself on the field of combat. Against other trained men, Vimes. Not vermin and thugs. ” Vimes started to undo the strap of his helmet. “Well, this isn’t the best of moments, my lord, but if someone’ll hold your coat I can spare you five minutes…” In Vimes’s eyes Rust recognized the fiery gleam of burning boats. “I know what you’re doing, Vimes, and I am not going to rise to it,” he said, taking a step back. “In any case, you have had no formal training in arms. ” “That’s true,” said Vimes. “You’ve got me there, right enough. No one ever trained me in arms. I was lucky there. ” He leaned closer and lowered his voice so that the watching crowd wouldn’t hear. “Y’see, I know what ‘training in arms’ means, Ronald. There hasn’t been a real war in ages. So it’s all prancing around wearing padded waistcoats and waving swords with knobs on the end so no one’ll really get hurt, isn’t it? But down in the Shades no one’s had any training in arms either. Wouldn’t know an épée from a sabre. No, what they’re good at is a broken bottle in one hand and a length of four-by-two in the other and when you face ’em, Ronnie, you know you aren’t going off for a laugh and a jolly drink afterward, ’cos they want you dead. They want to kill you, you see, Ron? And by the time you’ve swung your nice shiny broadsword they’ve carved their name and address on your stomach. And that’s where I got my training in arms. Well…fists and knees and teeth and elbows, mostly. ” “You, sir, are no gentleman ,” said Rust. “I knew there was something about me that I liked. ” “Can you not even see that you can’t enroll…dwarfs and trolls in an Ankh-Morpork regiment?” “It just says ‘armed soldiers,’ and dwarfs come with their own axes. A great saving. Besides, if you’ve ever seen them really fight, then you must’ve been on the same side. ” “Vimes—” “It’s Sir Samuel, my lord. ” Rust seemed to think for a moment. “Very well, then,” he said. “Then you and your…regiment come under my command—” “Strangely, no,” said Vimes swiftly. “Under the command of the King or his duly appointed representative, it says in Scavone’s Chivalric Law and Usage. And, of course, there has been no duly appointed representative ever since some complete bastard cut off the last king’s head. Oh, assorted bods appeared to have been ruling the city, but according to the chivalric tradition —” Rust stopped to think again. He had the look of a lawnmower just after the grass has organized a workers’ collective. There was a definite suggestion that, deep inside, he knew this was not really happening. It could not be happening because this sort of thing did not happen. Any contradictory evidence could be safely ignored. However, it might be necessary to find some motions to go through. “I think you’ll find that, legally, your position—” he began, and his eyes bulged for a moment as Vimes interrupted him cheerfully. “Oh, there might be a few problems, I grant you. But if you ask Mr. Slant he’ll say ‘This is a very interesting case,’ which as you know is lawyer-talk for ‘One thousand dollars a day plus expenses and it’ll take months. ’ So I’ll leave you to get on with it, shall I? Got such a lot of things to do, you know. |
I think the swatches for the new uniforms should be in my office about now, it’s so important to look right on the battlefield, isn’t it?” Rust gave Vimes another look, and then strode away. Detritus stamped to attention beside Vimes and his salute clanged smartly off his helmet. “What we doin’ now, sir?” “We can pack up now, I think. All the lads have joined up?” “Yessir!” “You told them it wasn’t compulsory?” “Yessir! I said, ‘It ain’t compuls’ry, you just gotta,’ sir. ” “Detritus, I wanted volunteers. ” “’sright, sir. They volunteered all right, I saw to that. ” Vimes sighed as he walked back to his office. But they were probably safe. He was pretty sure he was legally sound and if he knew anything about Rust, the man would respect the letter of the law. Such men did, in a chilly way. Besides, thirty men in the Watch simply didn’t figure in the great scheme of things. Rust could ignore them. Suddenly there’s a war brewing, Vimes thought, and they all come back. Civil order is turned upside down, because that’s the rules. And people like Rust are at the top of the heap again. You have these aristocrats lazing around for years, and suddenly the old armor’s out and the sword is being taken down from over the fireplace. They think there’s going to be a war and all they can think about is that wars can be won or lost… Someone’s behind this. Someone wants to see a war. Someone paid to have Ossie and Snowy killed. Someone wanted the Prince dead. I’ve got to remember that. This isn’t a war. This is a crime. And then he realized he was wondering if the attack on Goriff’s shop had been organized by the same people, and whether those same people had set fire to the embassy. And then he realized why he was thinking like this. It was because he wanted there to be conspirators. It was much better to imagine men in some smoky room somewhere, made mad and cynical by privilege and power, plotting over the brandy. You had to cling to this sort of image, because if you didn’t then you might have to face the fact that bad things happened because ordinary people, the kind who brushed the dog and told their children bedtime stories, were capable of then going out and doing horrible things to other ordinary people. It was so much easier to blame it on Them. It was bleakly depressing to think that They were Us. If it was Them, then nothing was anyone’s fault. If it was Us, what did that make Me? After all, I’m one of Us. I must be. I’ve certainly never thought of myself as one of Them. No one ever thinks of themselves as one of Them. We’re always one of Us. It’s Them that do the bad things. Around about this time, in his former life, Vimes would be taking the cap off a bottle, and wouldn’t be too bothered about the bottle’s contents so long as they crinkled paint— “Ook?” “Oh, hello. What can I do for—oh, yes, I asked about books on Klatch…Is that all?” The Librarian shyly held out a small, battered green book. Vimes had been expecting something bigger, but he took it anyway. It paid to look at any book the orangutan gave you. He matched you up to books. Vimes supposed it was a knack, in the same way that an undertaker was very good at judging heights. On the spine, in very faded gold lettering, were the words “ VENI VIDI VICI: A Soldier’s Life by Gen. A. Tacticus. ” Nobby and Sergeant Colon edged along the alley. “I know who he is!” Fred hissed. “That’s Leonard of Quirm, that is! He went missing five years ago!” “So he’s called Leonard and he’s from Quirm, so what?” said Nobby. “He’s a raving genius!” “He’s a loony. ” “Yeah, well, they say there’s a thin line between genius and madness…” “He’s fallen off it, then. ” The voice behind them said, “Oh, dear, this won’t do at all, will it…? I can’t deny it, you were quite right, the accuracy would be quite unacceptable at any reasonable range. Could you bear to stop a moment, please?” They turned. Leonard was already dismantling the tube. “If you could just hang on to this bit, corporal…and, sergeant, if you would be so good as to hold this piece steady…some sort of fins should do it, I’m sure I had a suitable piece of wood somewhere…” Leonard began to pat his pockets. The watchmen realized that the man holding them up had paused to redesign his weapon and had given it to them to hold while he looked for a screwdriver. This was a thing that did not often happen. Nobby silently took the rocket from Colon and pushed it into the tube. “What’s this bit here, mister?” he said. Leonard glanced up briefly in between patting his pockets. “Oh, that is the trigger,” he said. “Which, as you can see, rubs against the flint and—” “ Good. ” There was a short burst of flame and rather more black smoke. “Oh, dear,” said Leonard. The watchmen turned, like men dreading what they were about to see. The rocket had shot the length of the alley and through the window of a house. “Ah…putting ‘This Way Up’ on the projectile would be an important safety point to bear in mind for the new design,” said Leonard. “Now, where’s that notebook…?” “I think we’d better leave,” said Colon, moving backward. “Very fast. ” Inside the house there was an explosion of stars and balls to delight young and old but not the troll who had just opened the door. “Ah, really?” said Leonard. “Well, if speed is required, I have this very interesting design for a two-wheeled—” Acting on an unspoken agreement, the watchmen each put a hand under a shoulder, lifted him off the ground, and ran for it. “Oh, dear,” said Leonard, as he was dragged backward. The watchmen dived into a side alley, and then jinked and dodged along several others with quiet professionalism. Finally they leaned Leonard against a wall and peered round the end of the alley. “All clear,” said Nobby. “They went the other way. ” “Right,” said Colon. “Now, what was you doing? I mean, you might be a genius like I heard, Mister da Quirm, but when it comes to threatening people you’re as clever as an inflatable dartboard. ” “I appear to have been a bit of a juggins, don’t I?” Leonard agreed. “But I do implore you to come with me. I’m afraid I thought that as warriors you would be more inclined to understand force—” “Well, yes, we’re warriors ,” said Sergeant Colon. “But—” “’ere, have you got another one of these rockets?” said Nobby, hefting the tube onto his shoulder again. He had the special gleam in his eye that a small man gets when he’s laid his hands on a big, big weapon. “I may have,” said Leonard, and the gleam in his eye was the mad twinkle of the naturally innocent when they think they’re being cunning. “Why don’t we go and see? You see, I was told to fetch you by any means necessary. ” “Bribery sounds good,” said Nobby. He put his eye to the tube’s sights and started making “whoosh” noises. “Who told you to fetch us?” said Colon. “Lord Vetinari. ” “The Patrician wants us ?” “Yes. He said you have special qualities and must come at once. ” “To the palace ? I heard he’d done a runner. ” “Oh, no. To the, er…to the, er…docks…” “Special qualities, eh?” said Colon. “Er, sarge…” Nobby began. “Now then, Nobby,” said Colon importantly. “It’s about time we were given some recognition, you know that. Hexperienced officers are the backbone of the force. Seems to me,” he went on, “seems to me that this is a case of cometh the time, cometh the man. ” “When’s he cometh?” “I’m talking about us. Men with special qualities. ” Nobby nodded, but with a certain amount of reluctance. In many ways he was a much clearer thinker than his superior officer, and he was worrying about “special qualities. ” Being picked for something because of your “special qualities” was tantamount to being volunteered. Anyway, what was so special about “special qualities”? Limpets had special qualities. “Will we go undercover again?” said Colon. Leonard blinked. “There…yes, I think I can say there is a strong under element involved. Yes, indeed. ” “Sarge—” “You just be quiet, corporal. ” Colon pulled Nobby closer. “Undercover means not getting stabbed and shot at, right?” he whispered. |
“And what’s the most important thing a professional soldier wants not to happen to him?” “Not getting stabbed and shot,” said Nobby automatically. “Right! So let’s be going, Mr. Quirm! The call has come!” “Well done!” said Leonard. “Tell me, sergeant, are you of a nautical persuasion?” Colon saluted again. “Nossir! Happily married man, sir!” “I meant, have you ploughed the ocean waves at all?” Colon gave him a cunning look. “Ah, you can’t catch me with that one, sir,” he said. “Everyone knows the horses would sink. ” Leonard paused for a moment and retuned his brain to Radio Colon. “Have you, in the past, floated around, on the sea, in a boat, at all?” “Me, sir? Not me, sir. It’s the sight of the waves going up and down, sir. ” “Really?” said Leonard. “Well, happily, that will not be a problem. ” All right, start again… Assembling facts, that’s what it was about… The world watched. Someone wanted the Watch to say that the assassination had been inspired by Klatch. Who? Someone had also beheaded Snowy Slopes where he stood and left him deader than six buckets of fish bait. A vision of 71-hour Ahmed’s big curved sword presented itself for his attention. So… …let’s assume that Ahmed was Khufurah’s servant or bodyguard, and he’d found out… No, how could that work? Who’d tell him? Well, maybe he’d found out somehow , and that meant that he might also know who’d paid the man… Vimes sat back. It was still a mystery but he’d solve it, he knew he would. He’d assemble the facts, analyze them, look at them from every angle with an open mind, and find out exactly how Lord Rust had organized it. Rank bad hat! He didn’t have to sit still for something like that, especially from a man who rhymed “house” with “mice. ” His eye was caught by the ancient book. General Tacticus. Every kid knew about him. Ankh-Morpork had ruled a huge empire and a lot of it had been in Klatch, thanks to him. Except there wasn’t any thanks for him, strangely enough. Vimes had never quite known why, but the city seemed to be rather ashamed of the general. One reason, of course, was that he’d ended up fighting Ankh-Morpork. The city of Genua had run out of royalty, inbreeding having progressed to the point where the sole remaining example consisted mostly of teeth, and senior courtiers had written to Ankh-Morpork asking for help. There’d been a lot of that sort of thing, Vimes had been surprised to learn. The little kingdoms of the Sto Plains were forever scrounging spare royalty off one another. The King had sent Tacticus out of sheer exasperation. It’s hard to run a proper empire when you’re constantly getting bloodstained letters on the lines of: Dear sire, I beg to inform you that we have conquered Betrek, Smale and Ushistan. Please send AM$20,000 back pay. The man never knew when to stop. So he was hastily made a duke and packed off to Genua, whereupon his first action was to consider what was that city’s greatest military threat and then, having identified it, to declare war on Ankh-Morpork. But what else had anyone expected? He’d done his duty. He’d brought back heaps of spoils, lots of captives and, almost uniquely among Ankh-Morpork’s military leaders, most of his men. Vimes suspected that this last fact was one reason why history didn’t approve. There was a suggestion that this was, in some way, not playing fair. “ Veni, vidi, vici. ” That was what the man was supposed to have said when he’d conquered…where? Pseudopolis, wasn’t it? Or Al-Khali? Or Quirm? Maybe Sto Lat? That was in the old days when you attacked anyone else’s city on principle, and went back and did them over again if they looked like getting up. And in those days, you didn’t care if the world watched. You wanted them to watch, and learn. “ Veni, vidi, vici. ” I came, I saw, I conquered. As a comment it always struck Vimes as a bit too pat. It wasn’t the sort of thing you came up with on the spur of the moment, was it? It sounded as if he had worked it out. He’d probably spent long evenings in his tent, looking up in the dictionary short words beginning with V and trying them out… Veni, vermini, vomui , I came, I got ratted, I threw up? Visi, veneri, vamoosi , I visited, I caught an embarrassing disease, I ran away? It must have been a big relief to come up with three short acceptable words. He probably made them up first , and then went off to see somewhere and conquer it. He opened the book at random. “ It is always useful to face an enemy who is prepared to die for his country ,” he read. “ This means that both you and he have exactly the same aim in mind. ” “Hah!” “Bingeley-bingeley b—” Vimes’s hand slammed down on the box. “Yes? What is it?” “Three oh five pee em, Interview with Cpl Littlebottom re Missing Sgt Colon,” said the demon sulkily. “I never arranged anything like—Who told you—? Are you telling me that I’ve got an appointment and I don’t know about it?” “That’s right. ” “So how do you know about it?” “You told me to know about it. Last night,” said the demon. “You can tell me about appointments I don’t know about?” said Vimes. “They’re still appointments sine qua appointments,” said the demon. “They exist, as it were, in appointment phase space. ” “What the hell does that mean?” “Look,” said the demon patiently, “you can have an appointment at any time, right? So therefore any appointment exists in potentia —” “Where’s that?” “Any particular appointment simply collapses the waveform,” said the demon. “I merely select the most likely one from the projected matrix. ” “You’re just making this up,” said Vimes. “If you were right, then any second now—” Someone knocked at the door. It was a polite, tentative tap. Vimes didn’t take his eyes off the smirking demon. “Is that you, Corporal Littlebottom?” he said. “Yes, sir. Sergeant Colon has sent a pigeon. I thought you ought to see it, sir. ” “Come in!” A small roll of thin paper was placed on his desk. He read: Have volunteered for a mission of Vital Importance. Nobby is here also. There will be statchoos of us when this day’s work is over. PS Someone I can’t tell you who says this note will self-destruct in five seconds, he is sorry he hasn’t got good chemicles to do it better— The paper began to crinkle around the edges and then vanished in a small puff of acrid smoke. Vimes stared at the little pile of ash that remained. “I suppose it’s a mercy they didn’t blow up the pigeon, sir,” said Cheery. “What the hell are they up to? Well, I can’t chase around after them. Thanks, Cheery. ” The dwarf saluted and departed. “Coincidence,” said Vimes. “All right, then,” said the demon. “Bingeley-bingeley beep! Three fifteen pee em, Emergency Meeting with Captain Carrot. ” It was a cylinder, tapering to a point at both ends. At one end the taper was quite complex, the cylinder narrowing in a succession of smaller and smaller rings, overlapping one another until they ended in a large fishtail. Oiled leather could be seen gleaming in the gaps between the metal. At the other end, extending from the cylinder for all the world like the horn of a unicorn, was a very long and pointed screw thread. The whole thing was mounted on a crude trolley, which was in turn riding on a pair of iron rails that disappeared into the black water at the far end of the boathouse. “Looks like a giant fish to me,” said Colon. “Made of tin. ” “With an ’orn,” said Nobby. “It’ll never float,” said Colon. “I can see where you’ve gone wrong there. Everyone knows metal sinks. ” “Not entirely true,” said Leonard, diplomatically. “In any case, this boat is designed to sink. ” “What?” “Propulsion was a major headache, I’m afraid,” said Leonard, climbing up a stepladder. “I thought of paddles and oars, and even some kind of screw, and then I thought: dolphins, that’s the ticket! They move extremely fast with barely an effort. That’s out at sea, of course, we only get the shovel-nosed dolphin in our estuary here. The linkage rods are a bit complicated but I used to be able to get quite a turn of speed. |
The pedalling can be somewhat tiresome, but with three of us we should be able to get up to some quite satisfactory accelerations. It’s amazing what you can do when you imitate nature, I just wish my flying exp—Oh…where did you go…?” It would be difficult to establish what part of satisfactorily accelerating nature the watchmen were trying to imitate, but it was a part which tended to get stuck in doors a lot. They stopped struggling and began to back into the room. “Ah, sergeant,” said Lord Vetinari, entering in front of them. “And Corporal Nobbs, too. Leonard has explained everything to you?” “You can’t ask us to go in that thing, sir! It’ll be suicide!” said Colon. The Patrician brought his hands together in front of his lips in the manner of someone praying, and sucked air thoughtfully. “No. No, I think you are wrong,” he said at last, as if reaching a conclusion on some complex metaphysical conundrum. “I think that, in all probability, going into that thing would be a valiant and possibly rewarding deed. I would venture to suggest that, in fact, it is not going that would be suicidal. But I would appreciate your views. ” Lord Vetinari was not a heavily built man and, these days, he walked with the aid of an ebony cane. No one could remember seeing him handle a weapon, and a flash of unaccustomed insight told Sergeant Colon that this was not in fact a comforting thought at all. They said he’d been educated at the Assassins’ School, but no one remembered what weapons he’d learned. He’d studied languages. And suddenly, with him in front of you, this didn’t seem like the soft option. Sergeant Colon saluted, always a useful thing to do in an emergency such as this, and shouted: “Corporal Nobbs, why aren’t you in the…the metal sinking fish thing?” “Sarge?” “Let’s see you get up them steps, lad…hup hup hup…” Nobby scrambled up the ladder and disappeared. Colon saluted again. You could usually tell his nervousness by the smartness of his salute. You could have cut bread with this one. “Ready to go, sah !” he shouted. “Well done, sergeant,” said Vetinari. “You’re displaying exactly those special qualities I’m looking for—” “—’ ere, sarge ,” came a metallic voice from the belly of the fish, “ there’s all chains and cogwheels in here. What’s this do ?” The big auger in front of the thing started to squeak round. Leonard appeared from behind the fish. “I think we should all get in,” he said. “I’ve lit the candle that’ll burn down and sever the string that’ll release the weight that’ll pull the blocks out. ” “Er…what is this thing called?” said Colon, as he followed the Patrician up the ladder. “Well, because it is submersed in a marine environment I’ve always called it the Going-Under-The-Water-Safely Device,” said Leonard, behind him. * “But usually I just think of it as the Boat. ” He reached behind him and shut the lid. After a moment any listener in the boathouse would have heard a complicated clonk as bolts slid into place. The candle burned down and severed the string that released the weight that pulled the blocks out and, slowly at first, the Boat slid down the rails and into the dark water which, after a second or two, closed over it with a gloop. No one took any notice of Angua as she trotted up the gangplank. The important thing, she knew, was to look at home. No one bothered a large dog that looked as though it knew where it was going. People were milling about on deck in the manner peculiar to nonsailors on board ship, not sure of what they should be doing or where they should refrain from doing it. Some of the more stoic ones had made little camps, defining with bundles and pieces of cloth tiny areas of private property. They reminded Angua of the bicolored drainpipes and microscopically delineated household boundaries in Money Trap Lane, yet another way of drawing a line in the sand. This is Mine, and that is Yours. Trespass on Mine, and you’ll get Yours. There were a couple of guards standing on either side of the door to the cabins. They hadn’t been told to stop dogs. Scents led down below. She could smell the dogs and a strong odor of cloves. At the end of the narrow passage a door was ajar. She forced it open with her nose and looked around. The dogs were lying on a rug on one side of a large cabin. Other dogs might have barked, but these just turned their beautiful heads toward her, sighted down the length of their noses and examined her carefully. A narrow bed beyond them was half concealed by silk hangings. 71-hour Ahmed was bending over it, but he turned when she entered. He glanced toward the dogs and gave her a puzzled look. Then, to her amazement, he sat down on the deck in front of her. “And who do you belong to?” he said in perfect Morporkian. Angua wagged her tail. There was someone in the bed, she could smell them, but they wouldn’t be a problem. Jaw muscles strong enough to sever someone’s neck help you to feel relaxed in most situations. Ahmed patted her on the head. Very few people have ever done that to a werewolf without having to get people to cut up their meals for them in future, but Angua had learned self-control. Then he stood up and went to the door. She heard him say something to someone outside, and then he came back into the room and smiled at her. “I go, I come back…” He opened a small cupboard and took out a jewelled dog collar. “You shall have a collar. Oh, and here is some food,” he added, as a servant brought in some bowls. “‘Knick-knack, paddywack, give a dog a bone’ is a rhyme I hear your Ankh-Morpork children sing, but a paddywack is a ball of gristle suitable only for animal food and who knows what part of the animal is its knick-knack…” The plate was put in front of Angua. The other dogs stirred, but Ahmed snapped a word at them and they settled back again. The food was…dog food. In Ankh-Morpork terms, it meant something that you wouldn’t even put in a sausage, and there are very few things that a man with a big enough mincer cannot put in a sausage. The little central human part of her was revolted, but the werewolf drooled at the sight of every glistening tube and wobbly fat bit— It was on a silver plate. She looked up. Ahmed was watching her carefully. Of course, the royal dogs were treated like kings, all those diamond collars…It didn’t have to mean he knew — “Not hungry?” he said. “Your mouth says you are. ” Something snapped around her neck as she spun around to bite. Her teeth closed on a mouthful of greasy cloth but that wasn’t as important as the pain. “His Highness has always liked fine collars on his dogs,” said 71-hour Ahmed, through the red mist. “Rubies, emeralds…and diamonds, Miss Angua. ” His face came down level with hers. “Set in silver. ” “… A crucial factor, I have always found, is NOT the size of the forces. It is the positioning and commitment of reserves, the bringing of power to a point …” Vimes tried to concentrate on Tacticus. But there were two distractions. One was that the grinning face of 71-hour Ahmed looked out at him from every line. The other was his watch, which he had propped up against the Dis-organizer. It was powered by actual clockwork and was much more reliable. And it never needed feeding. It ticked quietly. As far as it was concerned, he could forget his appointments. He liked it. The second hand was just curving toward the top of the minute when he heard someone coming up the stairs. “Come in, captain,” said Vimes. There was a snigger from the box. Carrot’s face was pinker than normal. “Something’s happened to Angua,” said Vimes. The high color drained from Carrot’s face. “How did you know that?” Vimes firmly closed the lid on the sniggering demon. “Let’s call it intuition, shall we? I’m right, am I?” “Yes, sir! She went aboard a Klatchian boat and now it’s sailing! She hasn’t come off!” “What the hell did she go on board for?” “We were after Ahmed! And he looked as if he was taking someone with him, sir. Someone ill , sir!” “He’s left? But the diplomats are still—” Vimes stopped. There was, if you didn’t know Carrot, something wrong with the situation. |
There were people who, when their girlfriend was spirited away on a foreign ship, would have dived into the Ankh, or at least run briskly along the crust, leapt aboard and dealt out merry hell on a democratic basis. Of course, at a time like this that would be a dumb thing to do. The sensible approach would be to let people know, but even so— But Carrot really did believe that personal wasn’t the same as important. Of course, Vimes believed the same thing. You had to hope that when push came to shove you’d act the right way. But there was something slightly creepy about someone who didn’t just believe it, but lived their life by it. It was as unnerving as meeting a really poor priest. Obviously, it was a consideration that if someone had captured Angua you knew that the rescue you were going to probably wouldn’t be hers. But… The gods alone knew what would happen if he left now. The city had gone war mad. Big things were happening. At a time like this, every cell in his body was telling him that the Commander of the Watch had Responsibilities… He drummed his fingers on the desk. In times like this, it was vital to make the right decision. That was what he was paid for. Responsibility … He ought to stay here, and do the best he could. But…history was full of the bones of good men who’d followed bad orders in the hope that they could soften the blow. Oh, yes, there were worse things they could do, but most of them began right where they started following bad orders. His eyes went from Carrot to the Dis-organizer and then to the tottering mounds of paperwork on his desk. Blow that! He was a thief-taker! He’d always be a thief-taker! Why lie? “Damned if I’ll let Ahmed get back to Klatch!” he said, standing up. “Fast boat, was it?” “Yes, but it looked pretty heavy in the water. ” “Then maybe we can catch it up before it goes very far—” As he hurried forward he had, just for a second, the strange sensation that he was two people. And this was because, for the merest fraction of a second, he was two people. They were both called Samuel Vimes. To history, choices are merely directions. The Trousers of Time opened up and Vimes began to hurtle down one leg of them. And, somewhere else, the Vimes who made a different choice began to drop into a different future. They both darted back to grab their Dis-organizers. By the most outrageous of freak chances, quite uniquely, in this split second of decision, they each got the wrong one. And sometimes the avalanche depends on one snowflake. Sometimes a pebble is allowed to find out what might have happened—if only it had bounced the other way. The wizards of Ankh-Morpork had been very firm on the subject of printing. It’s not happening here, they said. Supposing, they said, someone printed a book on magic and then broke up the type again and used it for a book on, say, cookery? The metal would remember. Spells aren’t just words. They have extra dimensions of existence. We’d be up to here in talking soufflés. Besides, someone might print thousands of the damn things, many of which could well be read by unsuitable people. The Engravers’ Guild was also against printing. There was something pure, they said, about an engraved page of text. It was there, whole, unsullied. Their members could do very fine work at very reasonable rates. Allowing unskilled people to bash lumps of type together showed a disrespect for words and no good would come of it. The only attempt ever to set up a printing press in Ankh-Morpork had ended in a mysterious fire and the death by suicide of the luckless printer. Everyone knew it was suicide because he’d left a note. The fact that this had been engraved on the head of a pin was considered an irrelevant detail. And the Patrician was against printing because if people knew too much it would only bother them. So people relied on word of mouth, which worked very well because the mouths were so close together. A lot of them were just below the noses of the members of the Beggars’ Guild, * citizens generally regarded as reasonably reliable and well informed. Some of them were highly thought of for their sports coverage. Lord Rust looked thoughtfully at Cumbling Michael, a Grade II Mutterer. “And what happened next?” Cumbling Michael scratched his wrist. He’d recently got his extra grade because he’d finally managed to catch a disfiguring but harmless skin disease. “Mr. Carrot was in there about two minutes, m’lord. Then they all come runnin’ out, right, an’ they—” “Who were they ?” said Rust. He fought off an urge to scratch his own arm. “There was Carrot an’ Vimes anna dwarf an’ a zombie an’ all of them, m’lord. They ran all the way to the docks, m’lord, and Vimes saw Captain Jenkins and he said—” “Ah, Captain Jenkins! This is your lucky day!” The captain looked up from the rope he was coiling. No one likes being told it’s their lucky day. That sort of thing does not bode well. When someone tells you it’s your lucky day, something bad is about to happen. “It is?” he said. “Yes, because you have an unrivalled opportunity to aid the war effort!” “I have?” “And also to demonstrate your patriotism,” Carrot added. “I do?” “We need to borrow your boat,” said Vimes. “Bugger off!” “I’m choosing to believe that was a salty nautical expression meaning ‘Why, certainly,’” said Vimes. “Captain Carrot?” “Sir. ” “You and Detritus go and look behind that false partition in the hold,” said Vimes. “Right, sir,” said Carrot, walking toward the ladder. “There’s no false partition in the hold!” snapped Jenkins. “And I know the law, and you can’t—” There was a crash of timber from below. “If that wasn’t a false partition, our Carrot’s gone and knocked a hole in the side,” said Vimes calmly, watching the captain. “Er…” “I know the law, too,” said Vimes. He drew his sword. “See this?” he said, holding it up. “This is military law. And military law is a sword. Not a two-edged sword. There’s only one edge, and it’s pointing at you. Found anything, Carrot?” Carrot appeared over the edge of the hold. There was a crossbow in his hand. “I do declare,” said Vimes, “but that looks to me like a Burleigh and Stronginthearm ‘Viper’ Mk 3, which kills people but leaves buildings standing. ” “There’s crates and crates of stuff,” said Carrot. “’s no law—” Jenkins began, but he sounded as if the bottom was dropping out of his world. “You know, I think there probably is some law against selling weapons to the enemy in times of war,” said Vimes. “Of course, there might not be. Tell you what,” he added brightly, “why don’t we all go along to Sator Square? It’s full of people around this time, all very keen on the war and cheering our brave lads…Why don’t we go along and put it to them? You told me I ought to listen to the voice of the people. Odd thing, ain’t it…you meet people one at a time, they seem decent, they got brains that work, and then they get together and you hear the voice of the people. And it snarls. ” “That’s mob rule!” “Oh, no, surely not,” said Vimes. “Call it democratic justice. ” “One man, one rock,” Detritus volunteered. Jenkins looked like a man afraid the world was about to drop out of his bottom. He glared at Vimes and then at Carrot, and saw no help there. “Of course, you’d have nothing to fear from us ,” said Vimes. “Although you might trip on your way down the stairs to the cells. ” “There’s no stairs down to your cells!” “Stairs can be arranged. ” “Please, Mr. Jenkins,” said Carrot, the good cop. “I wasn’t…taking…the weapons to…Klatch,” Jenkins said slowly, as if he was reading the words very painfully off some interior script. “I had…in fact…bought them to…donate them…to…” “Yes? Yes?” said Vimes. “…our…brave lads,” said Jenkins. “Well done!” said Carrot. “And you’d be happy to…?” Vimes prompted. “And…I’d be happy to…lend my boat to the war effort,” said Jenkins, sweating. “A true patriot,” said Vimes. Jenkins writhed. “Who told you there was a false panel in the hold?” he demanded. “It was a guess, right?” “Right,” said Vimes. “Aha! I knew you were only guessing!” “Patriotic and clever,” said Vimes. |
“Now…how do you make this thing go fast?” Lord Rust tapped his fingers on the table. “What did he take the boat for ?” “Dunno, m’lord,” said Cumbling Michael, scratching his head. “Damn! Did anyone else see them?” “Oh, there weren’t many people around, m’lord. ” “That’s a small mercy, at least. ” “Just me and Foul Ole Ron and the Duck Man and Ringo Eyebrows and No Way José and Sidney Lopsides and that bastard Stoolie and Whistling Dick and a few others, m’lord. ” Rust sank back in his chair and put a pale hand over his face. In Ankh-Morpork the night had a thousand eyes and so did the day, and it also had five hundred mouths and nine hundred and ninety-nine ears. * “The Klatchians must know, then,” he said. “A detachment of Ankh-Morpork soldiery has taken ship for Klatch. An invasion force. ” “Oh, you could hardly call it—” Lieutenant Hornett began. “The Klatchians will call it that. Besides, the troll Detritus is with them,” said Rust. Hornett looked glum. Detritus was an invasion force all by himself. “What ships have we commandeered?” said Rust. “There’s more than twenty now, if you include the Indestructible , the Indolence and the…” Lieutenant Hornett looked at his list again, “…and the Prid of Ankh-Morpork , sir. ” “The Prid ?” “I’m afraid so, sir. ” “We should be able to take more than a thousand men and two hundred horses, then. ” “Why not let Vimes go?” said Lord Selachii. “Let the Klatchians deal with him, and good riddance. ” “And give them a victory over Ankh-Morpork forces? That’s how they will see it. Damn the man. He forces our hand. But still, perhaps it is for the best. We should embark. ” “Are we entirely ready, sir?” said Lieutenant Hornett, with the special inflection that means “We are not entirely ready, sir. ” “We had better be. Glory awaits, gentlemen. In the words of General Tacticus, let us take history by the scrotum. Of course, he was not a very honorable fighter. ” White sunlight etched dark shadows in Prince Cadram’s palace. He, too, had a map of Klatch, made of tiny colored tiles set into the floor. He sat looking at it pensively. “Just one boat?” he said. General Ashal, his chief adviser, nodded. And added: “Our scryers can’t get a very clear picture over that distance, but we do believe one of the men to be Vimes. You recall the name, sire. ” “Ah, the useful Commander Vimes. ” The Prince smiled. “Indeed. And since then there has been a lot of activity all along the docks. We have to take the view that the expeditionary force is setting out. ” “I thought we had at least a week, Ashal. ” “It is certainly puzzling. They cannot possibly be prepared, sire. Something must have happened. ” Cadram sighed. “Oh, well, let us follow where fate points the way. Where will they attack?” “Gebra, sire. I’m sure of it. ” “Our most heavily fortified city? Surely not. Only an idiot would do that. ” “I have studied Lord Rust in some depth, sire. Remember that he doesn’t expect us to fight, so the size of our forces really doesn’t worry him. ” The general smiled. It was a neat, thin little smile. “And of course in attacking us he is piling infamy upon infamy. The other coastal states will take note. ” “A change of plan, then,” said Cadram. “Ankh-Morpork can wait. ” “A wise move, sire. As always. ” “Any news of my poor brother?” “Alas no, sire. ” “Our agents must search harder. The world is watching, Ashal. ” “Correct, sire. ” “Sarge?” “Yes, Nobby?” “Tell me again about our special qualities. ” “Shut up and keep pedaling, Nobby. ” “Right, sarge. ” It was quite dark in the Boat. A candle swung from a bracket over Leonard of Quirm’s bowed head as he sat steering with two levers. Around Nobby, pulleys rattled and little chains clicked. It was like being inside a sewing machine. A damp one, too. Condensation dropped off the ceiling in a steady stream. They had been pedaling for ten minutes. Leonard had spent most of the time talking excitedly. Nobby got the impression he didn’t get out much. He talked about everything There were the tanks of air, for example. Nobby was happy to accept that you could squeeze air up really small, and that was what was in the groaning, creaking steel-bound casks strapped to the walls. It was what happened to the air afterward that came as a surprise. “Bubbles!” said Leonard. “Dolphins again, you see? They don’t swim through the water, they fly through a cloud of bubbles. Which is much easier, of course. I add a little soap, which seems to improve matters. ” “He thinks dolphins fly, sarge,” whispered Nobby. “Just keep pedaling. ” Sergeant Colon risked a glance behind him. Lord Vetinari was sitting on an upturned box amidst the clicking chains, with several of Leonard’s sketches open on his knees. “Carry on, sergeant,” said the Patrician. “Right, sir. ” The Boat was moving faster now they were away from the city. There was even a brackish light filtering through the little glass windows. “Mr. Leonard,” said Nobby. “Yes?” “Where’re we going?” “His lordship wishes to go to Leshp. ” “Yes, I thought it’d be something like that,” said Nobby. “I thought: ‘Where don’t I want to go?’ And the answer just popped into my head, just like that. Only I don’t think we’ll get there, the reason bein’, in about another five minutes my knees are going to fall off…” “Oh, my word, you won’t have to pedal all the way,” said Leonard. “What did you think the big auger on the nose is for?” “That?” said Nobby. “I thought that was for drillin’ into the bottom of enemy ships—” “ What ?” Leonard spun around in his seat, a look of horror on his face. “Sink ships? Sink ships ? With people on them?” “Well…yes…” “Corporal Nobbs, I think you are a very misguided young…man,” said Leonard stiffly. “Use the Boat to sink ships? That would be terrible! In any case, no sailor would dream of doing such a dishonorable thing!” “Sorry…” “The auger, I would have you know, is for attaching us to passing ships in the manner of the remora, the sucker-fish which attaches itself to sharks. A few turns is all that is necessary for a firm attachment. ” “So…you couldn’t bore all the way through the hull, then?” “Only if you were a very careless and extremely thoughtless young man!” The ocean waves may not be ploughable, but the crust of the river Ankh downstream from the city was known to sprout small bushes in the summertime. The Milka moved slowly, leaving a furrow behind it. “Can’t you go faster?” said Vimes. “Why, certainly,” said Jenkins nastily. “Where would you like us to put the extra mast?” “The ship’s just a dot,” said Carrot. “Why aren’t we gaining on them?” “It’s a bigger ship so it has got what we technically call more sails ,” said Jenkins. “And they’re fast hulls on those Klatchian boats. And we’ve got a full hold—” He stopped, but it was too late. “Captain Carrot?” said Vimes. “Sir?” “Throw everything overboard,” said Vimes. “Not the crossbows! They cost more than a hundred dollars ea—” Jenkins stopped. Vimes’s expression said, very clearly, that there were a whole lot of things that could be thrown off the boat, and it would be a good idea not to be among them. “Go and pull some ropes, Mr. Jenkins,” he said. He watched the captain stamp off. A few moments later there was a splash. Vimes looked over the side and saw a crate bob for a moment and then sink. And he felt happy. Thief-taker, Rust had called him. The man had meant it as an insult, but it’d do. Theft was the only crime, whether the loot was gold, innocence, land or life. And for the thief-taker, there was the chase…There were several more splashes. Vimes fancied the ship surged forward. …the chase. Because the chase was simpler than the capture. Once you’d caught someone it got complicated, but the chase was pure and free. Much better than prodding at clues and peering at notebooks. He flees, I chase. Simple. Vetinari’s terrier, eh? “Bingeley-bingeley beep!” said his pocket. “Don’t tell me,” said Vimes. “It’s something like ‘Five pee em, At Sea,’ yes?” “Er…no,” said the Dis-organizer. “Says here ‘Violent Row With Lord Rust,’ Insert Name Here. |
” “Aren’t you supposed to tell me what I’m going to do?” said Vimes, opening the box. “Er…what you should be doing,” said the demon, looking very worried. “What you should be doing. I don’t understand it…er…something seems to be wrong…” Angua stopped trying to rub the collar off against a bulkhead. It wasn’t working, and the silver pressing against her skin seemed to freeze her and burn her at the same time. Apart from that—and a silver collar on a werewolf was a fairly major that —she’d been treated well. They’d left a plate of food, a wooden plate, and she’d let her wolf side eat it while the human side shut its eyes and held its nose. There was a bowl of water, quite fresh by Ankh-Morpork standards. She could see the bottom of the bowl, at least. It was so hard to think in wolf shape. It was like trying to unlock a door while drunk. It was possible, but you had to concentrate every step of the way. There was a sound. Her ears pricked up. Something tapped once or twice under the hull. She hoped it was a reef. That meant…land, possibly…with any luck she could swim ashore… Something clinked. She’d forgotten about the chain. It was hardly necessary. She felt as weak as a kitten. There was a rhythmic noise, like something chewing at the wood. A tiny metal point splintered through the wall just in front of her nose, and rose an inch. And someone spoke. It sounded far off and distorted, and perhaps only a werewolf would have heard it, but words were happening, somewhere under her paws. “— can stop pedaling now, Corporal Nobbs. ” “ I am knackered, sarge. Is there anything to eat ?” “ There’s some more of that garlic sausage. Or there’s the cheese. Or cold beans. ” “ We’re in a tin with no air and we’re supposed to eat cheese? I ain’t even going to comment on the beans. ” “ I’m very sorry, gentlemen. Things were rather rushed and I had to take food which would keep. ” “ It’s just that it’s getting a bit…crowded, if you get my meaning. ” “ I will pay out the rope as soon as it’s dark and we can surface and take on air. ” “ Just so long as we get rid of the air we’ve got, that’s all I’m saying …” Angua’s brows wrinkled as she tried to make sense of this. The voices were familiar. Even muffled as they were, she recognized the tones. The vague feeling that fought its way through the mists of animal intellect was: friends. The tiny little unchangeable center of her thought: good grief, next thing I’ll be licking hands. She laid her head down near the point again. “— way to do it, young man. There you go again! Sink ships? I can’t imagine how anyone could think of such a thing !” Names. Some of those voices had…names. Thinking was getting harder. That was the silver at work. But if she stopped, she might forget how to start again. She stared at the point of metal. The point of metal with sharp edges. The tiny part of her mind raged at the wolf brain, trying to get it to understand what it needed to do. It was after midnight. The lookout man knelt on the deck in front of 71-hour Ahmed and trembled. “I know what I saw, wali ,” he moaned. “And the others saw it, too! Something rose up behind the ship and began chasing us! A monster!” Ahmed looked at the captain, who shrugged. “Who knows what lies on the floor of the sea, wali ?” “Its breath!” moaned the seaman. “There was a great roar of breath like the stink of a thousand privies! And then it spoke!” “Really?” said Ahmed. “This is not usual. What did it say?” “I did not understand!” The man’s face screwed up as he tried to assemble the unfamiliar syllables. “It sounded like…” he swallowed, and went on, “‘ Ye gods, that was better out than in, sarge !’” Ahmed stared at him. “And what did that mean to you?” he said. “I do not know, wali !” “You have not spent much time in Ankh-Morpork?” “No, wali !” “Then return to your post. ” The man stumbled out. “We have lost speed, wali ,” said the captain. “Perhaps the sea monster is clutching at our keel?” “It pleases you to joke, lord. But who knows what has been disturbed by the rising of the new land?” “I shall have to see for myself,” said 71-hour Ahmed. He walked alone to the stern of the ship. Dark waters sucked and splashed and left a phosphorescent glow edging the wake. He watched for a long time. People bad at watching didn’t last long in the desert, where a shadow in the moonlight could be just a shadow or it could be someone anxious to help you on your way to Paradise. The D’regs came across many shadows of the latter persuasion. D’reg wasn’t their name for themselves, although they tended to adopt it now out of pride. The word meant enemy. Everyone’s. And if anyone else wasn’t around, then one another’s. If he concentrated, he might believe that there was a darker shape about a hundred yards behind the ship, very low in the water. Waves were breaking where waves shouldn’t be. It looked as though the ship was being followed by a reef. Well, well… 71-hour Ahmed was not super stitious. He was substitious, which put him in a minority among humans. He didn’t believe in the things everyone believed in but which nevertheless weren’t true. He believed instead in the things that were true in which no one else believed. There are many such substitions, ranging from “It’ll get better if you don’t pick at it” all the way up to “Sometimes things just happen. ” Currently he was disinclined to believe in sea monsters, especially ones that spoke in the language of Ankh-Morpork, but he did believe that there were a lot of things in the world that he didn’t know about. In the far distance he could see the lights of a ship. It didn’t seem to be gaining on them. This was much more worrying. In the darkness 71-hour Ahmed reached over his shoulder and grasped the handle of his sword. Above him, the mainsail creaked in the wind. Sergeant Colon knew he was facing one of the most dangerous moments in his career. There was nothing for it. He was out of options. “Er…if I add this A and this O and this I and this D,” he said, the sweat pouring down his pink cheeks, “then I can use that V to make ‘avoid. ’ Er…and that gets me, er, a…what d’you call these blue squares, Len?” “A ‘Three Times Ye Value of Thee Letter’ score,” said Leonard of Quirm. “Well done, sergeant,” said Lord Vetinari. “I do believe that puts you in the lead. ” “Er…I do believe it does, sir,” squeaked Sergeant Colon. “ However , I find that you have left me the use of my U, N and A, B, L, E,” the Patrician went on, “which incidentally lands me on this Three Times the Whole Worde square and, I rather suspect, wins me the game. ” Sergeant Colon sagged with relief. “A capital game, Leonard,” said Vetinari. “What did you say it was called?” “I call it the ‘Make Words With Letters That Have All Been Mixed Up Game,’ my lord. ” “Ah. Yes. Obviously. Well done. ” “Huh, an’ I got three points,” mumbled Nobby. “They was perfectly good words that you wouldn’t let me have, too. ” “I’m sure the gentlemen don’t want to know those words,” said Colon severely. “I’d have got ten points for that X. ” Leonard looked up. “Strange. We seem to have stopped moving…” He reached up and opened the hatch. Damp night air poured in, and there was the sound of voices, quite close, echoing loudly as voices do when heard across water. “Heathen Klatchian talk,” said Colon. “What are they gabblin’ about?” “‘What nephew of a camel cut the rigging?’” said Lord Vetinari, without looking up. “‘Not just the ropes, look at this sail—Here, give me a hand…’” “I didn’t know you spoke Klatchian, my lord. ” “Not a word,” said Lord Vetinari. “But you—” “I did not,” said Vetinari calmly. “Ah…right…” “Where are we, Leonard?” “Well, er, my star charts are all out of date, of course, but if you would care to wait until the sun rises, and I’ve invented a device for ascertaining position by reference to the sun, and devised a satisfactorily accurate watch—” “Where are we now , Leonard?” “Er…in the middle of the Circle Sea, I suspect. ” “The middle?” “Pretty close, I should say. |
Look, if I can measure the wind speed—” “Then Leshp should be in this vicinity?” “Oh, yes, I should—” “Good. Unhitch us from this apparently stricken ship while we still have the cover of darkness and in the morning I wish to see this troublesome land. In the meantime, I suggest that everyone gets some sleep. ” Sergeant Colon did not get a lot of sleep. This was partly because he was woken up several times by sawing and banging coming from the front of the Boat, and partly because water kept dripping on his head, but mainly because the lull in activity was causing him to consider his position. Sometimes when he woke up he saw the Patrician hunched over Leonard’s drawings, a gaunt silhouette in the light of the candle—reading, making notes… He was in the immediate company of a man even the Assassins’ Guild was frightened of, another man who would stay up all night in order to invent an alarm clock to wake him up in the morning, and a man who had never knowingly changed his underwear. And he was at sea. He tried to look on the bright side. What was the main reason why he hated boats? The fact that they sank, right? But this one had the sinking built in right from the start. And you didn’t have to watch the waves going up and down , because they were already above you. All this was logical. It just wasn’t very comforting. When he awoke at one point there were faint voices coming from the other end of the vessel. “— don’t quite understand, my lord. Why them?” “ They do what they’re told, they tend to believe the last thing they heard, they’re not bright enough to ask questions, and they have that certain unshakeable loyalty available to those unencumbered by too much intelligence. ” “ I suppose so, my lord. ” “ Such men are valuable, believe me. ” Sergeant Colon turned over and tried to make himself comfortable. Glad I’m not like those poor bastards, he thought as he drifted off to sleep on the bosom of the deep. I’m a man with special qualities. Vimes shook his head. The stern light of the Klatchian ship was barely visible in the gloom. “Are we gaining on them?” he said. Captain Jenkins nodded. “We might be. There’s a lot of sea between us. ” “And has all excess weight been thrown overboard?” “Yes! What do you want me to do, shave my beard off?” Carrot’s face appeared over the edge of the hold. “All the lads are bedded down, sir. ” “Right. ” “I’ll turn in for a few hours too, sir, if it’s all right with you. ” “Sorry, captain?” “I’ll get my head down, sir. ” “But…but—” Vimes waved vaguely at the darkening horizon, “we’re in hot pursuit of your girlfriend! Among other things,” he added. “Yes, sir. ” “So aren’t you…you mean you can…you want to…captain, you intend to go and have a bit of a nap ?” “To be fresh for when we catch up with them. Yes, sir. If I spend the whole night staring out there worrying then I’ll probably be a bit useless when we catch up with them, sir. ” It made sense. It really did make sense. Of course it made sense. Vimes could see the sense all over it. Carrot had actually sat down and thought sensibly about things. “You’ll be able to get to sleep, will you?” he said weakly. “Oh, yes. I owe it to Angua. ” “Oh. Well…good night, then. ” Carrot disappeared into the hold again. “Good heavens,” said Jenkins. “Is he real?” “Yes,” said Vimes. “I mean…would you go and bang your ear if we was chasing your lady in that ship?” Vimes said nothing. Jenkins sniggered. “Mind you, if it was Lady Sybil, she’d be a bit lower on the waterline—” “You just watch the…the sea. Don’t run into any damn whales or anything,” said Vimes, and strode up to the sharp end. Carrot, he thought. If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t believe it… “They’re slowing, Mr. Vimes!” Jenkins called out. “What?” “I reckon they’re slowing down, I said!” “Good. ” “So what’re you going to do when we catch them?” “Er…” Vimes hadn’t given this a lot of thought. But he recalled a very bad woodcut he’d once seen in a book about pirates. “We’ll swing across on to them with our cutlasses in our teeth?” he said. “Really?” said Jenkins. “That’s good. I haven’t seen that done in years. Only ever seen it done once, in fact. ” “Oh, yes?” “Yes, this lad’d seen the idea in a book and he swung across into the other ship’s rigging with his cutlass clenched, as you say, between his teeth. ” “Yes?” “Topless Harry, we wrote on his coffin. ” “Oh. ” “I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a soft-boiled egg after you’ve picked up your knife and sli—” “All right, I see the point. What do you suggest?” “Grapnels. You can’t beat grapnels. Catch ’em on the other ship and just pull ’em toward you. ” “And you’ve got grapnels?” “Oh, yes. Saw some only today, in fact. ” “Good. Then—” “As I recall,” Jenkins went on relentlessly, “it was when your Sergeant Detritus was chucking stuff over the side and he said, ‘What shall we do with dese bendy, hooky things, sir?’ and someone, can’t recall his name just at this minute, said, ‘They’re dead weight, throw them over. ’” “Why didn’t you say something?” “Oh, well, I didn’t like to,” said Jenkins. “You were doing so well. ” “Don’t mess me about, captain. Otherwise I’ll clap you in irons. ” “No, you ain’t going to do that, and I’ll tell you why. First, ’cos when Captain Carrot said, ‘These chains, sir, what shall I do with them?’ you said—” “Now, you listen to—” “—and, second, I don’t reckon you know anything about ships, oh deary me. We don’t clap people in irons, we put them in chains. Do you know how to splice the mainbrace? ’Cos I don’t. All that yohoho stuff’s for landlubbers, or it would be if we ever used words like landlubber. Do you know the difference between port and starboard? I don’t. I’ve never even drunk starboard. Shiver my timber!” “Isn’t it ‘shiver my timbers’?” “I’ve been ill. ” Captain Jenkins spun the wheel. “Also, this is a frisky wind and me and my crew know how to pull the strings that make the big square canvas things work properly. If your men tried it you’d soon find out how far it is to land. ” “How far is it to land?” “About thirty fathoms, hereabouts. ” The light was noticeably nearer. “Bingeley-bingeley beep!” “Good grief, what now ?” said Vimes. “Eight pee em. Er…Narrowly Escape Assassination by Klatchian Spy?” Vimes went cold. “Where?” he said, looking around wildly. “Corner of Brewer Street and Broadway,” said the little sing-song voice. “But I’m not there!” “What’s the point of having appointments, then? What’s the point of my making an effort? You told me you wanted to know what you ought to—” “Listen, you don’t have an appointment for being assassinated!” The demon went silent for a moment, and then said: “You mean it should be on your To Do list?” Its voice was trembling. “You mean like: ‘To Do: Die’?” “Look, it’s no good taking it out on me just because you’re not on the right time line!” “What the hell does that mean?” “Aha, I knew you didn’t read the manual! Chapter xvii-2(c) makes it very clear that sticking to one reality is vitally important, otherwise the Uncertainty Principle says—” “Forget I asked, all right?” Vimes glared at Jenkins and at the distant ship. “We’ll do this my way, wherever the hell we are,” he said. He strode to the hold and pulled aside a hatchway. “Detritus?” The Klatchian sailors struggled with the canvas while their captain screamed at them. 71-hour Ahmed didn’t scream. He just stood with his sword in his hand, watching. The captain hurried over to him, trembling with fear and holding a length of rope. “See, wali ?” he said. “Someone cut it!” “Who would do that?” said 71-hour Ahmed quietly. “I do not know, but when I find him—” “The dogs are almost on us,” said Ahmed. “You and your men will work faster. ” “Who could have done such a thing?” said the captain. “You were here, how could they—?” His gaze flickered from the cut rope to the sword. “Was there something you wished to say?” said Ahmed. The captain hadn’t got where he was by being stupid. He spun round. “Get that sail up right now, you festering sons of bitches!” he screamed. “Good,” said 71-hour Ahmed. |
Detritus’s crossbow was originally a three-man siege weapon, but he had removed the windlass as an unnecessary encumbrance. He cocked it by hand. Usually the mere sight of the troll pulling the string back with one finger was enough to make the strong-willed surrender. He looked doubtfully at the distant light. “It a million-to-one chance,” he said. “Got to be closer’n this. ” “Just hit it below the waterline so they can’t cut the rope,” said Vimes. “Right. Right. ” “What’s the problem, sergeant?” “We headin’ for Klatch, right?” “Well, in that direction, yes. ” “Only…I’m gonna be really stoopid in Klatch, ’cos a der heat, right?” “I hope we’re going to stop them before we get there, Detritus. ” “I ain’t keen on bein’ stoopid. I know people say, that troll Detritus, he ficker than a, than a—” “—brick sandwich—” said Vimes, staring at the light. “Right. Only I hearin’ it get really, really hot in der desert…” The troll looked so mournful that Vimes felt moved to give him a cheerful slap on the back. “Then let’s stop them now, eh?” he said, shaking his hand hurriedly to stop the stinging. The other ship was so close they could see the sailors working feverishly on the deck. The mainsail billowed in the lamplight. Detritus raised the bow. A ball of blue-green light glowed on the tip of the arrow. The troll stared at it. Then green fire ran down the masts and, when it hit the deck, burst into dozens of green balls that rolled, cracking and spitting, over the planks. “Dey’re usin’ magic?” said Detritus. A green flame spluttered over his helmet. “What is this, Jenkins?” said Vimes. “It ain’t magic, it’s worse’n magic,” said the captain, hurrying forward. “All right, lads, get those sails down right now!” “You leave them where they are!” shouted Vimes. “You know what this is ?” “It dun’t even feel warm,” said Detritus, poking the flame on the crossbow. “Don’t touch it! Don’t touch it! That’s St. Ungulant’s Fire, that is! It means we’re going to die in a dreadful storm!” Vimes looked up. Clouds were racing across—No, they were pouring into the sky in great twisting billows, like ink streaming into water. Blue light flashed somewhere inside them. The ship lurched. “Look, we got to lose some sail!” shouted Jenkins. “That’s the only way—” “No one touches anything!” shouted Vimes. Green fire skimmed along the tops of the waves now. “Detritus, arrest any man who touches anything!” “Right. ” “We want to go fast, after all,” Vimes said, above the hissing and the distant crackle of thunder. Jenkins gawped at him as the ship lunged beneath them. “You’re mad! Have you any idea what happens to a ship that tries to—You haven’t got any idea, have you? This ain’t normal weather! You have to ride it out careful! You can’t try to run ahead of it!” Something slippery landed on Detritus’s head and bounced on to the deck, where it tried to slither away. “And now it’s raining fish!” Jenkins moaned. The clouds formed a yellow haze, lit almost constantly by the lightning. And it was warm. That was the strangest thing. The wind howled like a sack full of cats and the waves were turning into walls on either side of the ship, but the air felt like an oven. “Look, even the Klatchians are reducing sail!” shouted Jenkins, in a shower of shrimp. “Good. We’ll catch them up. ” “Mad! Ouch !” Something hard rebounded from his hat, hit the rail and rolled to a stop by Vimes’s feet. It was a brass knob. “Oh, no ,” moaned Jenkins, putting his arms over his head. “Now it’s bloody bedsteads again!” The captain of the Klatchian ship was not an argumentative man when he was anywhere near 71-hour Ahmed. He just looked at the straining sails and calculated his chances of Paradise. “Perhaps the dog who cut the sail loose did us a favor!” he shouted, above the roar of the wind. Ahmed said nothing. He kept looking back. The occasional burst of electric storm light showed the ship behind, aflame with green light. Then he looked at the cold fire streaming behind their own masts. “Can you see that light on the edge of the flames?” he said. “My lord?” “Can you, man?” “Er…no…” “Of course you can’t! But can you see where the light isn’t?” The captain stared at him and then looked up again in terrified obedience. And there was somewhere where the light wasn’t. As the fizzing green tongues waved in the wind they seemed to be edged with…blackness, perhaps, or a moving hole in space. “That’s octarine!” shouted Ahmed, as another wave sloshed over the deck. “Only wizards can see it! There’s magic in these storms! That’s why the weather is so bad!” The ship screamed in every joint as it hit the waves again. “We’re coming right out of the water!” wept Jenkins. “We’re just going from crest to crest!” “Good! It won’t be so bumpy!” shouted Vimes. “We should pick up speed again now we’ve got those bedsteads over the side! Does it often rain bedsteads out here?” “What do you think?” “I’m not a nautical man!” “No, rains of bedsteads are not an everyday occurrence! Nor are coal scuttles!” Jenkins added, as something black crashed off a rail and over the side. “We just get the normal stuff, you know! Rain! Snow! Sleet! Fish!” Another squall blew across the bounding boat and the deck was suddenly covered with flashing silver. “Back to fish!” shouted Vimes. “That’s better, surely?” “No! It’s worse!” “Why!” Jenkins held up a tin. “These are sardines!” The ship thumped into another wave, groaned, and took flight again. The cold green fire was everywhere. Every nail of the deck sprouted its flame, every rope and ladder had its green outline. And the feeling crept over Vimes that it was holding the ship together. He wasn’t at all sure that it was just light. It moved too purposefully. It crackled, but it didn’t sting. It looked as though it was having fun— The ship landed. Water washed over Vimes. “Captain Jenkins!” “Yes?” “Why’re we playing with this wheel? It’s not as if the rudder’s in the water!” They let go. The spokes blurred for a moment, and then stopped as the fire wrapped itself around them. Then it rained cake. The Watch had tried to make themselves comfortable in the hold, but there were difficulties. There wasn’t any area of floor which at some point in every ten seconds wasn’t an area of wall. Nevertheless, someone was snoring. “How can anyone sleep in this ?” said Reg Shoe. “Captain Carrot can,” said Cheery. She was hacking at something with her ax. Carrot had wedged himself into a corner. Occasionally he mumbled something, and shifted position. “Like a baby. Beats me how he’s managing it,” said Reg Shoe. “Of course, any minute this thing is going to fall apart. ” “Yes, but dat shouldn’t worry you, should it?” said Detritus. “On account of you bein’ dead already?” “So? I end up at the bottom of the sea knee-deep in whale droppings? And it’ll be a long walk home in the dark. Not to mention the problems if a shark tries to eat me. ” “I shall fear not. According to the Testament of Mezerek, the fisherman Nonpo spent four days in the belly of a giant fish,” said Constable Visit. The thunder seemed particularly loud in the silence. “Washpot, are we talking miracles here?” said Reg eventually. “Or just a very slow digestive process?” “You would be better employed considering the state of your immortal soul than making jokes,” said Constable Visit severely. “It’s the state of my immortal body that’s worrying me,” said Reg. “I have a leaflet here which will bring you considerable—” Visit began. “Washpot, is it big enough to be folded into a boat that’ll save us all?” Constable Visit pounced on the opening. “Aha, yes, metaphorically it is —” “Hasn’t this ship got a lifeboat?” said Cheery hurriedly. “I’m sure I saw one when we came on. ” “Yeah…lifeboat,” said Detritus. “Anyone want a sardine?” said Cheery. “I’ve managed to get a tin open. ” “Lifeboat,” Detritus repeated. He sounded like someone exploring an unpleasant truth. “Like…a big, heavy thing which would’ve slowed us down…?” “Yes, I saw it, I know I did,” said Reg. “Yeah…dere was one,” said Detritus. |
“Dat was a lifeboat, was it?” “At the very least we ought to get somewhere sheltered and drop the anchor. ” “Yeah…anchor…” mused Detritus. “Dat’s a big thing kinda hooks on, right?” “Of course. ” “Kinda heavy thing?” “Obviously!” “Right. An’…er…if it was dropped a long time ago, on accounta bein’ heavy, dat wouldn’t do us much good now?” “Hardly. ” Reg Shoe glared through the hatchway. The sky was a dirty yellow blanket, criss-crossed with fire. Thunder boomed continuously. “I wonder how far the barometer’s sunk?” he said. “All der way,” said Detritus gloomily. “Trust me on dis. ” It was in the nature of a D’reg to open doors carefully. There was generally an enemy on the other side. Sooner or later. He saw the collar lying on the floor, right by a little fountain of water trickling from the hull, and swore under his breath. Ahmed waited just a moment, and then pushed the door back quickly. It rattled against the wall. “I don’t intend to harm you,” he said to the gloom of the bilges. “If that was my intention, by now you’d—” She wished she’d used the wolf. There would have been no problem with the wolf. That was the problem. She’d easily win, but then she’d be nervy and frightened. A human could stay on top of that. A wolf might not. She’d do the wrong things, panicky things, animal things. She pushed him hard as she dropped down from above the door, somersaulted backward, slammed the door and turned the key. The sword came through the planking like a hot knife through runny lard. There was a gasp beside her. She spun round and saw two men holding a net. They would have thrown it over the wolf. What they hadn’t been expecting was a naked woman. The sudden appearance of a naked woman always causes a rethink of anyone’s immediate plans. She kicked them both hard and ran in the opposite direction, opened the first door at random and slammed it behind her. It was the cabin with the dogs in it. They sprang to their feet, opened their mouths—and slunk down again. A werewolf can have considerable power over other animals, whatever shape she’s in, although it is largely the power to make them cringe and try to look inedible. She hurried past them and pulled at one of the hangings over the bunk. The man in the bunk opened his eyes. He was a Klatchian, but pale with weakness and pain. There were dark rings under his eyes. “Ah,” he said, “it would appear that I have died and gone to Paradise. Are you a houri ?” “I don’t have to take that kind of language, thank you,” said Angua, ripping the silk in two with a practiced hand. She was aware that she had a slight advantage over male werewolves in that naked women caused fewer complaints, although the downside was that they got some pressing invitations. Some kind of covering was essential, for modesty and the prevention of inconvenient bouncing, which was why fashioning impromptu clothes out of anything to hand was a lesser-known werewolf skill. Angua stopped. Of course, to the unpracticed eye all Klatchians looked alike, but then to a werewolf all humans looked alike: they looked appetizing. She’d learned to discern. “Are you Prince Khufurah?” “I am. And you are…?” The door was kicked open. Angua leapt toward the window and flung aside the bar restraining the shutters. Water funneled into the cabin, drenching her, but she managed to scramble up and out. “Just passing through?” the Prince murmured. 71-hour Ahmed strode to the window and looked out. Green-blue waves edged with fire fought outside as the ship heaved. No one could stay afloat in a sea like that. He turned and looked along the hull to where Angua was clinging to a trailing line. She saw him wink at her. Then he turned away and she heard him say, “She must have drowned. Back to your posts!” Presently, up on the deck, a hatch closed. The sun rose in a cloudless sky. A watcher, if such had been out here, would have noticed a slight difference in the way the swells were moving on this tiny patch of sea. They might even have wondered about the piece of bent piping which turned with a faint squeaking noise. Had they been able to place an ear to it, they would have heard the following: “—idea while I was dozing off. Piece of pipe, two angled mirrors—the solution to all our steering and air problems!” “Fascinating. A Seeing-Things-Pipe-You-Can-Breathe-Down. ” “My goodness, how did you know it was called that, my lord?” “A lucky guess. ” “’ere, someone’s re-designed my pedaling seat, it’s comfortable —” “Ah, yes, corporal, I took some measurements while you were asleep and rebuilt it for a better anatomical configu—” “You took measurements?” “Oh, yes, I—” “What, of my…saddlery regions?” “Oh, please don’t be concerned, anatomy is something of a passion with me—” “Is it? Is it? Well, you can stop being passionate about mine for a start—” “Here, I can see an island of some sort!” The pipe squeaked around. “Ah, Leshp. And I see people. To your pedals, gentlemen. Let us explore the ocean’s bottom…” “I expect we shall, with him steering—” “Shut up, Nobby. ” The pipe slid down into the waves. There was a little flurry of bubbles and a damp argument about whose job it should have been to put the cork in, and then the patch of sea that had been empty was, somehow, a little bit emptier still. There weren’t any fish. At a time like this Solid Jackson would have even been prepared to eat Curious Squid. But the sea was empty. And it smelled wrong. It fizzed gently. Solid could see little bubbles breaking on the surface, which burst with a smell of sulfur and rotting eggs. He guessed that the rise of the land must have stirred up a lot of mud. It was bad enough at the bottom of a pond, all those frogs and bugs and things, and this was the sea— He tried hard to reverse that train of thought, but it kept on rising from the depths like a…like a… Why were there no fish? Oh, there’d been the storm last night, but generally you got better fishing in these parts after a storm because it…stirred…up… The raft rocked. He was beginning to think it might be a good idea to go home, but that’d mean leaving the land to the Klatchians, and that’d happen over his dead body. The treacherous internal voice said: Funnily enough, they never found Mr. Hong’s body. Not most of the important bits, anyway. “I think, think, I think we’ll be getting back now,” he said to his son. “Oh, Dad,” said Les. “Another dinner of limpets and seaweed?” “Nothing wrong with seaweed,” said Jackson. “It’s full of nourishing…seaweed. ’s got iron in it. Good for you, iron. ” “Why don’t we boil an anchor, then?” “None of your lip, son. ” “The Klatchians have got bread,” said Les. “They brought flour with them. And they’ve got firewood. ” This was a sore point with Jackson. Efforts to make seaweed combust had not been successful. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t like their bread,” said Jackson. “It’s all flat and got no proper crust—” A breeze blew the scent of baking over the water. It carried a hint of spices. “They’re baking bread! On our property!” “Well, they say it’s their —” Jackson grabbed the piece of broken plank he used as an oar and began to scull furiously toward the shore. The fact that this only made the raft go round in circles added to his fury. “They bloody move in right next to us and all we get is the stink of foreign food—” “Why’s your mouth watering, Dad?” “And how come they’ve got wood, may I ask?” “I think the current takes the driftwood to their side of the island, Dad—” “See? They’re stealing our driftwood! Our damn driftwood! Hah! Well, we’ll—” “But I thought we agreed that the bit over there was theirs, and—” Jackson had finally remembered how to propel a raft with one oar. “That wasn’t an agreement,” he said, creating foam as the oar thrashed back and forth, “that was just an…an arrangement. It’s not as if they created the driftwood. It just turned up. Accident of geography. It is a natural resource, right? It don’t belong to anyone—” The raft hit something which made a metallic sound. But they were still a hundred yards from the rocks. |
Something else, long and bent at the end, rose up with a creaking noise. It twisted around until it pointed at Jackson. “Excuse me,” it said, in a tinny yet polite voice, “but this is Leshp, isn’t it?” Jackson made a sound in his throat. “Only,” the thing went on, “the water’s a little cloudy and I thought we might have been going the wrong way for the last twenty minutes. ” “Leshp!” squeaked Jackson, in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. “Ah, good. Thank you so much. Good day to you. ” The appendage sank slowly into the sea again. The last sounds from it, erupting on the surface in a cloud of bubbles, were, “…don’t forget to put the cork in— You’ve forgot to put the cor —” The bubbles stopped. After a while Les said, “Dad, what was—?” “It wasn’t anything!” snapped his father. “That sort of thing doesn’t happen!” The raft shot forward. You could have waterski’d behind it. Another important thing about the Boat, thought Sergeant Colon gloomily as they slipped back into a blue twilight, was that you couldn’t bale out the bilges. It was the bilges. He was pedaling with his feet in water and he was suffering simultaneously from claustrophobia and agoraphobia. He was afraid of everything in here and everything out there at the same time. Plus, there were unpleasantnesses out there, moving past as the Boat drifted down the wall of rock. Feelers waved. There were claws. Things scuttled into the waving weeds. Giant clams watched Sergeant Colon with their lips. The Boat creaked. “Sarge,” said Nobby, as they looked out at the wonders of the deep. “Yes, Nobby?” “You know they say every tiny part of your body is replaced every seven years?” “A well-known fact,” said Sergeant Colon. “Right. So…I’ve got a tattoo on my arm, right? Had it done eight years ago. So…how come it’s still there?” Giant seaweeds winnowed the gloom. “Interesting point,” quavered Colon. “Er…” “I mean, okay, new tiny bits of skin float in, but that means it ought to be all new and pink by now. ” A fish with a nose like a saw swam past. In the middle of all his other fears, Sergeant Colon tried to think fast. “What happens,” he said, “is that all the blue skin bits are replaced by other blue skin bits. Off’f other people’s tattoos. ” “So…I’ve got other people’s tattoos now?” “Er…yes. ” “Amazing. ’cos it still looks like mine. ’s got the crossed daggers and ‘WUM. ’” “Wum?” “It was gonna be ‘Mum’ but I passed out and Needle Ned didn’t notice I was upside down. ” “I should’ve thought he’d notice that…” “He was pissed, too. C’mon, sarge, you know it’s not a proper tattoo unless no one can remember how it got there. ” Leonard and the Patrician were staring out at the submarine landscape. “What’re they looking for?” said Colon. “Leonard keeps talking about hieroglyphs,” said Nobby. “What’re they, sarge?” Colon hesitated, but not for long. “A type of mollusc, corporal. ” “Cor, you know everything, sarge,” said Nobby admiringly. “That’s what hieroglyphs are, is it? So, if we go any deeper, they’ll be loweroglyphs?” There was something slightly off-putting about Nobby’s grin. Sergeant Colon decided to go for broke. “Don’t be daft, Nobby. ‘Loweroglyphs if you go lower…’ Oh, deary me. ” “Sorry, sarge. ” “Everyone knows you don’t get loweroglyphs in these waters. ” A couple of Curious Squid peered at them, curiously. Jenkins’s ship was a floating wreck. Several sails were in tatters. Rigging and other string that Vimes refused to learn the nautical names for covered the deck and trailed in the water. Such sail as remained was moving them along in the brisk breeze. Atop the mast the lookout cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned down. “Land ahoy!” “Even I can see that,” said Vimes. “Why does he have to shout?” “It’s lucky,” said Jenkins. He squinted into the haze. “But your friend ain’t heading for Gebra. Wonder where he’s going?” Vimes stared at the pale yellow mass on the horizon, and then up at Carrot. “We’ll get her back, don’t worry,” he said. “I wasn’t actually worrying, sir. Although I am very concerned,” said Carrot. “Er…right…” Vimes waved his arms helplessly. “Er…everyone fit and well? The men in good heart, are they?” “It would help morale no end if you were to say a few words, sir. ” The monstrous regiment of watchmen had lined up on the deck, blinking in the sunshine. Oh, dear. Round up the unusual suspects. One dwarf, one human who was brought up as a dwarf and thinks like a manual of etiquette, one zombie, one troll, me and, oh, no, one religious fanatic— Constable Visit saluted. “Permission to speak, sir. ” “Go ahead,” mumbled Vimes. “I’m pleased to tell you, sir, that our mission is clearly divinely approved of, sir. I refer to the rain of sardines which sustained us in our extremity, sir. ” “We were a little hungry, I wouldn’t say we were in extremi—” “With respect, sir,” said Constable Visit firmly, “the pattern is firmly established, sir. Yes, indeed. The Sykoolites when being pursued in the wilderness by the forces of Offlerian Mitolites, sir, were sustained by a rain of celestial biscuits, sir. Chocolate ones, sir. ” “Perfectly normal phenomenon,” muttered Constable Shoe. “Probably swept up by the wind passing a baker’s shop—” Visit glared at him, and went on: “And the Murmurians, when driven into the mountains by the tribes of Miskmik, would not have survived but for a magical rain of elephants, sir—” “Elephants?” “Well, one elephant, sir,” Visit conceded. “But it splashed. ” “Perfectly normal phenomenon,” said Constable Shoe. “Probably an elephant was picked up by a freak—” “ And when they were thirsty in the desert, sir, the Four Tribes of Khanli were succored by a sudden and supernatural rain of rain, sir. ” “A rain of rain?” said Vimes, almost mesmerized by Visit’s absolute conviction. “Perfectly normal phenomenon,” sneered Reg Shoe. “Probably water was evaporated from the ocean, was blown through the sky, condensed around nuclei when it ran into cold air, and precipitated…” He stopped, and continued irritably, “Anyway, I don’t believe it. ” “So…which particular deity is on our case?” said Vimes, hopefully. “I shall definitely inform you as soon as I have ascertained this, sir. ” “Er…very good, constable. ” Vimes took a step back. “I don’t pretend this is going to be easy, men,” he said. “But our mission is to catch up with Angua and this bastard Ahmed and shake the truth out of him. Unfortunately, this means we will be following him through his own country, with which we are at war. This is bound to put a few barriers in our way. But we should not let the prospect of being tortured to death dismay us, eh?” “Fortune favors the brave, sir,” said Carrot cheerfully. “Good. Good. Pleased to hear it, captain. What is her position vis à vis heavily armed, well prepared and excessively manned armies?” “Oh, no one’s ever heard of Fortune favoring them, sir. ” “According to General Tacticus, it’s because they favor themselves,” said Vimes. He opened the battered book. Bits of paper and string indicated his many bookmarks. “In fact, men, the general has this to say about ensuring against defeat when outnumbered, out-weaponed and out-positioned. It is…” he turned the page, “‘ Don’t Have a Battle. ’” “Sounds like a clever man,” said Jenkins. He pointed to the yellow horizon. “See all that stuff in the air?” he said. “What do you think that is?” “Mist?” said Vimes. “Hah, yes. Klatchian mist! It’s a sandstorm! The sand blows about all the time. Vicious stuff. If you want to sharpen your sword, just hold it up in the air. ” “Oh. ” “And it’s just as well because otherwise you’d see Mount Gebra. And below it is what they call the Fist of Gebra. It’s a town but there’s a bloody great fort, walls thirty feet thick. ’s like a big city all by itself. ’s got room inside for thousands of armed men, war elephants, battle camels, everything. And if you saw that , you’d want me to turn ’round right now. What’s your famous general got to say about it, eh?” “I think I saw something …” said Vimes. He flicked to another page. |
“Ah, yes, he says, ‘ After the first battle of Sto Lat, I formulated a policy which has stood me in good stead in other battles. It is this: if the enemy has an impregnable stronghold, see he stays there. ’” “That’s a lot of help,” said Jenkins. Vimes slipped the book into a pocket. “So, Constable Visit, there’s a god on our side, is there?” “Certainly, sir. ” “But probably also a god on their side as well?” “Very likely, sir. There’s a god on every side. ” “Let’s hope they balance out, then. ” The Klatchian ship’s boat hit the water with the gentlest of splashes. This was because 71-hour Ahmed was standing by the winches with his sword at the ready, which had the effect of making the men lowering the boat take some trouble over their task. “When we are away you may take the ship into Gebra,” he said to the captain. The captain trembled. “What shall I tell them, wali ?” “Tell them the truth…eventually. The commander of the garrison is a man of no breeding and will torture you a little bit. Save up the truth until you need it. That will make him happy. It will help you to say that I forced you. ” “Oh, I will. I will …tell that lie,” the captain added quickly. Ahmed nodded, slid down the rope into the boat and set it adrift. The crew watched him row through the surf. This wasn’t a nice beach. It was a wrecking coast. Ribcages of broken ships crumbled into the sand. Bones and driftwood and bleached white seaweed mounded along the high tide line. And beyond, the dunes of the real desert rose. Even down here sand stung the eyes and gritted the teeth. “There’s sudden death on that beach,” said the first mate, looking over the rail and trying to blink his eyes clear. “Yes,” said the captain. “He’s just got out of the boat. ” The figure on the beach pulled the other, recumbent figure out of the boat and dragged him out of reach of the waves. The mate raised his bow. “I could kill him from here, master. Just say the word. ” “How sure are you? Because you’d better be really sure. First, if you miss him you’re dead and, second, if you hit him, you’re still dead. Look up there. ” On the high distant dunes, dark against the sand-filled sky, there were mounted figures. The mate dropped his bow. “How did they know we were here?” “Oh, they watch the sea,” said the captain. “D’regs like a good shipwreck as much as anyone else. More, in fact. A lot more. ” As they turned away from the rail, something leapt from the hull and entered the water with barely a splash. Detritus tried to lurk in the shade, but there was not a lot of it about. The heat came off the high desert ahead of them like a blowtorch. “I’m gonna get fick,” he muttered. There was a shout from the lookout. “He says someone’s climbing the dunes,” said Carrot. “Carrying someone else, he says. ” “Er…female?” “Look, sir, I know Angua. She’s not the useless type. She doesn’t stand there and scream helplessly. She makes other people do that. ” “Well…if you’re sure…” Vimes turned to Jenkins. “Don’t bother to chase the ship, captain. Just keep heading for the shore. ” “I don’t work like that, mister. For one thing, that’s a damn difficult shore, the wind’s always against you, and there’s some very nasty currents. Many an incautious sailorman has left his bones to bleach on those sands. No, we’ll stand out a little way and you can lower the—well, if we had a boat any more, you could lower it…and we’ll drop the anchor, oh, no, tell a lie, it turned out to be too heavy, didn’t it—” “You just keep straight on,” said Vimes. “We’ll all be killed. ” “Think of it as the lesser of two evils. ” “What’s the other one?” Vimes drew his sword. “Me. ” The Boat squeaked through the mysterious depths of the ocean. Leonard spent a lot of time looking out of the tiny windows, particularly interested in pieces of seaweed which, to Sergeant Colon, looked like pieces of seaweed. “Do you note the fine strands of Dropley’s Etoliated Bladderwrack?” said Leonard. “That’s the brown stuff. A marvelous growth which, of course, you will see as significant. ” “Could we just assume for the moment that I have neglected my seaweed studies in recent years?” said the Patrician. “Really? Oh, the loss is entirely yours, I assure you. The point is , of course, that the Etoliated Bladderwrack is never usually found growing above thirty fathoms, and it’s only ten here. ” “Ah. ” The Patrician flicked through a stack of Leonard’s drawings. “And the hieroglyphs—an alphabet of signs and colors. Colors as a language…what a fascinating idea…” “An emotional intensifier,” said Leonard. “But of course we ourselves use something like it. Red for danger and so on. I never did succeed in translating it, though. ” “Colors as a language…” murmured Lord Vetinari. Sergeant Colon cleared his throat. “I know something about seaweed, sir. ” “Yes, sergeant?” “Yessir! If it’s wet, sir, it means it’s going to rain. ” “Well done, sergeant,” said Lord Vetinari, without turning his head. “I think it is quite possible that I will never forget you said that. ” Sergeant Colon beamed. He had Made A Contribution. Nobby nudged him. “What’re we doing down here, sarge? I mean, what’s it all about? Poking around, looking at weird marks on the rocks, going in and out of caves…and the smell…well…” “It’s not me,” said Sergeant Colon. “Smells like…sulfur…” Little bubbles streamed past the window. “It stunk up on the surface, too,” Nobby went on. “Nearly finished, gentlemen,” said Lord Vetinari, putting the papers aside. “One last little venture and then we can surface. Very well, Leonard…take us underneath. ” “Er…aren’t we underneath already, sir?” said Colon. “Only underneath the sea, sergeant. ” “Ah. Right. ” Colon gave this due consideration. “Is there anything else to be under, then, sir?” “Yes, sergeant. Now we’re going under the land. ” The beach was a lot closer now. The watchmen couldn’t help noticing that the sailors were all hurrying to the blunt end of the ship and hanging on to any small, lightweight and above all buoyant objects they could find. “This seems close enough,” said Vimes. “Right. Stop here. ” “Stop here? How?” “Don’t ask me, I’m no sailor. Aren’t there some sort of brakes?” Jenkins stared at him. “You—you landlubber!” “I thought you never used the word!” “I never met one like you before! You even think we call the bows the sharp en—” It was, the crew agreed later, one of the strangest landings in the history of bad seamanship. The shelving of the beach must have been right and the tide as well, because the ship did not so much hit the beach as sail up it, rising out of the water as the keel debarnacled itself on the sand. Finally the forces of wind, water, impetus and friction all met at the point marked “fall over slowly. ” It did so, earning the title of “world’s most laughable shipwreck. ” “Well, that might have been worse,” said Vimes, when the splintering noises had died away. He eased himself out of a tangle of canvas and adjusted his helmet with as much aplomb as he could muster. He heard a groan from the lopsided hold. “Is dat you, Cheery?” “Yes, Detritus. ” “Is dis me?” “No!” “Sorry. ” Carrot eased his way down the sloping deck and jumped on to 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 sunny-sounding 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. ” “Quick, hold your shield over his head,” said Vimes. “Give him some shade!” “He’s never going to make it, sir,” said Carrot. “Let’s send him back down to the boat. ” “We need him! Quick, Cheery, fan him with your ax!” At which point, the sand stood up and drew a hundred swords. “Bingeley-bingeley beep!” said a cheerful if somewhat muffled voice. “Eleven eh em, Get Haircut…er…that’s right…isn’t it?” It wasn’t large, but slabs of collapsing building had smashed together in such a way that they made a cistern that the rain had filled half full. Solid Jackson slapped his son on the back. “Fresh water! At last!” he said. “Well done, lad. ” “You see, I was looking at these sort of painting things, Dad, and then—” “Yeah, yeah, pictures of octopuses, very nice,” said Jackson. “Hah! The ball is on the other foot now and no mistake! It’s our water on our side of the island, and I’d just like to see them greasy buggers claim otherwise. Let ’em keep their damn driftwood and suck water out of fishes!” “Yeah, Dad,” said Les. “And we can trade them some of the water for wood and flour, right?” His father waved a hand cautiously. “ Maybe ,” he said. “No need to rush into that, though. We’re pretty close to finding a seaweed that’ll burn. I mean, what’re our long-term objectives here?” “Cooking meals and keeping warm?” said Les hopefully. “Well, initially ,” said Jackson. “That’s obvious. But you know what they say, lad. ‘Give a man a fire and he’s warm for a day, but set fire to him and he’s warm for the rest of his life. ’ See my point?” “I don’t think that’s actually what the saying is—” “I mean, we can stop here living on water and raw fish for…well, practically forever. But that lot can’t go without proper fresh water for much longer. See? So they’ll have to come begging to us, right? And then we deal on our terms, eh?” He put his arm around his son’s reluctant shoulders and waved a hand at the landscape. “I mean, I started out with nothing, son, except that old boat that your grandad left me, but—” “—you worked and scraped—” said Les wearily. “—I worked and scraped—” “—and you’ve always kept your head above water—” “—right, I’ve always kept my head above water—” “And you’ve always wanted to leave me something that—Ow!” “Stop making fun of your dad!” said Jackson. “Otherwise I’ll wallop the other ear. Look, you see this land? You see it?” “I see it, Dad. ” “It’s a land of opportunity. ” “But there’s no fresh water and all the ground’s full of salt, Dad, and it smells bad !” “That’s the smell of freedom, that is. ” “Smells like someone did a really big fart, Dad—Ow!” “Sometimes the two are very similar! And it’s your future I’m thinking of, lad!” Les looked at the acres of decomposing seaweed in front of him. He was learning to be a fisherman like his father before him because that’s how the family had always done it and he was too good-natured to argue, although he actually wanted to be a painter like no one in the family had ever been before. He was noticing things, and they worried him even though he couldn’t quite say why. But the buildings didn’t look right. Here and there were definite bits of, well, architecture, like Morporkian pillars and the remains of Klatchian arches, but they’d been added to buildings that looked as though some ham-fisted people had just piled rocks on top of one another. And then in other places the slabs had been stacked on top of ancient brick walls and tiled floors. He couldn’t imagine who’d done the tiling, but they did like pictures of octopussies. The feeling was stealing over him that Morporkians and Klatchians arguing over who owned this piece of old sea bottom was extremely pointless. “Er…I’m thinking about my future too, Dad,” he said. “I really am. ” Far below Solid Jackson’s feet, the Boat surfaced. Sergeant Colon reached automatically for the screws that held the lid shut. “Don’t open it, sergeant!” shouted Leonard, rising from his seat. “The air’s getting pretty lived-in, sir—” “It’s worse outside. ” “Worse than in here?” “I’m almost certain. ” “But we’re on the surface!” “A surface, sergeant,” said Lord Vetinari. Beside him, Nobby uncorked the seeing device and peered through it. “We’re in a cave?” said Colon. “Er…sarge…” said Nobby. “Capital! Well worked out,” said Lord Vetinari. “Yes. A cave. You could say that. ” “Er…sarge?” said Nobby again, nudging Colon. “This isn’t a cave, sarge! It’s bigger than a cave, sarge!” “What, you mean…like a cavern?” “Bigger!” “Bigger’n a cavern? More like a… big cavern?” “Yeah, that’d be about right,” said Nobby, taking his eye away from the device. “Have a look yourself, sarge. ” Sergeant Colon peered into the tube. Instead of the darkness he was half expecting, he saw the sea’s surface, bubbling like a boiling saucepan. Green and yellow flashes of lightning danced across the water, illuminating a distant wall that seemed practically a horizon… The tube squeaked around. If this was a cave, it was at least a couple of miles across. “How long, do you think?” said Lord Vetinari, behind him. “Well, the rock has a large proportion of tufa and pumice, very light, and once floated up the build-up of gas starts to escape very rapidly because of the swell,” said Leonard. “I don’t know…perhaps another week…and then I think it takes a very long time for a sufficient bubble to build up again…” “What’re they saying, sarge?” said Nobby. “This place floats ?” “A most unusual natural phenomenon,” Leonard went on. “I’d have thought it was just a legend had I not seen it for myself…” “Of course it’s not floating,” said Sergeant Colon. “Honestly, Nobby, how’re you ever going to find out anything when you ask daft questions like that? Land’s heavier than water, right? That’s why you find it at the bottom of the sea. ” “Yes, but he said pumice, and my gran had a pumice stone that worked a treat for getting tough skin off’f your feet in the tub and that’d float—” “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 this, 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 toward 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 may take a moment, there’s no index, but I think I saw something—” The chieftain took a step backward 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 clear voice that unless they back off a really long way, this gentleman here is going to be in some very serious legal trouble. ” “Mr. Vimes, I don’t think—” “Do it!” The D’reg looked into his eyes while Carrot hawked his way through the demand. The man was still grinning. Vimes couldn’t risk shifting his gaze, but he sensed some puzzlement and confusion among the tribesmen. Then, as one man, they charged. A Klatchian fishing boat, whose captain knew which way the wind was blowing, made its way back to the harbor of Al-Khali. It seemed to the captain that, despite the favorable wind, he wasn’t making quite the speed he should. He put it down to barnacles. Vimes awoke with a noseful of camel. There are far worse awakenings, but not as many as you might think. By turning his head, which took some effort, he ascertained that the camel was sitting down. By the sound of things, it was digesting something explosive. Now, how had he got here…Oh, gods… But it should have worked…It was classic. You threatened to cut off the head and the body just folded up. That was how everyone reacted, wasn’t it? That was practically how civilization worked… Put it down to cultural differences, then. On the other hand, he wasn’t dead. According to Carrot, knowing the D’regs for five minutes and still being alive at the end of it meant that they really, really liked you. On the other other hand, he’d just given their head man a Handshake, which influenced people without making friends. Well, no sense lying over this saddle bound hand and foot and dying of sunstroke all day. He ought to start being a leader of men again, and would do so just as soon as he could get this camel out of his mouth. “Bingeley-bingeley beep?” “Yes?” said Vimes, struggling with his bonds. “Would you like to know about the appointments you missed?” “No! I’m trying to get these damn ropes untied!” “Do you want me to put that on your To Do list?” “Oh, you’ve woken up, sir. ” It sounded like Carrot’s voice and it was the sort of thing he’d say. Vimes tried to turn his head. What he saw was mainly a white sheet, but it then became Carrot’s face, upside down. “They asked if they should untie you but I said you hadn’t been getting enough rest lately,” Carrot went on. “Captain, my arms and legs have gone to sleep…” Vimes began. “Oh, well done, sir! That’s a start, at least. ” “Carrot?” “Yes, sir?” “I want you to listen very carefully to the order I am about to give you. ” “Certainly, sir. ” “The point I’m making is that it won’t be a request or a suggestion or some sort of hint. ” “Understood, sir. ” “I have, as you know, always encouraged my officers to think for themselves and not blindly obey me, but sometimes in any organization it is necessary for instructions to be followed to the letter and with alacrity. ” “Right, sir. ” “Untie me right now or you’ll bloody well live to regret untying me!” “Er, sir, I believe there is an inadvertent inconsistency in—” “Carrot!” “Of course, sir. ” His ropes were cut. He slid down on to the sand. The camel turned its head, looked at him with its nostrils for a moment, and then looked away. Vimes managed to sit upright while Carrot busied himself cutting the rest of his bonds. “Captain, why are you wearing a white sheet?” “It’s a burnous , sir. Very practical for desert wear. The D’regs gave them to us. ” “Us?” “The rest of us, sir. ” “Everyone’s okay?” “Oh, yes. ” “But they attacked—” “Yes, sir. But they only wanted to take us prisoner, sir. One of them did accidentally cut Reg’s head off, but he did help him sew it on again, so no real harm done there. ” “I thought D’regs didn’t take prisoners…?” “Beats me too, sir. But they say if we try to escape they’ll cut our feet off, and Reg says he hasn’t got enough thread for everyone, sir. ” Vimes rubbed his head. Someone had hit him so hard his helmet was dented. “What went wrong?” he said. “I had their boss down!” “As I understand it, sir, the D’regs think that any leader who is stupid enough to be defeated so easily isn’t worth following. It’s a Klatchian thing. ” Vimes tried to persuade himself that there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in Carrot’s voice as he went on: “They’re not really very interested in leaders, sir, to tell you the truth. They look on them as a sort of ornament. You know…just someone to shout ‘Charge!’ sir. ” “A leader has to do other things, Carrot. ” “The D’regs think ‘Charge!’ pretty well covers all of them, sir. ” Vimes managed to stand up. Strange muscles twanged in his legs. He tottered forward. “Here, let me give you a hand…” said Carrot, catching him. The sun was setting. Ragged tents clustered below one of the dunes, and there was the glow of firelight. Someone was laughing. It didn’t sound like a prison. But then, thought Vimes, the desert was probably better than bars. He wouldn’t even know which way to run, feet or no feet. “The D’regs, like all Klatchians, are a very hospitable people,” said Carrot, as if he’d memorized this. “They take hospitality very, very seriously. ” Their captors were sitting round the fire. So were the watchmen. They’d also been persuaded to dress more suitably, which meant that Cheery looked like a girl in her mum’s dress, apart from the iron helmet, and Reg Shoe looked like a mummy, and Detritus was a small snow-covered mountain. “He’s gone very…insensible in all this heat,” whispered Carrot. “And that’s Constable Visit over there, arguing religion. There are six hundred and fifty-three religions on the Klatchian continent. |
” “He must be having fun. ” “And this is Jabbar,” said Carrot. Exhibit A, who looked like a slightly older version of 71-hour Ahmed, stood up and salaamed to Vimes. “Offendi,” he said. “He’s their…well, he’s like an official wise man,” said Carrot. “Oh, so he’s not the one who tells them to charge?” said Vimes. His head buzzed with the heat. “No, that’s the leader,” said Carrot. “Whenever they have one. ” “So perhaps Jabbar tells them when it’s wise to charge?” said Vimes brightly. “It’s always wise to charge, offendi,” said Jabbar. He bowed again. “My tent is your tent,” he said. “It is?” said Vimes. “My wives are your wives…” Vimes looked panicky. “They are? Really?” “My food is your food…” Jabbar went on. Vimes stared down at the dish by the fire. It looked like a sheep or a goat had been the main course. And the man bent down, picked up a morsel and handed it to him. Sam Vimes looked at the mouthful. And it looked back. “The best part,” said Jabbar, and made appreciative sucking noises. He added something in Klatchian. There was some muffled laughter from the other men around the fire. “This looks like a sheep’s eyeball,” said Vimes, doubtfully. “Yes, sir,” said Carrot. “But it is unwise to—” “You know what?” Vimes went on. “I think this is a little game called ‘Let’s see what offendi will swallow. ’ And I’m not swallowing this, my friend. ” Jabbar gave him an appraising look. The sniggering stopped. “Then it is true that you can see further than most,” he said. “So can this food,” said Vimes. “My father told me never to eat anything that can wink back. ” There was one of those little hanging-by-a-thread moments, which might suddenly rock one way or the other into a gale of laughter or sudden death. Then Jabbar slapped Vimes on the back. The eyeball shot off his palm and into the shadows. “Well done! Extremely good! First time it have not worked in twenty year! Now sit down and have proper rice and sheep just like mother!” There was a certain feeling of relaxation. Vimes found himself pulled down. Bottoms shuffled aside to make room for him and a big slab of bread dripping with meat was put in front of him. Vimes prodded at it as politely as he dared, and then took the usual view that, if you can recognize at least half of it, it’s probably okay to eat the rest. “So we’re your prisoners, Mr. Jabbar?” “Honored guests! My tent is—” “But…how can I put this?…you want us to enjoy your hospitality for some time?” “We have tradition,” said Jabbar. “A man who is a guest in your tent, even if he is your worst enemy, you owe him hospitality for tree dace. ” “Tree dace, eh?” said Vimes. “I learn language on…” Jabbar waved a hand vaguely, “you know, wooden ting, a camel of the sea—” “Boat?” “Right! But too many water!” He slapped Vimes on the back again, so that hot fat spilled into his lap. “Any road up, lots speaking Morporkian these dace, offendi. It is language of…merchant. ” He put an inflection on the word that suggested it was the same as “earthworm. ” “So you have to know how to say things like ‘Give us all your money’?” said Vimes. “Why ask?” said Jabbar. “We take it anyway. But now…” he spat at the fire with amazing accuracy “…they say, we got to stop, this is wrong. What harm do we do?” “Apart from killing people and taking all their merchandise?” said Vimes. Jabbar laughed again. “ Wali said you were a big diplomatic! But we don’t kill merchants, why should we kill merchants? What is the sense? How foolish to be killing gift horse that lays the golden egg!” “You could make money exhibiting it, certainly,” said Vimes. “We kill merchants, we rob too much, they never come back. Dumb. We let them go, they get rich again, our sons rob them. Such is wisdom. ” “Ah…it’s a sort of agriculture,” said Vimes. “Right! But if you plant merchants, they don’t grow so good. ” Vimes realized that it was getting colder as the sun went down. In fact, a lot colder. He inched closer to the fire. “Why is he called 71-hour Ahmed?” he said. The murmur of conversation stopped. Suddenly all eyes were on Jabbar, except the one that had ended up in the shadows. “ Not so diplomatic,” said Jabbar. “We chase him up here, then suddenly we’re ambushed by you. That seems—” “I know nothing,” said Jabbar. “Why won’t you—?” Vimes began. “Er, sir,” said Carrot urgently. “That would be very unwise, sir. Look, I had a bit of a talk with Jabbar while you were…resting. It’s a bit political, I’m afraid. ” “What isn’t?” “Prince Cadram is trying to unite the whole of Klatch, you see. ” “Dragging it kicking and screaming into the Century of the Fruitbat?” “Why, yes, sir, how did—?” “Just a lucky guess. Go on. ” “But he has been having trouble,” said Carrot. “What kind?” said Vimes. “Us,” said Jabbar proudly. “None of the tribes like the idea, sir,” Carrot went on. “They’ve always fought among themselves, and now most of them are fighting him. Historically, sir, Klatch isn’t so much an empire as an argument. ” “He say, you must be educated. You must be learning to pay taxes. We do not wish to be educated about taxes,” said Jabbar. “So you think you’re fighting for your freedom?” said Vimes. Jabbar hesitated, and looked at Carrot. There was a brief exchange in Klatchian. Then Carrot said: “That’s a rather difficult question for a D’reg, sir. You see, their word for ‘freedom’ is the same as their word for ‘fighting. ’” “They certainly make their language do a lot of work, don’t they…?” Vimes was feeling better in the colder air. He took out a crushed and damp packet of cigars, pulled a coal out of the fire, and took a deep drag. “So…Prince Charming’s got a lot of troubles at home, has he? Does Vetinari know this?” “Does a camel shit in the desert, sir?” “You’re really getting the hang of Klatch, aren’t you?” said Vimes. Jabbar rumbled something. There was more laughter. “Er…Jabbar says a camel certainly does shit in the desert, sir, otherwise you wouldn’t have anything to light your cigar with, sir. ” Once again, there was one of those moments when Vimes felt that he was under close scrutiny. Be diplomatic, Vetinari had told him. He took another deep draw. “Improves the flavor,” he said. “Remind me to take some home. ” In Jabbar’s eyes, the judges held up at least a couple of grudging eights. “A man on a horse came and said we must fight the foreign dogs—” “That’s us, sir,” said Carrot helpfully. “—because you have stolen an island that is under the sea. But what is that to us? We know no harm of you foreign devils, but the men who oil their beards in Al-Khali we do not like. So we send him back. ” “All of him?” said Vimes. “We are not barbaric. He was clearly a madman. But we kept his horse. ” “And 71-hour Ahmed told you to keep us, didn’t he?” said Vimes. “No one orders the D’regs! It is our pleasure to keep you here!” “And when will it be your pleasure to let us go? When Ahmed tells you?” Jabbar stared at the fire. “I will not speak of him. He is devious and cunning and not to be trusted. ” “But you are D’regs, too. ” “Yes!” Jabbar slapped Vimes on the back again. “We know what we are talking about!” The Klatchian fishing boat was a mile or two out of harbor when it seemed to its captain that it was suddenly riding better in the water. Perhaps the barnacles have dropped off, he thought. When his boat was lost in the evening mists a length of bent pipe rose slowly out of the swell and squeaked around until it faced the coast. A distant tinny voice said: “Oh, no…” And another tinny voice said: “What’s up, sarge?” “Take a look through this!” “Okay. ” There was a pause. Then the second tinny voice said: “Oh, bugger…” What was riding at anchor before the city of Al-Khali wasn’t a fleet. It was a fleet of fleets. The masts looked like a floating forest. Down below, Lord Vetinari took his turn to peer through the pipe. “So many ships,” he said. “In such a short time, too. How very well organized. Very well organized. One might almost say… astonishingly well organized. As they say, ‘If you would seek war, prepare for war. |
’” “I believe, my lord, the saying is ‘If you would seek peace, prepare for war,’” Leonard ventured. Vetinari put his head on one side and his lips moved as he repeated the phrase to himself. Finally he said, “No, no. I just don’t see that one at all. ” He ducked back into his seat. “Let us proceed with care,” he said. “We can go ashore under cover of darkness. ” “Er…can we maybe go ashore under cover of cover?” said Sergeant Colon. “In fact these extra ships will make our plan that much easier,” said the Patrician, ignoring him. “Our plan?” said Colon. “People within the Klatchian hegemony come in every shape and color. ” Vetinari glanced at Nobby. “Practically every shape and color,” he added. “So our appearance on the streets should not cause undue comment. ” He glanced at Nobby again. “To any great extent. ” “But we’re wearing our uniforms, sir,” said Sergeant Colon. “It’s not like we can say we’re on our way to a fancy-dress party. ” “Well, I’m not taking mine off,” said Nobby firmly. “I’m not running around in my drawers. Not in a port. Sailors are at sea a long time. You hear stories. ” “That’d be worse ,” said the sergeant, without wasting time calculating how long any sailor would need to be at sea before the vision of Nobby Nobbs would present itself as anything other than a target, “’cos if we’re not in uniform, we’ll be spies—and you know what happens to spies. ” “Are you going to tell me, sarge?” “Excuse me, your lordship?” Sergeant Colon raised his voice. The Patrician looked up from a conversation with Leonard. “Yes, sergeant?” “What do they do to spies in Klatch, sir?” “Er…let me see…” said Leonard. “Oh, yes…I believe they give you to the women. ” Nobby brightened up. “Oh, well, that doesn’t sound too bad—” “Er, no, Nobby—” Colon began. “—’cos I’ve seen the pictures in that book The Perfumed Allotment that Corporal Angua was reading, and—” “—no, listen , Nobby, you’ve got the wrong—” “—I mean, blimey, I didn’t know you could do that with a—” “—Nobby, listen —” “—and then there’s this bit where she—” “Corporal Nobbs!” Colon yelled. “Yes, sarge?” Colon leaned forward and whispered in Nobby’s ear. The corporal’s expression changed, slowly. “They really—” “ Yes , Nobby. ” “They really —” “Yes, Nobby. ” “They don’t do that at home. ” “We ain’t at home, Nobby. I wish we was. ” “Although you hear stories about the Agony Aunts, sarge. ” “Gentlemen,” said Lord Vetinari. “I am afraid Leonard is being rather fanciful. That may apply to some of the mountain tribes, but Klatch is an ancient civilization and that sort of thing is not done officially. I should imagine they’d give you a cigarette. ” “A cigarette?” said Fred. “Yes, sergeant. And a nice sunny wall to stand in front of. ” Sergeant Colon examined this for any downside. “A nice roll-up and a wall to lean against?” he said. “I think they prefer you to stand up straight, sergeant. ” “Fair enough. No need to be sloppy just because you’re a prisoner. Oh, well. I don’t mind risking it, then. ” “Well done,” said the Patrician calmly. “Tell me, sergeant…in your long military career, did anyone ever consider promoting you to an officer?” “Nossir!” “I cannot think why. ” Night poured over the desert. It came suddenly, in purple. In the clear air, the stars drilled down out of the sky, reminding any thoughtful watcher that it is in the deserts and high places that religions are generated. When men see nothing but bottomless infinity over their heads they have always had a driving and desperate urge to find someone to put in the way. Life emerged from the burrows and fissures. Soon, the desert was filled with the buzz and click and screech of creatures which, lacking mankind’s superior brainpower, did not concern themselves with finding someone to blame and instead tried to find someone to eat. At around three in the morning Sam Vimes walked out of the tent for a smoke. The cold air hit him like a door. It was freezing. That wasn’t what was supposed to happen in deserts, was it? Deserts were all hot sand and camels and…and…he struggled for a while, as a man whose geographical knowledge got severely cramped once you got off paved road…camels, yes, and dates. And possibly bananas and coconuts. But the temperature here made your breath tinkle in the air. He waved his cigar packet theatrically at a D’reg who was lounging near the tent. The man shrugged. The fire was just a heap of gray, but Vimes poked around in the vain hope of finding a glowing ember. He was amazed at how angry he was. Ahmed was the key, he knew it. And now they were stuck out here in the desert, the man had gone, and they were in the hands of…quiet, likeable people, fair enough. Brigands, maybe, the dry land equivalent of pirates, but Carrot would have said they were jolly good chaps for all that. If you were content to be their guest then they were as nice as pie, or sheep’s eyeball and treacle or whatever you got out here— Something moved in the moonlight. A shadow slipped down the side of a dune. Something howled, out in the desert night. Tiny hairs rose, all down Vimes’s back, just like they had for his distant ancestors. The night is always old. He’d walked too often down dark streets in the secret hours and felt the night stretching away, and known in his blood that while days and kings and empires come and go, the night is always the same age, always aeons deep. Terrors unfolded in the velvet shadows and while the nature of the talons may change, the nature of the beast does not. He stood up quietly, and reached for his sword. It wasn’t there. They’d taken it away. They’d not even— “A fine night,” said a voice beside him. Jabbar was standing by his shoulder. “Who is out there?” Vimes hissed. “An enemy. ” “Which one?” Teeth gleamed in the shadows. “We will find out, offendi. ” “Why would they attack you now?” “Maybe they think we have something they want, offendi. ” More shadows slid across the desert. And one rose up right behind Jabbar, reached down and picked him up. A huge gray hand dragged his sword out of his belt. “What do you want me to do with him, Mr. Vimes?” “ Detritus ?” The troll saluted with the hand that still held the D’reg. “All present and correct, sir!” “But—” And then Vimes realized. “It’s freezing cold! Your brain’s working again?” “With rather more efficiency, sir. ” “Is this a djinn?” said Jabbar. “I don’t know, but I could certainly do with one,” said Vimes. He finally managed to locate some matches in his pocket, and lit one. “Put him down, sergeant,” he said, puffing his cigar into life. “Jabbar, this is Sergeant Detritus. He could break every bone in your body, including some of the small ones in the fingers which are quite hard to do—” The darkness went shwup and something whispered past the back of his neck, just a slice of a second before Jabbar cannoned into him and bore him to the ground. “They shoot at the light!” “Mwwf?” Vimes raised his head cautiously and spat out sand and fragments of tobacco. “Mr. Vimes?” Only Carrot could whisper like that. He associated whispering with concealment and untruth and compromised by whispering very loudly. To Vimes’s horror the man came round the edge of a tent holding a tiny lamp. “Put that damn—” But he didn’t have time to finish the sentence because, somewhere out in the night, a man screamed. It was a high-pitched scream and was suddenly cut off. “Ah,” said Carrot, crouching down by Vimes and blowing out the lamp. “That was Angua. ” “That was nothing like—Oh. Yeah, I think I see what you mean,” Vimes said, uneasily. “She’s out there, is she?” “I heard her earlier. She’s probably enjoying herself. She doesn’t really get much of a chance to let herself go in Ankh-Morpork. ” “Er…no…” Vimes had a mental picture of a werewolf letting go. But surely, Angua wouldn’t— “You two, uh…you’re getting along okay, are you?” he said, trying to make out shapes in the darkness. “Oh, fine, sir. Fine. ” So her turning into a wolf occasionally doesn’t worry you ? Vimes couldn’t bring himself to say it. “No…problems, then?” “Oh, not really, sir. |
She buys her own dog biscuits and she’s got her own flap in the door. When it’s full moon I don’t really get involved. ” There were shouts in the night and then a shape erupted from the darkness, streaked past Vimes, and disappeared into a tent. It didn’t wait for a door. It simply hit the cloth at full speed and continued until the tent collapsed around it. “And what is that ?” said Jabbar. “This may take some explaining,” said Vimes, picking himself up. Carrot and Detritus were already hauling at the collapsed tent. “We are D’regs,” said Jabbar reproachfully. “We are supposed to fold tents silently in the night, not—” There was enough moonlight. Angua sat up and snatched a piece of tent out of Carrot’s hands. “Thank you ,” she said, wrapping it around her. “And before anyone says anything, I just bit him on the bum. Hard. And that was not the soft option, let me tell you. ” Jabbar looked back into the desert, and then down at the sand, and then at Angua. Vimes could see him thinking, and put a fraternal arm around his shoulders. “I’d better explain—” he began. “There’s a couple of hundred soldiers out there!” Angua snapped. “—later. ” “They’re taking up positions all round you! And they don’t look nice! Has anyone got any clothes that might fit? And some decent food? And a drink! There’s no water in this place!” “They will not dare attack before dawn,” said Jabbar. “And what will you do, sir?” said Carrot. “At dawn we will charge!” “Ah. Uh. I wonder if I could suggest an alternative approach?” “Alternative? It is right to charge! Charging is what dawn is for. ” Carrot saluted Vimes. “I’ve been reading your book, sir. While you were…asleep. Tacticus’s got quite a lot to say about how to deal with overwhelming odds, sir. ” “Yes?” “He says take every opportunity to turn them into underwhelming odds, sir. We could attack now. ” “But it’s dark, man!” “It’s just as dark for the enemy, sir. ” “I mean it’s pitch black! You wouldn’t know who the hell you were fighting! Half the time you’d be shooting your own side!” “ We wouldn’t, sir, because there’d only be a few of us. Sir? All we need to do is crawl out there, make a bit of noise, and then let them get on with it. Tacticus says all armies are the same size in the night, sir. ” “There might be something in that,” said Angua. “They’re crawling around in ones and twos, and they’re dressed pretty much like—” She waved a hand at Jabbar. “This is Jabbar,” said Carrot. “He’s sort of not the leader. ” Jabbar grinned nervously. “It happens often in your country, where dogs turn into naked women?” “Sometimes days can go past and it doesn’t happen at all,” Angua snapped. “I’d like some clothes, please. And a sword, if there’s going to be fighting. ” “Um, I think Klatchians have a very particular view about women fighting—” Carrot began. “Yes!” said Jabbar. “We expect them to be good at it, Blue Eyes. We are D’regs!” The Boat surfaced in the scummy dead water under a jetty. The lid opened slowly. “Smells like home,” said Nobby. “You can’t trust the water,” said Sergeant Colon. “But I don’t trust the water at home, sarge. ” Fred Colon managed to get a foothold on the greasy wood. It was, in theory, quite a heroic enterprise. He and Nobby Nobbs, the bold warriors, were venturing forth in hostile territory. Unfortunately, he knew they were doing it because Lord Vetinari was sitting in the Boat and would raise his eyebrows in no uncertain manner if they refused. Colon had always thought that heroes had some special kind of clockwork that made them go out and die famously for god, country and apple pie, or whatever particular delicacy their mother made. It had never occurred to him that they might do it because they’d get yelled at if they didn’t. He reached down. “Come on up, Nobby,” he said. “And remember we’re doing this for the gods, Ankh-Morpork and—” It seemed to Colon that a foodstuff would indeed be somehow appropriate. “And my mum’s famous knuckle sandwich!” “Our mum never made us knuckle sandwiches,” said Nobby, as he hauled himself on to the planks. “But you’d be amazed at what she could do with a bit of cheese…” “Yeah, all right, but that ain’t much of a battle cry, is it? ‘For the gods, Ankh-Morpork and amazing things Nobby’s mum can do with cheese’? That’ll strike fear in the hearts of the enemy!” said Sergeant Colon, as they crept forward. “Oh, well, if that’s what you’re after, you want my mum’s Distressed Pudding and custard,” said Nobby. “Frightening, is it?” “They wouldn’t want to know about it, sarge. ” The docks of Al-Khali were like docks everywhere, because all docks everywhere are connected. Men have to put things on and off boats. There are only a limited number of ways to do this. So all docks look the same. Some are hotter, some are damper, there are always piles of vaguely forgotten-looking things. In the distance there was the glow of the city, which seemed quite unaware of the enemy incursion. “‘Get us some clothes so that we’ll blend in,’” muttered Colon. “That’s all very well to say. ” “Nah, nah, that’s easy ,” said Nobby. “ Everyone knows how to do that one. You lurk in an alley somewhere, right, and you wait until a couple of blokes come by and you lure them into the alley, see, and there’s a couple of thumps, and then you come out wearing their clothes. ” “That works, does it?” “Never fails, sarge,” said Nobby confidently. The desert looked like snow in the moonlight. Vimes found himself quite at ease with the Tacticus method of fighting. It was how coppers had always fought. A proper copper didn’t line up with a lot of other coppers and rush at people. A copper lurked in the shadows, walked quietly and bided his time. In all honesty, of course, the time he bided until was the point when the criminal had already committed the crime and was carrying the loot. Otherwise, what was the point? You had to be realistic. “We got the man what done it” carries a lot more gravitas than “We got the man what looked as if he was going to do it,” especially when people say, “Prove it. ” Somewhere off to the left, in the distance, someone screamed. Vimes was a bit uneasy in this robe, though. It was like going into battle in a nightshirt. Because he wasn’t at all certain he could kill a man who wasn’t actively trying to kill him. Of course, technically any armed Klatchian these days was actively trying to kill him. That was what war was about. But— He raised his head over the top of the dune. A Klatchian warrior was looking the other way. Vimes crept— “Bingeley-bingeley beep! This is your seven eh em alarm call, Insert Name Here! At least I hope—” “Huh?” “ Damn !” Vimes reacted first and punched the man on the nose. Since there was no point in waiting to see what effect this would have, he threw himself forward and the two of them rolled down the other side of the freezing dune, struggling and punching. “—but my real-time function seems erratic at the moment—” The Klatchian was smaller than Vimes. He was younger, too. But it was unfortunate for him that he appeared to be too young to have learned the repertoire of dirty fighting that spelled survival in Ankh-Morpork’s back streets. Vimes, on the other hand, was prepared to hit anything with anything. The point was that the opponent shouldn’t get up again. Everything else was decoration. They slid to a halt at the bottom of the dune, with Vimes on top and the Klatchian groaning. “Things To Do,” the Dis-organizer shrilled: “Ache. ” And then…It was probably throat cutting time. Back home Vimes could have dragged him off to the cells, in the knowledge that everything would look better in the morning, but the desert had no such options. No, he couldn’t do that. Thump the bloke senseless. That was the merciful way. “Vindaloo! Vindaloo!” Vimes’s fist stayed raised. “What?” “That’s you, isn’t it? Mr. Vimes? Vindaloo!” Vimes pulled a fold of cloth away from the figure’s face. “Are you Goriff ’s boy?” “I didn’t want to be here, Mr. Vimes!” The words came fast, desperate. |
“All right, all right, I’m not going to hurt you…” Vimes lowered his fist and stood up, pulling the boy up after him. “Talk later,” he muttered. “Come on!” “No! Everyone knows what the D’regs do to their captives!” “Well I’m their captive and they’ll have to do it to both of us, okay? Keep away from the more amusing food and you’ll probably be okay. ” Someone whistled in the darkness. “Come on , lad!” hissed Vimes. “No harm’s going to come to you! Well…less than’d come if you stayed here. All right?” This time he didn’t give the boy time to argue, but dragged him along. As he headed toward the D’regs’ camp, other figures slid down the dunes. One of them had an arm missing and had a sword sticking in him. “How did you get on, Reg?” said Vimes. “A bit odd, sir. After the first one chopped my arm off and stabbed me, the rest of them seemed to keep out of my way. Honestly, you’d think they’d never seen a man stabbed before. ” “Did you find your arm?” Reg waved something in the air. “That’s another thing,” he said. “I hit a few of them with it and they ran off screaming. ” “It’s your type of unarmed combat,” said Vimes. “It probably takes some getting used to. ” “Is that a prisoner you’ve got there?” “In a way. ” Vimes glanced around. “He seems to have fainted. I can’t think why. ” Reg leaned closer. “These foreigners are a bit weird,” he said. “Reg?” “Yes?” “Your ear’s hanging off. ” “Is it? Wretched thing. You’d think a nail would work, wouldn’t you?” Sergeant Colon looked up at the stars. They looked down at him. At least Fred Colon had a choice. Beside him, Corporal Nobbs gave a groan. But the attackers had left him his pants. There are some places where the boldest dare not go, and those areas of Nobby upward of the knees and downward of the stomach were among them. Well, Colon thought of them as attackers. Technically, he supposed they were defenders. Aggressive defenders. “Just run all that past me again, will you?” he said. “We find a couple of blokes about our height and weight—” “We did that. ” “We lure them into this alley—” “We did that. ” “I take a swing at them with a length of wood and hit you by accident in the dark and they get angry and turn out to be thieves and nick all our clothes. ” “We weren’t supposed to do that. ” “Well it worked basically ,” said Nobby, managing to get to his knees. “We could give it another go. ” “Nobby, you’re in a port in a foreign city clad only in your, and I use this word with feeling, Nobby, your unmentionables. This is not the point to start talking about luring people into alleys. There could be talk. ” “Angua always says that nakedness is the national costume everywhere, sarge. ” “She was talking about herself, Nobby,” said Colon, sidling along in the shadows. “It’s different for you. ” He peered around the other end of the alley. There was noise and chatter from the building that formed one of the walls. A couple of laden donkeys waited patiently outside. “Nip out and grab one of those packs, right?” “Why me, sarge?” “’cos you’re the corporal and I’m the sergeant. And you’ve got more on than me. ” Grumbling under his breath, Nobby edged into the narrow street and unfastened a tether as fast as he could. The animal followed him obediently. Sergeant Colon pulled at the pack. “If push comes to shove we can wear the sacks,” he said. “That’ll—What’s this?” He held up something red. “Flowerpot?” said Nobby helpfully. “It’s a fez! Some Klatchians wear ’em. Looks like we’ve struck lucky. Whoops, here’s another one. Try it on, Nobby. And…looks like one of them nightshirts they wear…and here’s another one of those, too. We’re home and dry, Nobby. ” “They’re a bit short, sarge. ” “Beggars can’t be choosers,” said Colon, struggling into the costume. “Go on, put your fez on. ” “It makes me look like a twit, sarge. ” “Look, I’ll put mine on, all right?” “Then we’ll be fez to fez, sarge. ” Sergeant Colon gave him a severe look. “Did you have that one prepared, Nobby?” “No, sarge, I just made it up in my head right then. ” “Well, look, no calling me sarge. That doesn’t sound Klatchian. ” “Nor does Nobby, sa—Sorry…” “Oh, I dunno…you could be…Knobi…or Nhobi…or Gnobbee…Sounds pretty Klatchian to me. ” “What’s a good Klatchian name for you, then? I don’t know hardly any,” said Nhobi. Sergeant Colon didn’t answer. He was peering round the corner again. “His lordship did say we was not to hang about,” Nobby murmured. “Yeah, but inside that tin can, well, it smells pretty lived-in , if you know what I mean. What I wouldn’t give for—” There was a bellow behind them. They turned. There were three Klatchian soldiers. Or possibly watchmen. Nobby and Sergeant Colon didn’t look much further than the swords. The leader growled a question at them. “What did he say?” Nobby quavered. “Dunno!” “Where you from?” said the leader, in Morporkian. “What? Oh…er…” Colon hesitated, waiting for shiny death. “Hah, yes. ” The guard lowered his sword and jerked a thumb toward the docks. “You get back to your detachment now!” “Right!” said Nobby. “What your name?” one of the guards demanded. “Nhobi,” said Nobby. This seemed to pass. “And you, fat one?” Colon was panicking on the spot. He sought desperately for any name that sounded Klatchian, and there was only one that presented itself and which was absolutely and authentically Klatchian. “Al,” he said, his knees trembling. “You get back right now or there will be trouble!” The watchmen ran for it, dragging the donkey behind them, and didn’t stop until they were on the greasy jetty, which somehow felt like home. “What was that all about, s—Al?” said Nobby. “All they wanted to do was push us around a bit! Typical Watch behavior,” he added. “Not ours, of course. ” “I suppose we had the right clothes on…” “You didn’t even tell them where we came from! And they spoke our language!” “Well, they…I mean… anyone ought to be able to speak Morporkian,” said Colon, gradually regaining his mental balance. “Even babies learn it. I bet it comes easy after learning somethin’ as complicated as Klatchian. ” “What’re we going to do with the donkey, Al?” “Do you think it can pedal?” “I doubt it. ” “Then leave it up here. ” “But it’ll get pinched, Al. ” “Oh, these Klatchians’ll pinch anything. ” “Not like us, eh, Al?” Nobby looked at the forest of masts filling the bay. “Looks like even more of ’em from here,” he said. “You could walk from boat to boat for a mile. What’re they all here for?” “Don’t be daft, Nobby. It’s obvious. They’re to take everyone to Ankh-Morpork!” “What for? We don’t eat that much cur—” “ Invasion , Nobby! There’s a war on, remember?” They looked back at the ships. Riding lights gleamed on the water. The bit of it that was immediately below them bubbled for a moment, and then the hull of the Boat rose a few inches above the surface. The lid unscrewed and Leonard’s worried face appeared. “Ah, there you are,” he said. “We were getting concerned…” They lowered themselves down into the fetid interior of the vessel. Lord Vetinari was sitting with a pad of paper across his knees, writing carefully. He glanced up briefly. “Report. ” Nobby fidgeted while Sergeant Colon delivered a more or less accurate account, although there was some witty repartee with the Klatchian guards that the corporal had not hitherto recalled. Vetinari did not look up. Still writing, he said, “Sergeant, Ur is an old country Rimward of the kingdom of Djelibeybi, whose occupants are a byword for bucolic stupidity. For some reason, I cannot think why, the guard must have assumed you were from there. And Morporkian is something of a lingua franca even in the Klatchian empire. When someone from Hersheba needs to trade with someone from Istanzia, they will undoubtedly haggle in Morporkian. This will serve us well, of course. The force that is being assembled here must mean that practically every man is a distant stranger with outlandish ways. Provided we do not act too foreign, we should pass muster. |
This means not asking for curry with swede and currants in it and refraining from ordering pints of Winkle’s Old Peculiar, do I make myself clear?” “Er…what is it we’re going to do , sir?” “We will reconnoiter initially. ” “Ah, right. Yes. Very important. ” “And then seek out the Klatchian high command. Thanks to Leonard I have a little…package to deliver. I hope it will end the war very quickly. ” Sergeant Colon looked blank. At some point in the last few seconds the conversation had run away with him. “Sorry, sir…you said high command, sir. ” “Yes, sergeant. ” “Like…the top brass, or turbans or whatever…all surrounded by crack troops, sir. That’s where you always put the best troops, around the top brass. ” “I expect this will be the case, yes. In fact, I rather hope it is. ” Sergeant Colon, once again, tried to keep up. “Ah. Right. And we’ll go and look for them, will we, sir?” “I can hardly ask them to come to us, sergeant. ” “Right, sir. I can see that. It could get a bit crowded. ” At last, Lord Vetinari looked up. “Is there some problem, sergeant?” And Sergeant Colon once again knew a secret about bravery. It was arguably a kind of enhanced cowardice—the knowledge that while death may await you if you advance it will be a picnic compared to the certain living hell that awaits should you retreat. “Er…not as such, sir,” he said. “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. ” The subtle, deceiving dawn-before-dawn slid over the desert, and the commander of the Klatchian detachment wasn’t happy about it. The D’regs always attacked at dawn. All of them. It didn’t matter how many of them there were, or how many of you there were. Anyway, the whole tribe attacked. It wasn’t just the women and children, but the camels, goats, sheep and chickens, too. Of course you were expecting them and bows could cut them down, but…they always appeared suddenly, as if even the desert had spat them out. Get it wrong, be too slow, and you’d be hacked, kicked, butted, pecked and viciously spat at. His troops lay in wait. Well, if you could call them troops. He’d said they were overstretched…well, he hadn’t actually said , because that sort of thing could get you into trouble in this man’s army, but he’d thought it very hard. Half of them were keen kids who thought that if you went into battle shouting and waving your sword in the air the enemy just ran away. They’d never faced a D’reg chicken coming in at eye height. As for the rest of it…in the night people had run into one another, ambushed one another by mistake and were now as jittery as peas on a drum. A man had lost his sword and swore that someone had walked away with it stuck right through him. And some kind of rock had got up and walked around hitting people. With other people. The sun was well up now. “It’s the waiting that’s the worst part,” said his sergeant, next to him. “It might be the worst part,” said the commander. “Or, there again, the bit where they suddenly rise out of the desert and cut you in half might be the worst part. ” He stared mournfully at the treacherously empty sand. “Or the bit where a maddened sheep tries to gnaw your nose off might be the worst part. In fact, when you think of all the things that can happen when you’re surrounded by a horde of screaming D’regs, the bit where they aren’t there at all is, I think you’ll find, the best part. ” The sergeant wasn’t trained for this sort of thing. So he said, “They’re late. ” “Good. Rather them than us. ” “Sun’s right up now, sir. ” The commander looked at his shadow. It was full day, and the sand was mercifully free of his blood. The commander had been pacifying various recalcitrant parts of Klatch for long enough to wonder why, if he was pacifying people, he always seemed to be fighting them. Experience had taught him never to say things like “I don’t like it, it’s too quiet. ” There was no such thing as too quiet. “They might have decamped in the night, sir,” said the sergeant. “That doesn’t sound like the D’regs. They never run away. Anyway, I can see their tents. ” “Why don’t we rush ’em, sir?” “You haven’t fought D’regs before, sergeant?” “No, sir. I’ve been pacifying the Mad Savatars in Uhistan, though, and they’re—” “The D’regs are worse, sergeant. They pacify right back at you. ” “I didn’t say how mad the Savatars were, sir. ” “Compared to the D’regs, they were merely slightly vexed. ” The sergeant felt that his reputation was being impugned. “How about I take a few men and investigate, sir?” The commander glanced at the sun again. Already the air was too hot to breathe. “Oh, very well. Let’s go. ” The Klatchians advanced on the camp. There were the tents, and the ash of fires. But there were no camels and horses, merely a long scuffed trail leading off among the dunes. Morale began to rise a little. Attacking a dangerous enemy who isn’t there is one of the more attractive forms of warfare, and there was a certain amount of assertion about how lucky the D’regs were to have run away in time, and some extemporizing on the subject of what the soldiers would have done to the D’regs if they’d caught them… “Who’s that?” said the sergeant. A figure appeared between the dunes, riding on a camel. His white robes fluttered in the breeze. He slid down when he reached the Klatchians, and waved at them. “Good morning, gentlemen! May I persuade you to surrender?” “Who are you?” “Captain Carrot, sir. If you would be kind enough to lay down your weapons no one will get hurt. ” The commander looked up. Blobs were appearing along the tops of the dunes. They rose, and turned out to be heads. “They’re…D’regs, sir!” said the sergeant. “No. D’regs would be charging, sergeant. ” “Oh, sorry. Shall I tell them to charge?” said Carrot. “Is that what you’d prefer?” The D’regs were all along the dunes now. The climbing sun glittered off metal. “Are you telling me,” the commander began slowly, “that you can persuade D’regs not to charge?” “It was tricky, but I think they’ve got the idea,” said Carrot. The commander considered his position. There were D’regs on either side. His troop were practically huddling together. And this red-headed, blue-eyed man was smiling at him. “How do they feel about the merciful treatment of prisoners?” he ventured. “I think they could get the hang of it. If I insist. ” The commander glanced at the silent D’regs again. “Why?” he said. “ Why aren’t they fighting us?” he said. “My commander says he doesn’t want unnecessary loss of life, sir,” said Carrot. “That’s Commander Vimes, sir. He’s sitting on that dune up there. ” “ You can persuade armed D’regs not to charge and you have a commander?” “Yes, sir. He says this is a police action. ” The commander swallowed. “We give in,” he said. “What, just like that, sir?” said his sergeant. “Without a fight?” “ Yes , sergeant. Without a fight. This man can make water run uphill and he has a commander. |
I love the idea of giving in without a fight. I’ve fought for ten years and giving in without a fight is what I’ve always wanted to do. ” Water dripped off the Boat’s metal ceiling and blobbed on to the paper in front of Leonard of Quirm. He wiped it away. It might have been boring, waiting in a small metal can under a nondescript jetty, but Leonard had no concept of the term. Absentmindedly, he jotted a brief sketch of an improved ventilation system. He started to watch his own hand. Almost without his guidance, taking its instructions from somewhere else in his head, it drew a cutaway of a much larger version of the Boat. Here, here and here…there could be a bank of a hundred oars rather than pedals, each one manned—his pencil caressed the paper—by a well-muscled and not overdressed young warrior. A boat that would pass unseen under other boats, take men wherever they needed to go. Here a giant saw, affixed to the roof, so that when rowed at speed it could cut the hulls of enemy ships. And here and here a tube… He stopped and stared at his drawing for a while. Then he sighed and started to tear it up. Vimes watched from the dune. He couldn’t hear much from up here, but he didn’t need to. Angua sat down beside him. “It’s working, isn’t it?” she said. “Yes. ” “What’s he going to do?” “Oh, he’ll take their weapons and let ’em go, I suppose. ” “Why do people follow him?” said Angua. “Well, you’re his girlfriend, you ought—” “That’s different. I love him because he’s kind without thinking about it. He doesn’t watch his own thoughts like other people do. When he does good things it’s because he’s decided to do them, not because he’s trying to measure up to something. He’s so simple. Anyway, I’m a wolf living with people, and there’s a name for wolves that live with people. If he whistled, I’d come running. ” Vimes tried not to show his embarrassment. Angua smiled. “Don’t worry, Mr. Vimes. You’ve said it yourself. Sooner or later, we’re all someone’s dog. ” “It’s like hypnotism,” said Vimes hurriedly. “People follow him to see what’s going to happen next. They tell themselves that they’re just going along with it for a while and can stop any time they want to, but they never want to. It’s damn magic. ” “No. Have you ever really watched him? I bet he’d found out everything about Jabbar by the time he’d talked to him for ten minutes. I bet he knows the name of every camel. And he’ll remember it all. People don’t take that much interest in other people, usually. ” Her fingers idly traced a pattern in the sand. “So he makes you feel important. ” “Politicians do that—” Vimes began. “Not the way he does, believe me. I expect Lord Vetinari remembers facts about people—” “Oh, you’d better believe that !” “—but Carrot takes an interest. He doesn’t even think about it. He makes space in his head for people. He takes an interest, and so people think they’re interesting. They feel…better when he’s around. ” Vimes glanced down. Her fingers were drawing aimlessly in the sand again. We’re all changing in the desert, he thought. It’s not like the city, hemming your thoughts in. You can feel your mind expand to the horizons. No wonder this is where religions start. And suddenly here I am, probably not legally, just trying to do my job. Why? Because I’m too damn stupid to stop and think before I give chase, that’s why. Even Carrot knew better than to do that. I’d have just chased after Ahmed’s ship without a thought, but he was bright enough to report back to me first. He did what a responsible officer ought to do, but me… “Vetinari’s terrier,” he said aloud. “Chase first, and think about it afterward—” His eye caught the distant bulk of Gebra. Out there was a Klatchian army, and somewhere over there was the Ankh-Morpork army, and he was with a handful of people and no plan because he’d chased first and— “But I had to,” he said. “Any copper wouldn’t have let a suspect like Ahmed get—” Once again he had the feeling that the problem he was facing wasn’t really a problem at all. It was something very obvious. He was the problem. He wasn’t thinking right. Come to think of it, he hadn’t really thought at all. He glanced down again at the trapped company. They had stripped down to their loincloths and were looking very sheepish, as men generally do in their underwear. Carrot’s white robe still flapped in the breeze. He hasn’t been here a day, thought Vimes, and already he’s wearing the desert like a pair of sandals. “…er…bingeley-bingeley beep?” “Is that your demon diary?” said Angua. Vimes rolled his eyes. “Yes. Although it seems to be talking about someone else. ” “…er…three pee em,” the demon muttered slowly, “…day not filled in…Check Wall Defences…” “See? It thinks I’m in Ankh-Morpork! It cost Sybil three hundred dollars and it can’t even keep track of where I am. ” He flicked his cigar butt away and stood up. “I’d better get down there,” he said. “After all, I am the boss. ” He slithered his way down the dune and strolled toward Carrot, who salaamed to him. “A salute would do, captain, thanks all the same. ” “Sorry, sir. I think I got a bit carried away. ” “Why’ve you made them strip off?” “Makes them a bit of a laughingstock when they return, sir. A blow to their pride. ” He leaned closer and whispered, “I’ve let their commander keep his clothes on, though. It doesn’t do to show up the officers. ” “Really?” said Vimes. “And some want to join us, sir. There’s Goriff’s lad and a few others. They were just dragooned into the army yesterday. They don’t even know why they’re fighting. So I said they could. ” Vimes took the captain aside. “Er…I don’t remember suggesting that any of the prisoners joined us,” he said quietly. “Well, sir…I thought, what with our army approaching, and since quite a lot of these lads are from various corners of the empire and don’t like the Klatchians any more than we do, I thought that a flying column of guerrilla fighters—” “We aren’t soldiers!” “Er, I thought we were soldiers—” “Yes, yes, all right. In a way …but really we’re coppers, like we’ve always been. We don’t kill people unless—” Ahmed? Everyone’s slightly on edge when he’s around, he worries people, he gets information from all over the place, he seems to go where he pleases, and he’s always around when there’s trouble—Damn damn damn … He ran through the crowd until he reached Jabbar, who was watching Carrot with the usual puzzled smile that Carrot caused in innocent bystanders. “Tree dace,” said Vimes. “Three days. That’s seventy-two hours!” “Yes, offendi?” said Jabbar. It was the voice of someone who recognized dawn, noon and sunset, and just let everything in between happen whenever it liked. “So why’s he called 71-hour Ahmed? What’s so special about the extra hour?” Jabbar grinned nervously. “Did he do something after seventy-one hours?” said Vimes. Jabbar folded his arms. “I will not say. ” “He told you to keep us here?” “Yes. ” “But not to kill us. ” “Oh, I would not kill my friend Sir Sam Mule—” “And don’t give me all that eyeball rubbish,” said Vimes. “He wanted time to get somewhere and do something, right?” “I will not say. ” “You don’t need to,” said Vimes. “Because we are leaving. And if you kill us…well, probably you can. But 71-hour Ahmed would not like that, I expect. ” Jabbar looked like a man making a difficult decision. “He will be coming back!” he said. “Tomorrow! No problem!” “I’m not waiting! And I don’t think he wants me killed, Jabbar. He wants me alive. Carrot?” Carrot hurried over. “Yes, sir?” Vimes was aware that Jabbar was staring at him in horror. “We’ve lost Ahmed,” he said. “Even Angua can’t pick up his trail with the sand blowing all over the place. We’ve got no place here. We’re not needed here. ” “But we are , sir!” Carrot burst out. “We could help the desert tribes—” “Oh, you want to stay and fight?” said Vimes. “Against the Klatchians?” “Against the bad Klatchians, sir. |
” “Ah, well, that’s the trick, isn’t it? When one of them comes screaming at you waving a sword, how do you spot his moral character? Well, you can stay if you like and fight for the good name of Ankh-Morpork. It should be a pretty short fight. But I’m off. Jenkins probably hasn’t got afloat again. Okay, Jabbar?” The D’reg was staring at the desert sand between his feet. “You know where he is now, don’t you?” Vimes prompted. “Yes. ” “Tell me. ” “No. I swore to him. ” “But D’regs are oath-breakers. Everyone knows that. ” Jabbar gave Vimes a grin. “Oh, oaths. Stupid things. I gave him my word. ” “He won’t break it, sir,” said Carrot. “D’regs are very particular about things like that. It’s only when they swear on gods and things that they’ll ever break an oath. ” “I will not tell you where he is,” said Jabbar. “But…” he grinned again, but there was no humor in it, “how brave are you, Mr. Vimes?” “Stop complaining , Nobby. ” “I’m not complaining. I’m just sayin’ these trousers are a bit draughty, that’s all I’m saying. ” “They look good on you, though. ” “And what’re these tin bowls supposed to be doing?” “They’re supposed to be protecting the bits you haven’t got, Nobby. ” “The way this breeze is blowing, I could do with some to protect the bits I have. ” “Just try and act ladylike, will you, Nobby?” Which would be hard, Sergeant Colon had to admit. The lady for whom the clothes had been made had been quite tall and somewhat full-figured, whereas Nobby without his armor could have hidden behind a short stick if you attached a toast rack to it about two-thirds of the way up. He looked like a gauzy accordion with a lot of jewelry. In theory, the costume would have been quite revealing, if Corporal Nobbs was something you wished to see revealed, but there were so many billows and folds now that all one could reliably say was that he was in there somewhere. He was leading the donkey, which seemed to like him. Animals tended to like Nobby. He didn’t smell wrong. “And them boots don’t work,” Sergeant Colon went on. “Why not? You kept yours on. ” “Yeah, but I’m not supposed to be a flower of the desert, right? A moon of someone’s delight shouldn’t kick up sparks when she walks, am I right?” “They belonged to my gran, I ain’t leaving ’em around for anyone to nick, and I ain’t mooning for anyone’s delight,” said Nobby sulkily. Lord Vetinari strode on ahead. The streets were already filling up. Al-Khali liked to get the business of the day started in the cool of dawn, before full day flamethrowered the landscape. No one paid the newcomers any attention, although a few people did turn round to watch Corporal Nobbs. Goats and chickens ambled out of the way as they passed. “Watch out for people trying to sell you dirty postcards, Nobby,” said Colon. “My uncle was here once and he said some bloke tried to sell him a pack of dirty postcards for five dollars. Disgusted, he was. ” “Yeah, ’cos you can get ’em in the Shades for two dollars,” said Nobby. “That’s what he said. And they were Ankh-Morpork ones. Trying to flog us our own dirty postcards? I call that disgusting, frankly. ” “Good morning, sultan!” said a cheerful and somehow familiar voice. “New in town, are we?” All three of them turned to a figure that had magically appeared from the mouth of an alleyway. “Indeed, yes,” said the Patrician. “I could see you were! Everyone is, these days. And it is your lucky day, shah! I am here to help, right? You want something, I got it!” Sergeant Colon had been staring at the newcomer. He said, in a faraway voice, “Your name’s going to be something like…Al-jibla or something, right?” “Heard about me, have you?” said the trader jovially. “Sort of, yeah,” said Colon slowly. “You’re amazingly…familiar. ” 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. ” A couple of armed men had drifted over to them. Sergeant Colon’s heart sank. In those bearded faces he saw himself and Nobby, who at home would always saunter over to anything on the street that looked interesting. “You are jugglers, are you?” said one of them. “Let’s see you juggle, then. ” Lord Vetinari gave them a blank look and then glanced down at the tray around Al-jibla’s neck. Among the more identifiable foodstuffs were a number of green melons. “Very well,” he said, and picked up three of them. Sergeant Colon shut his eyes. After a few seconds he opened them again because a guard had said, “All right, but anyone can do it with three. ” “In that case perhaps Mr. Al-jibla will throw me a few more?” said the Patrician, as the balls spun through his hands. Sergeant Colon shut his eyes again. 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. 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. Colon tossed him the knives, slowly and gingerly. He’s going to try to stab the guards, he thought. It’s a ruse. And then everyone’s going to tear us apart. Now the circling blur glinted in the sunlight. There was a murmur of approval from the crowd. “Yet somehow dull,” said the Patrician. And his hands moved in a complex pattern that suggested that his wrists must have moved through one another at least twice. The tangled ball of hurtling fruit and cutlery leapt into the air. Three melons dropped to the ground, cut cleanly in two. Three knives thudded into the dust a few inches from their owner’s sandals. And Sergeant Colon looked up and into a growing, greenish, expanding— The melon exploded, and so did the audience, but both their laughter and the humor was slightly lost on Colon as he scraped over-ripe pith out of his ears. The survival instinct cut in again. Stagger around backward, it said. So he staggered around backward, waving his legs in the air. Fall down heavily, it said. So he sat down, and almost squashed a chicken. Lose your dignity, it said; of all the things you’ve got, it’s the one you can most afford to lose. Lord Vetinari helped him up. “Our very lives depend on your appearing to be a stupid fat idiot,” he hissed, putting Colon’s fez back on his head. “I ain’t very good at acting, sir—” “Good!” “Yessir. ” The Patrician scooped up three melon halves and positively skipped over to a stall that a woman had just set up, snatching an egg from a basket as he went past. Sergeant Colon blinked again. This was not… real. |
The Patrician didn’t do this sort of thing… “Ladies and gentlemen! You see—an egg! And here we have a—melon rind! Egg, melon! Melon, egg! We put the melon over the egg!” His hands darted across the three halves, switching them at bewildering speed. “Round and round they go, just like that! Now…where’s the egg? What about you, shah?” Al-jibla smirked. “’s the one on the left,” he said. “It always is. ” Lord Vetinari lifted the melon. The board below was eggless. “And you, noble guardsman?” “’s got to be the one in the middle,” said the guard. “Yes, of course…oh dear, it isn’t…” The crowd looked at the last melon. They were street people. They knew the score. When the object can be under one of three things, and it’s already turned out not to be under two of them, then the one place it was certainly not going to be was under the third. Only some kind of gullible fool would believe something like that. Of course there was going to be a trick. There always was a trick. But you watched it, in order to see a trick done well. Lord Vetinari raised the melon nevertheless, and the crowd nodded in satisfaction. Of course it wasn’t there. It’d be a pretty poor day for street entertainment if things were where they were supposed to be. Sergeant Colon knew what was going to happen next, and he knew this because for the last minute or so something had been pecking at his head. Aware that this was probably his moment, he raised his fez and revealed a very small fluffy chick. “Have you got a towel? I am afraid it has just gone to the toilet on my head, sir. ” There was laughter, some applause and, to his amazement, a tinkling of coins around his feet. “And finally,” said the Patrician, “the beautiful Beti will do an exotic dance. ” The crowd fell silent. Then someone at the back said, “How much do we have to pay for her not to?” “Right! I’ve just about had enough of this!” Veils flying out behind her, bangles jingling, elbows waving viciously and boots kicking up sparks, the lovely Beti strode into the crowd. “Which of you said that?” People shrank away from her. Armies would have retreated. And there, revealed like a jellyfish deserted by a suddenly ebbing tide, was a small man about to fry in the wrath of the ascendant Nobbs. “I meant no offense, oh, doe-eyed one—” “Oh? Pastry-faced, am I?” Nobby flung out an arm in a crash of bracelets and knocked the man over. “You’ve got a lot to learn about women, young man!” And then, because a Nobbs could never resist a prone target, the petite Beti drew back a steel-capped boot— “Beti!” snapped the Patrician. “Oh, right, yeah, right ,” said Nobby, with veiled contempt. “Everyone can tell me what to do, right? Just because I happen to be the woman around here I’m just supposed to accept it all, eh?” “No, you just ain’t supposed to kick him inna fork,” hissed Colon, pulling him away. “It don’t look good. ” Although, he noted, the women in the crowd seemed to be disappointed by the sudden curtailment of the performance. “And there are many strange stories we can tell you!” shouted the Patrician. “Beti certainly could,” murmured Colon, and was kicked sharply on his ankle. “And many strange sights we can show you!” “Beti cert—Aargh!” “But for now we will seek the shade of yonder caravanserai…” “ What’re we doing ?” “ We’re going to the pub. ” The crowd began to disperse, but with occasional amused glances back at the trio. One of the guards nodded at Colon. “Nice show,” he said. “Especially the bit where your lady didn’t remove any veils—” He darted behind his colleague as Nobby spun round like an avenging angel. “Sergeant,” the Patrician whispered. “It is very important that we learn the current whereabouts of Prince Cadram, do you understand? In taverns, people talk. Let us keep our ears open. ” The tavern wasn’t Colon’s idea of a pub. For one thing, most of it had no roof. Arched walls surrounded a courtyard. A grapevine grew out of a huge cracked urn and had been teased overhead on trellises. There was the gentle sound of tinkling water, and unlike the Mended Drum this was not because the bar backed onto the privies but because of a small fountain in the middle of the cobbles. And it was cool, much cooler than in the street, even though the vine leaves scarcely hid the sky. “Didn’t know you could juggle, sir,” Colon whispered to Lord Vetinari. “You mean you can’t, sergeant?” “Nossir!” “How strange. It’s hardly a skill, is it? One knows what the objects are and where they want to go. After that it’s just a case of letting them occupy the correct positions in time and space. ” “You’re dead good at it, sir. Practice often, do you?” “Until today, I’ve never tried. ” Lord Vetinari looked at Colon’s astonished expression. “After Ankh-Morpork, sergeant, a handful of flying melons present a very minor problem indeed. ” “I’m amazed, sir. ” “And in politics, sergeant, it is always important to know where the chicken is. ” Colon raised his fez. “Is this one still on my head?” “It seems to have gone to sleep. I wouldn’t disturb it, if I were you. ” “’ere, you, juggler…she can’t come in here!” They looked up. Someone with a face and apron that said “barman” in seven hundred languages was standing over them, a wine jug in each hand. “No women in here,” he went on. “Why not?” said Nobby. “No women asking questions, neither. ” “Why not?” “’cos it is written, that’s why. ” “Where’m I supposed to go, then?” The barman shrugged. “Who knows where women go?” “Off you go, Beti,” said the Patrician. “And…listen for information!” Nobby grabbed the cup of wine from Colon and gulped it down. “I dunno,” he moaned, “I’ve only been a woman ten minutes and already I hate you male bastards. ” “I dunno what’s got into him, sir,” whispered Colon as Nobby stamped out. “He ain’t like this normally. I thought Klatchian women did what they were told!” “Does your wife do what she’s told, sergeant?” “Well, yeah, obviously, a man’s got to be the master in his own house, that’s what I always say—” “So why are you, I hear, always putting up kitchen furniture?” “Well, obviously, you’ve got to listen to—” “In fact Klatchian history is full of famous examples of women who even went to war with their men,” said the Patrician. “What? On the same side?” “Prince Arkven’s wife Tistam used to ride into the battle with her husband and, according to legend, killed ten thousand thousand men. ” “That’s a lot of men. ” “Legends are prone to inflation. However, I believe there is good historical evidence that Queen Sowawondra of Sumtri had more than thirty thousand people put to death during her reign. She could be quite touchy, they say. ” “You should hear my wife if I don’t put the plates away,” said Sergeant Colon gloomily. “Now we are integrated with the local population, sergeant,” said the Patrician, “we must find out what is happening. Although an invasion is clearly planned, I feel sure Prince Cadram will have reserved some forces in case of land attack. It would be nice to know where they are, because that’s where he will be. ” “Right. ” “You think you can handle this?” “Yessir. I know Klatchians, sir. Don’t you worry about that. ” “Here’s some money. Buy drinks for people. Mingle. ” “Right. ” “Not too many drinks, but as much mingling as you are capable of. ” “I’m a good mingler, sir. ” “Off you go, then. ” “Sir?” “Yes?” “I’m a bit worried about…Beti, sir. Going off like that. Anything might happen to hi…her. ” But he spoke with some hesitation. There wasn’t much you could imagine happening to Corporal Nobbs. “I’m sure we shall hear about it if there are any problems,” said the Patrician. “You’re right there, sir. ” Colon sidled over to a group of men who were sitting in a rough circle on the floor, talking quietly amongst themselves and eating from a large dish. He sat down. The men on either side of him obediently shuffled along. Now then, how did you…ah, right… anyone knew how Klatchians talked… “Greetings, fellow brothers of the dessert,” he said. |
“I don’t know about you, but I could just do with a plate of sheep’s eyeballs, eh? I bet you boys can’t wait to be back on your camels, I know I can’t. I spit upon the defiling dogs of Ankh-Morpork. Anyone had any baksheesh lately? You can call me Al. ” “Excuse me, are you the lady who is with the clowns?” Corporal Nobbs, who had been trudging along gloomily, looked up. He was being addressed by a pleasant-faced young woman. A woman actually talking to him by choice was a novelty. Smiling while doing so was unheard of. “Er…yeah. Right. That’s me. ” He swallowed. “Beti. ” “My name is Bana. Would you like to come and talk with us?” Nobby looked past her. There were a number of women of varying ages sitting around a large well. One of them waved at him shyly. He blinked. This was uncharted territory. He looked down at his clothes, which were already the worse for wear. His clothes always looked the worse for wear five minutes after he’d put them on. “Oh, don’t worry,” said the girl. “We know how it is. But you looked so alone. And perhaps you can help us…” They were among the group now. There were women of every legitimate shape and size, and so far none of them had said “Yuk,” an experience hitherto unchronicled in Nobby’s personal history. In a detached, light-headed way, Corporal Nobbs felt that he was entering Paradise, and it was only an unfortunate detail that he’d come in via the wrong door. “We are trying to comfort Netal,” said the girl. “Her betrothed won’t marry her tomorrow. ” “The swine,” said Nobby. One of the girls, eyes red with crying, looked up sharply. “He wanted to,” she sobbed. “But he’s been taken off to fight in Gebra! All over some island no one’s heard of! And all my family are here!” “Who took him off?” said Nobby. “He took himself off,” snapped an older woman. Clothing differences aside, there was something hauntingly familiar about her, and Nobby realized that if you cut her in half the words “mother-in-law” would be all the way through. “Oh, Mrs. Atbar,” said Netal, “he said it was his duty. Anyway, all the boys have had to go. ” “Men!” said Nobby, rolling his eyes. “I expect you’d know a lot about the pleasures of men, then,” said Mother-in-Law sourly. “Mother!” “Who, me?” said Nobby, forgetting himself for a moment. “Oh, yeah. Lots. ” “You do ?” “Why not? Beer’s favorite,” said Nobby. “But you can’t beat a good cigar, as long as it’s free. ” “Hah!” Mother-in-Law picked up a basket of washing and stamped away, followed by most of the older women. The others laughed. Even the disappointed Netal smiled. “I think that’s not what she meant,” said Bana. To a chorus of giggles, she leaned down and whispered in Nobby’s ear. His expression did not change but it did seem to solidify. “Oh, that ,” he said. There were some worlds of experience which Nobby had only contemplated on a map, but he knew what she was talking about. Of course he’d patrolled certain parts of the Shades in his time—the ones where young ladies tended to hang around without very much to do, and probably catching cold too—but those areas of police work that in other places might be of interest to a Vice Squad now tended to be looked after by the Guild of Seamstresses themselves. People who neglected to obey the…no, not the law as such, call them the unwritten rules …as laid down by Mrs. Palm and her committee of very experienced ladies * attracted the attention of the Agony Aunts, Dotsie and Sadie, and might or might not be seen again. Even Mr. Vimes approved of the arrangement. It didn’t cause paperwork. “Oh, yeah,” said Nobby, still staring at some inner screen. Of course, he knew what… “Oh, that ,” he mumbled. “Well, I’ve seen a thing or two,” he added. Largely on postcards, he had to admit. “It must be wonderful to have so much freedom,” said Bana. “Er…” Netal burst out crying again. Her friends fluttered around her. “I don’t see why the men have to go off like this,” said Bana. “My betrothed has gone, too. ” There was a cackle from a very old woman sitting by the well. “I can tell you why, dears. Because it’s better than growing melons all day. It’s better than women. ” “Men think war is better than women?” “It’s always fresh, it’s always young, and you can make a good fight last all day. ” “But they get killed!” “Better to die in battle than in bed, they say. ” She cracked a toothless grin. “But there are good ways for a man to die in bed, eh, Beti?” Nobby hoped the glow of his ears wasn’t singeing his veil. Suddenly, he felt he’d caught up with his future. Ten damn pence’ worth of it hit him in the face. “’scuse me,” he said. “Are any of you Nubilians?” “What are Nubilians?” said Bana. “It’s a country round here,” said Nobby. He added hopefully, “Isn’t it?” Not a single face suggested that this was so. Nobby sighed. His hand reached up to his ear for a cigarette end, but it came down again empty. “I’ll tell you this, girls,” he said. “I wish I’d settled for the ten-dollar version. Don’t you just sometimes want to sit down and cry?” “You look even sadder than Netal,” said Bana. “Isn’t there some way we can cheer you up?” Nobby stared at her for a moment, and then started to sob. Everyone was staring at Colon, their food halfway to their lips. “ Did I just hear him say that. Faifal? What do I want to be on a camel for? I’m a plumber !” “ He is the down with the juggler. I think The poor man is several palms short of an oasis. ” “ I mean the bloody things spit and they’re a bugger to get up the stairs with your toolbox —” “ Now, come on it’s not his fault, let’s show a little charity. ” The speaker cleared his throat. “Good morning, friend,” he said. “May we invite you to share our couscous?” Sergeant Colon peered at the bowl, and then dipped in a finger and tasted it. “Hey, this is semolina! You’ve got semolina ! It’s just ordinary semol—” He stopped, and coughed. “Yeah, right. Thanks. Got any strawberry jam?” The host looked at his friends. They shrugged. “We know not of this ‘strawberry hjam’ of which you speak,” he said carefully. “We prefer it with lamb. ” He offered Colon a long wooden skewer. “Oh, you gotta have strawberry jam,” said Colon, carried away. “When we were kids we’d stir it in and…and…” He looked at their faces. “O’course, that was back in Ur,” he said. The men nodded at one another. Suddenly it was all clear. Colon belched loudly. From the looks he got from everyone else, he was the only one who’d heard of this common Klatchian custom. “So,” he said, “where’s the army these days? Approximately?” “Why do you ask, o full-of-gas one?” “Oh, we thought we could make a bit of cash entertaining the troops,” said Colon. He was immensely proud of this idea. “You know…a smile, a song, a lack of exotic dancing. But that means we got to know where they are, see?” “ Excuse me, fat one, but can you understand what I am saying ?” “Yes, it’s very tasty,” Colon hazarded. “ Ah, I thought so. So he’s a spy. But whose ?” “ Really? Who would be so stupid as to use a joke like this as a spy ?” “ Ankh-Morpork ?” “ Oh, come on! He’s pretending to be an Ankh-Morpork spy, perhaps. But they’re cunning over there ” “ You think? A people who make curry out of something called powder and you think they’re clever ?” “ I reckon he’s from Muntab. They’re always watching us. ” “ And pretending to be from Ankh-Morpork ?” “ Well, if you were trying to look like a joke Morporkian pretending to be Klatchian, wouldn’t you look like that ?” “ But why’d he pretend to be from there ?” “ Ah…politics. ” “ Let’s call the Watch, then. ” “ Are you mad? We’ve been talking to him! They will be…inquisitive. ” “ Good point. I know …” Faifal gave Colon a big grin. “I did hear the entire army has marched away to En al Sams la Laisa ,” he said. “But don’t tell anyone. ” “Have they?” Colon glanced at the other men. They were watching him with curiously deadpan expressions. “Sounds like a massive place, with a name like that,” he said. “Oh, huge,” said his neighbor. One of the other men made a noise that you might think was a suppressed chuckle. |
“It’s a long way, is it?” “No, very close. You’re practically on top of it,” said Faifal. He nudged a colleague, whose shoulders were shaking. “Oh, right. Big army, is it?” “Could easily be very big, yes. ” “Fine. Fine,” said Colon. “Er…anyone got a pencil? I could’ve sworn I had one when—” There was a noise outside the tavern. It was the sound of many women laughing, which is always a disquieting noise to men. * Customers peered suspiciously through the vines. Colon and the rest of the crowd looked around an urn at the group by the well. An old lady was rolling on the ground, laughing, and various younger ones were leaning against one another for support. He heard one of them say, “What did he say again?” “He said, ‘That’s funny, it’s never done that when I’ve tried it!’” “Yeah, that’s true!” cackled the old woman. “It never does!” “‘That’s funny, it’s never done that when I’ve tried it,’” Nobby repeated. Colon groaned. That was the voice and tone of Corporal Nobbs in storytelling mode, when wood could scorch at ten yards. “’scuse me,” he muttered, and forced his way through the press to the gateway. “Have you heard the one about the ki…the sultan who was afraid his wife…one of his wives…would be unfaithful to him while he was away?” “We haven’t heard any stories like these , Beti!” Bana gasped. “Really? Oh, I’ve got a thousand and one of ’em. Well, anyway, he went and saw the wise old blacksmith, right, and he said—” “You can’t go round telling stories like that, cor—Beti,” Colon panted as he lumbered to a halt. Nobby realized that a change had come over the group. Now he was surrounded by women who were in the presence of a man. A known man, he corrected himself. Several of them were blushing. They hadn’t blushed before. “Why not?” said Beti nastily. “You’ll offend people,” said Colon uncertainly. “Er, we are not offended, sir,” said Bana, in a small humble voice. “We think Beti’s stories are very…instructive. Especially the one about the man who went into the tavern with the very small musician. ” “And that was pretty hard to translate,” said Nobby, “because they don’t really know what a piano is in Klatch. But it turns out there’s this kind of stringed—” “And it was very interesting about the man with his arms and legs in plaster,” said Netal. “Yeah, and they laughed even though they don’t have the same kind of doorbells here,” said Nobby. “Here, you don’t have to go—” But the group around the well was dispersing. Water jugs were being picked up and carried away. A kind of preoccupied busyness came over the women. Bana nodded at Beti. “Er…thank you. It’s been very…interesting. But we must go. It was so kind of you to talk to us. ” “Er, no, don’t go…” A faint suggestion of perfume hung in the air. Beti glared at Colon. “Sometimes I really want to give you a right ding alongside the lughole,” she growled. “My first bloody chance in years and you—” She stopped. There was a crowd of puzzled yet disapproving faces behind Colon. And things might have ended otherwise had it not been for the braying of the donkey, from above. The stolen donkey, easily pulling away from Nobby’s inexpert tether, had wandered off in search of food. She vaguely associated this with the doorway to her stable and therefore with doorways in general, and so had wandered through the nearest open one. There had been some narrow spiral stairs inside, but her stall was pretty narrow and steps didn’t worry a donkey that was used to the streets of Al-Khali. It was only a disappointment when the steps came to an end and there was still no hay. “Oh no,” said someone behind Colon. “There’s a donkey up the minaret again. ” There were groans all round. “What’s wrong with that? What goes up must come down,” said Colon. “You don’t know?” said one of his dining companions. “You don’t have minarets in Ur?” “Er—” said Colon. “We have plenty of donkeys,” said Lord Vetinari. There was general laughter, most of it directed at Colon. One of the men pointed to the dim interior of the minaret. “Look…see?” “A very narrow, winding staircase,” said the Patrician. “So…?” “There’s nowhere to turn at the top, right? Oh, any fool can get a donkey up a minaret. But have you ever tried getting an animal to go backward down a narrow staircase in the dark? Can’t be done. ” “There’s something about a rising staircase,” said someone else. “It attracts donkeys. They think there’s something at the top. ” “We had to push the last one off, didn’t we?” said one of the guards. “Right. It splashed,” said his comrade in arms. “No one is pushing Valerie off’f anything ,” snarled Beti. “Any one of you tries anything like that and, s’welp me, you’ll feel the wrong end of—” He stopped, and a wide horrible grin appeared behind the veil. “I mean, I’ll give you a great big soppy kiss. ” Several men at the back of the crowd took to their heels. “There’s no need to get nasty,” said the guard. “I mean it!” said Beti, advancing. The cowering guard cringed. “Can’t you do anything with her, sirs?” “Us?” said Lord Vetinari. “’fraid not. Oh, dear…it’s going to be like that business in Djelibeybi all over again, Al. ” “Oh dear,” said Colon, mugging loyally. The crowd, or at least that part that thought itself sufficiently far away from Beti, started to grin. This was street theater. “I don’t know if they ever got that man down off the flagpole,” Vetinari went on. “Oh, most of ’im, they did,” said Colon. “Tell you what, tell you what,” said the guard hurriedly, “suppose we get a rope round it—” “—her—” Beti growled. “Her, right, and then—” “You’d need at least three men up there and there ain’t no room!” “Sir, I’ve got an idea,” whispered one of the guards. “I should make it quick,” said Colon. “’cos there’s no stopping Beti once she gets going. ” The guards held a whispered argument. “ We’d get into trouble if we do that! You know all that stuff we were told about the war effort! That’s why they were all confiscated !” “ No one will miss it for five minutes !” “ Yeah, but you want to tell the Prince we lost one ?” “ All right, but do you want to explain to her ?” They both looked at Beti. “ And they’re easy to steer, after all ,” one whispered. “Valerie?” said Sergeant Colon. “There is a problem?” Beti demanded. “No! No. It’s a fine name for a donkey, N—Beti. ” “No one is to do anything,” said one of the guards. “We will return. ” “What was all that about?” said Colon, watching them go. “Oh, they’ve probably gone to get a carpet,” said someone. “Very nice, but I don’t see how that’d help,” said Beti. “A flying one. ” “Oh, right ,” said Colon. “They’ve got one of those up at the University—” “Ur has a university?” “Oh, indeed,” said the Patrician. “How do you think Al learned what a donkey looks like?” Once again, laughter dispelled doubt. Colon grinned uncertainly. “I’m really getting good at this stupid idiot stuff, aren’t I?” he said. “It just sort of happens!” “Marvelous,” said Lord Vetinari. There was another angry braying from far above. “Trouble is, they’re all locked up because of the war effort,” said someone behind them. A piece of mud brick shattered on the ground nearby. “The way it’s thrashing around up there, it’s going to fall off anyway. ” “Perhaps I should persuade her to come down,” said the Patrician. “Can’t be done, offendi. You can’t get past on the stairs, you can’t turn it round, and it won’t come down backward. ” “I shall consider the situation,” said the Patrician. He ambled back into the tavern for a moment, and returned. They saw him enter the door and they heard him climbing the staircase. “Should be good,” said a man behind Colon. After a while the braying stopped. “Can’t turn around, see. Far too narrow,” said the elevated-donkey expert. “Can’t turn around, won’t go backward. Well-known fact. ” “There’s always a know-all, right, Beti?” said Colon. “Yeah. Always. ” The tower was full of silence. Several members of the crowd found their attention drawn to it. |
“I mean, if you could get three or four men up the stairs, which you can’t, you could sort of move it a leg at a time, if you didn’t mind being kicked and bitten to death…” “All right, all right, back away from the tower, will you?” The guards were back. One of them was carrying a rolled-up carpet. “All right, all right, give us room—” “I can hear hooves,” said someone. “Oh, yeah, like our friend in the fez is getting the donkey down the stairs?” “Hang on, I can hear them, too,” said Colon. Now all eyes stared at the door. Lord Vetinari emerged, holding a length of rope. The voice behind Colon said, “All right, it’s just a bit of rope. He was probably banging a couple of coconut shells together. ” “You mean, ones that he found in the minaret?” “He had them with him, obviously. ” “You mean, he carries coconut shells around?” “You can’t turn a donkey round in—All right, that’s a fake donkey head…” “It’s moving its ears!” “On a string, on a string—all right, it’s a donkey, okay, but it’s not the same donkey. It’s one he had in a hidden pocket…well, no need to look at me like that. I’ve seen them do it with doves…” Then even the unbeliever fell silent. “Donkey, minaret,” said Lord Vetinari. “Minaret, donkey. ” “Just like that?” said a guard. “How did you do it? It was a trick, right?” “Of course it was a trick,” said Lord Vetinari. “I knew it was just a trick. ” “That’s right, it was just a trick,” said Lord Vetinari. “So…how did you do it, then?” “You mean you can’t spot it?” The crowd craned to see. “Er…you had an inflatable donkey—” “Can you think of any reason why I should go around with an inflatable donkey?” “Well, you—” “One that you wouldn’t mind explaining to your own dear mother?” “If you’re going to put it like that—” “’s easy,” said Al-jibla. “There’s a secret compartment in the minaret. Must be. ” “No, you’ve got it all wrong, it’s just an illusion of a donkey…Well, all right, it’s a good illusion…” By now half the people were around the donkey and the others were clustered in the doorway of the minaret, looking for secret panels. “I think, Al and Beti, this is where we walk away,” said Lord Vetinari, behind Colon. “Just down this little alley here. And when we turn that corner, we run. ” “What’ve we got to run for?” said Beti. “Because I’ve just picked up the magic carpet. ” Vimes was already lost. Oh, there was the sun, but that was just a direction. He could feel it on the side of his face. And the camel rocked from side to side. There was no real way of judging distance, except by hemorrhoids. I’m blindfolded on the back of a camel ridden by a D’reg, who everyone says are the most untrustworthy people in the world. But I’m almost positive he’s not going to kill me. “So,” he said, as he rocked gently from side to side, “you may as well tell me. Why 71-hour Ahmed?” “He killed a man,” said Jabbar. “And D’regs object to a little thing like that?” “In the man’s own tent! When he had been his guest for nearly tree dace! If he had but waited an hour—” “Oh, I see. Definitely bad manners. Had the man done anything to deserve it?” “Nothing! Although…” “Yes?” “The man had killed El-Ysa. ” The D’reg’s tone suggested that this wasn’t much of a mitigating circumstance, but that it ought to be mentioned out of completeness. “Who was she?” “El-Ysa was a village. He poisoned a well. There had been a dispute over religion,” he added. “One thing led to another…but even so, to break the tradition of hospitality…” “Yes, I can see that’s a terrible thing. Almost…impolite. ” “The hour was important. Some things should not be done. ” “You’re right there, at least. ” By mid-afternoon Jabbar let him take off the blindfold. Wind-carved heaps of black rock stood out of the sand. Vimes thought it was the most desolate place he’d ever seen. “They say once it was green,” said Jabbar. “A well watered land. ” “What happened?” “The wind changed. ” At sunset they reached a wadi between more wind-scoured rocks, and it was only the length of the shadows, deepening the shallow indentations, that began to give them back an ancient shape. “They’re buildings, aren’t they?” said Vimes. “There was a city here, a long time ago. Did you not know?” “Why should I know?” “Your people built it. It was called Tacticum. After a warrior of yours. ” Vimes looked at the crumbled walls and fallen pillars. “He had a city named after him…” he said to no one in particular. Jabbar nudged him. “Ahmed is watching you,” he said. “I can’t see him anywhere. ” “Of course. Get down. And I hope we meet again in whatever is your paradise. ” “Right, right…” Jabbar turned the camel round. It left much faster than it had arrived. Vimes sat on a rock for a while. There was no sound but the hissing of the wind in the rocks and the cry of some bird, far away. He thought he could hear his own heart beating. “Bingeley…bingeley…beep…” The Dis-organizer sounded worried and uncertain. Vimes sighed. “Yes? Appointment with 71-hour Ahmed, eh?” “Er…no…” said the demon. “Er…Klatchian fleet sighted…er…” “Ships of the desert, eh?” “Er…beep…error code 746, divergent temporal instability…” Vimes shook the box. “Something wrong with you?” he demanded. “You’re still giving me someone else’s appointments, you idiot box!” “Er…the appointments are correct for Commander Samuel Vimes…” “That’s me!” “Which one of you?” said the demon. “What?” “…beep…” It refused to say more. Vimes considered throwing it away, but Sybil would be hurt if she found out. He thrust it back into his pocket and tried to concentrate on the scenery again. His seat might have been part of a pillar once. Vimes saw other pieces some way away, and then realized that a heap of apparent rubble was a fallen wall. He followed this, his footsteps echoing off the cliffs, and realized that he was walking between old buildings, or where buildings had been. Here was the wreck of some stairs, there the stump of a pillar. One was a little higher than the others. He pulled himself up and found, on its flat top, two huge feet. A statue must have stood here. It probably stood, if Vimes knew anything about statues, in some kind of noble attitude. Now it had gone, and there were just feet, broken off at the ankles. They weren’t exceptionally noble. As he lowered himself again he saw, protected because this side was out of the wind, some lettering carved deeply into the plinth. He tried to make it out in the fading light: “A B HOC POSSUM VIDERE DOMUM TUUM ” Well…“domum tuum” was “your house,” wasn’t it?…and “videre” was “I see”… “What?” he said aloud. “‘I can see your house from up here’? What kind of a noble sentiment is that?” “I believe it was meant to be a boast and a threat, Sir Samuel,” said 71-hour Ahmed. “Somewhat typical of Ankh-Morpork, I’ve always thought. ” Vimes stood very still. The voice had been right behind him. And it was Ahmed’s voice. But it lacked that hint of camel spit and gravel that it had possessed in Ankh-Morpork. Now it was the drawl of a gentleman. “It’s the echoes here,” Ahmed went on. “I could be anywhere. I could have a crossbow aimed at you right now. ” “You won’t fire it, though. We’ve both got too much at stake. ” “Oh, there is honor among thieves, is there?” “I don’t know,” said Vimes. Oh, well…time to see if he was dead right or just dead. “Is there honor among policemen?” Sergeant Colon’s eyes went big. “Swing my weight to one side?” he said. “That’s how magic carpets are steered,” said Lord Vetinari calmly. “Yes, but supposing I swing myself off?” “We’ll have a lot more room,” said Beti unfeelingly. “C’mon, sarge, you know how to throw your weight around. ” “I ain’t throwing my weight anywhere ,” said Colon firmly. He was lying full length on the carpet, both hands gripping it as hard as possible. “It’s not natural, just a bit of broadloom between you and certain splash. ” The Patrician looked down. “We’re not over water, sergeant. ” “I know what I meant, sir!” “Can we slow down a bit?” said Beti. “The breeze is invading my privacy, if you get my drift. ” Lord Vetinari sighed. “We’re not going very fast as it is. |
I suspect this is a very old carpet. ” “There’s a frayed bit here,” said Beti. “Shut up,” said Colon. “Look, I can poke my finger right through—” “Shut up. ” “Notice how it kind of wobbles when you move?” “Shut up. ” “Here, look, those palm trees down there look really small. ” “Nobby, you’re scared of heights,” said Colon. “I know you’re scared of heights. ” “That’s sexual stereotyping!” “No, it’s not!” “Yes, it is! You’ll be expecting me to break my ankle a lot and scream all the time next! It’s my job to prove to you that a woman can be as good as a man!” “Practically identical in your case, Nobby. You’ve caught too much sun, that’s what it is. You are not female, Nobby!” Beti sniffed. “That’s just the sort of sexist remark I’d expect from you. ” “Well, you’re not!” “It’s the principle of the thing. ” “Well, at least we now have transport,” said Lord Vetinari, his tone suggesting that the show was over. “Unfortunately, I had no time to find out where the army is. ” “Ah! I can help you there, sir!” Colon tried to salute, and then made a grab for the carpet again. “I found out by cunning, sir!” “Really?” “Yessir! It’s at a place called…er…En al Sams la Laisa, sir. ” The carpet drifted onward for a moment, in silence. “‘The Place where the Sun Shineth Not’?” said the Patrician. There was more silence. Colon was trying not to look at anyone. “Is there a somewhere called Gebra?” said Nobby, sulkily. “Yes, Be—corporal. There is. ” “They’ve gone there. Of course, you’ve only got a woman’s word for it. ” “Well done, corporal. We shall head up the coast. ” Lord Vetinari relaxed. In a busy and complex life he’d never met people quite like Nobby and Colon. They talked all the time yet there was something almost… restful about them. He watched the dusty horizon carefully as the ancient carpet curved around. Under his arm was the metal cylinder Leonard had made for him. Drastic times required drastic measures. “Sir?” said Colon, his voice muffled by the carpet. “Yes, sergeant?” “I’ve got to know…How did you…you know…get the donkey down?” “Persuasion, sergeant. ” “What? Just talking?” “Yes, sergeant. Persuasion. And, admittedly, a sharp stick. ” “Ah! I knew —” “The trick of getting donkeys down from minarets,” said the Patrician, as the desert unwound below them, “is always to find that part of the donkey which seriously wishes to get down. ” The wind had settled. The bird up on the cliffs had shut down for the night. All Vimes could hear was the sizzle of the little desert creatures. Then Ahmed’s voice said: “I am genuinely impressed, Sir Samuel. ” Vimes took a deep breath. “You know, you really fooled me,” he said. “‘May your loins be full of fruit. ’ That was a good one. I really thought you were just—” He stopped. But Ahmed continued: “—just another camel-driver with a towel on his head? Oh, dear. And you’d been doing so well up to now, Sir Samuel. The Prince was very impressed. ” “Oh, come on. You were all but making suggestive comments about melons. What was I supposed to think?” “Don’t fret, Sir Samuel. I consider it all a compliment. You can turn around. I wouldn’t dream of harming you unless you do something…foolish. ” Vimes turned. He could just make out a shape in the afterglow. “You were admiring this place,” said Ahmed. “Tacticus’s men had it built when he tried to conquer Klatch. It’s not really a city by today’s standards, of course. It was really just making a point. ‘Here we are and here we stay,’ as it were. And then the wind changed. ” “You murdered Snowy Slopes, didn’t you?” “The term is executed. I can show you the confession he signed beforehand. ” “Of his own free will?” “More or less. ” “What?” “Let us say, I pointed out to him the alternatives to signing the confession. I was kind enough to leave you the pad. After all, I wanted to keep your interest. And don’t look like that, Sir Samuel. I need you. ” “How can you tell how I look?” “I can guess. The Assassins’ Guild had a contract on him in any case. And by a happy chance I am a Guild member. ” “ You ?” Vimes tried to bite down on the word. And then: why not him? Kids got sent a thousand miles to be taught in the Assassins’ Guild school… “Oh, yes. The best years of my life, they tell me. I was in Viper House. Up School! Up School! Right Up School!” He sighed like a prince and spat like a camel driver. “If I shut my eyes I can still recall the taste of that peculiar custard we used to get on Mondays. Dear me, how it all comes back…I remember every soggy street. Does Mr. Dibbler still sell his horrible sausages inna bun in Treacle Mine Road?” “Yes. ” “Still the same old Dibbler, eh?” “Still the same sausages. ” “Once tasted, never forgotten. ” “True. ” “No, don’t move too quickly, Sir Samuel. Otherwise I’m afraid I shall be cutting your own throat. You don’t trust me, and I don’t trust you. ” “Why did you drag me here?” “Drag you? I had to sabotage my own ship so you wouldn’t lose me!” “Yes, but…you…knew how I’d react. ” Vimes’s heart began to sink. Everyone knew how Sam Vimes would react… “Yes. Would you like a cigarette, Sir Samuel?” “I thought you sucked those damn cloves. ” “In Ankh-Morpork, yes. Always be a little bit foreign wherever you are, because everyone knows foreigners are a little bit stupid. Besides, these are rather good. ” “Fresh from the desert?” “Hah! Yes, everyone knows Klatchian cigarettes are made from camel dung. ” A match flared, and for a moment Vimes caught a glimpse of the hooked nose as Ahmed lit the cigarette for him. “That is one area where, I regret to say, prejudice has some evidence on its side. No, these are all the way from Sumtri. An island where, it is said, the women have no souls. Personally, I doubt it. ” Vimes could make out a hand, holding the packet. Just for a moment he wondered if he could grab and— “How is your luck?” said Ahmed. “Running out, I suspect. ” “Yes. A man should know the length of his luck. Shall I tell you how I know you are a good man, Sir Samuel?” In the light of the rising moon Vimes saw Ahmed produce a cigarette holder, insert one, and light up almost fastidiously. “Do tell. ” “After the attempt on the Prince’s life I suspected everyone. But you suspected only your own people. You couldn’t bring yourself to think the Klatchians might have done it. Because that’d line you up with the likes of Sergeant Colon and all the rest of the Klatchian-cigarettes-are-made-of-camel-dung brigade. ” “Whose policeman are you?” “I draw my pay, let us say, as the wali of Prince Cadram. ” “I shouldn’t think he’s very happy with you right now, then. You were supposed to be guarding his brother, weren’t you?” So was I, Vimes thought. But what the hell… “Yes. And we thought the same way, Sir Samuel. You thought it was your people, I thought it was mine. The difference is, I was right. Khufurah’s death was plotted in Klatch. ” “Oh, really? That’s what they wanted the Watch to think—” “ No , Sir Samuel. The important thing is what someone wanted you to think. ” “Really? Well, you’ve got that wrong. All the stuff with the glass and the sand on the floor, I saw through…that…straight…away…” His voice faded into silence. After a while Ahmed said, almost sympathetically, “Yes, you did. ” “Damn. ” “Oh, in some ways you were right. Ossie was paid in dollars, originally. And then, later on, someone broke in, making sure they dumped most of the glass outside, and swapped the money. And distributed the sand. I must say that I thought the sand was going a bit too far, too. No one would be that stupid. But they wanted to make sure it looked like a bungled attempt. ” “Who was it?” said Vimes. “Oh, a small-time thief. Bob-Bob Hardyoyo. He didn’t even know why he was doing it, except that someone was willing to pay him. I commend your city, commander. For enough money, you can find someone to do anything. ” “ Someone must have paid him. ” “A man he met in a pub. ” Vimes nodded glumly. It was amazing how many people were prepared to do business with a man they’d met in a pub. “I can believe that,” he said. |
“You see, if even the redoubtable Commander Vimes, who is known even to some senior Klatchian politicians as an unbendingly honest and thorough man, if somewhat lacking in intelligence…if even he protested that it was done by his own people—Well, the world is watching. The world would soon find out. Starting a war over a rock? Well…that sort of thing makes countries uneasy. They’ve all got rocks off their coast. But starting a war because some foreign dog had killed a man on a mission of peace…that, I think, the world would understand. ” “Lacking in intelligence?” said Vimes. “Oh, don’t be too depressed, commander. That business with the fire at the embassy. That was sheer bravery. ” “It was bloody terror!” “Well, the dividing line is narrow. That was one thing I hadn’t expected. ” In the rolling, clicking snooker table of Vimes’s mind the black ball hit a pocket. “You had expected the fire , then?” “The building should have been almost empty—” Vimes moved. Ahmed was lifted off his feet and slammed against a pillar, with both of Vimes’s hands around his neck. “That woman was trapped in there!” “It…was…necessary!” said Ahmed hoarsely. “There…had…to be a…diversion! His…life was…in danger, I had to get him out! I did…not know…about the…woman until too late…I give you my word…” Through the red veil of anger Vimes became aware of a prickle in the region of his stomach. He glanced down at the knife that had appeared magically in the other man’s hand. “Listen to me…” hissed Ahmed. “Prince Cadram ordered his brother’s death…What better way to demonstrate the…perfidy of the sausage-eaters…killing a peace-maker…” “His own brother? You expect me to believe that?” “Messages were sent to…the embassy…in code…” “To the old ambassador? I don’t believe that !” Ahmed stood quite still for a moment. “No, you really don’t, do you?” he said. “Be generous, Sir Samuel. Truly treat all men equally. Allow Klatchians the right to be scheming bastards, hmm? In fact the ambassador is just a pompous idiot. Ankh-Morpork has no monopoly on them. But his deputy sees the messages first. He is…a young man of ambition…” Vimes relaxed his grip. “Him? I thought he was shifty as soon as I saw him!” “I suspect that you thought he was Klatchian as soon as you saw him, but I take your point. ” “And you could read this code, could you?” “Oh, come now. Don’t you read Vetinari’s paperwork upside down when you’re standing in front of his desk? Besides, I am Prince Cadram’s policeman…” “So he’s your boss, right?” “Who is your boss, Sir Samuel? When push comes to shove?” The two men stood locked together. Ahmed’s breath wheezed. Vimes stood back. “These messages…you’ve got them?” “Oh, yes. With his seal on them. ” Ahmed rubbed his neck. “Good grief. The originals? I’d have thought they’d be under lock and key. ” “They were. In the embassy. But in the fire many hands were needed to carry important documents to safety. It was a very… useful fire. ” “A death warrant for his own brother…well, you can’t argue against that in court…” “What court? The king is the law. ” Ahmed sat down. “We are not like you. You kill kings. ” “The word is ‘execute. ’ And we only did it once, and that was a long time ago,” said Vimes. “Is that why you brought me here? Why all this drama? You could have come to see me in Ankh-Morpork!” “You are a suspicious man, commander. Would you have believed me? Besides, I had to get Prince Khufurah out of there, before he, ahah, ‘died of his wounds. ’” “Where’s the Prince now?” “Close. And safe. He is safer in the desert than he would ever be in Ankh-Morpork, I can assure you. ” “And well?” “Getting better. He is being looked after by an old lady whom I trust. ” “Your mother?” “Ye gods, no! My mother is a D’reg! She’d be terribly offended if I trusted her. She’d say she hadn’t brought me up right. ” He saw Vimes’s expression this time. “You think I am an educated barbarian?” “Let’s just say I’d have given Snowy Slopes a running start. ” “Really? Look around you, Sir Samuel. Your…beat…is a city you can walk across in half an hour. Mine is two million square miles of desert and mountain. My companions are a sword and a camel and, frankly, neither are good conversationalists, believe me. Oh, the towns and cities have their guards, of a sort. They are uncomplicated thinkers. But it is my job to go into the waste places and chase bandits and murderers, five hundred miles from anyone who would be on my side, so I must inspire dread and strike the first blow because I will not have a chance to strike a second one. I am an honest man of a sort, I think. I survive. I survived seven years in an Ankh-Morpork public school patronized by the sons of gentlemen. Compared to that, life among the D’regs holds no terrors, I assure you. And I administer justice swiftly and inexpensively. ” “I heard about how you got your name…” Ahmed shrugged. “The man had poisoned the water. The only well for twenty miles. That killed five men, seven women, thirteen children and thirty-one camels. And some of them were very valuable camels, mark you. I had evidence from the man who sold him the poison and a trustworthy witness who had seen him near the well on the fateful night. Once I had testimony from his servant, why wait even an hour?” “Sometimes we have trials,” said Vimes brightly. “Yes. Your Lord Vetinari decides. Well, five hundred miles from anywhere the law is me. ” Ahmed waved a hand. “Oh, no doubt the man would suggest there were mitigating circumstances, that he had an unhappy childhood or was driven by Compulsive Well-Poisoning Disorder. But I have a compulsion to behead cowardly murderers. ” Vimes gave up. The man had a point. The man had a whole sword. “Different strokes for different folks,” he said. “I find the one at shoulder height generally suffices,” said Ahmed. “Don’t grimace, it was a joke. I knew the Prince was plotting and I thought: this is not right. Had he killed some Ankh-Morpork lord, that would just be politics. But this…I thought, why do I chase stupid people into the mountains when I am part of a big crime? The Prince wants to unite the whole of Klatch. Personally, I like the little tribes and countries, even their little wars. But I don’t mind if they fight Ankh-Morpork because they want to, or because of your horrible personal habits, or your unthinking arrogance…there’s a lot of reasons for fighting Ankh-Morpork. A lie isn’t one of them. ” “I know what you mean,” said Vimes. “But what can I do alone? Arrest my Prince? I am his policeman, as you are Vetinari’s. ” “No. I’m an officer of the law. ” “All I know is, there must be a policeman, even for kings. ” Vimes looked pensively at the moonlit desert. Somewhere out there was the Ankh-Morpork army, what there was of it. And somewhere waiting was the Klatchian army. And thousands of men who might have quite liked one another had they met socially would thunder toward one another and start killing, and after that first rush you had all the excuses you needed to do it again and again… He remembered listening, when he was a kid, to old men in his street talking about war. There hadn’t been many wars in his time. The city states of the Sto Plains mainly tried to bankrupt one another, or the Assassins’ Guild sorted everything out on a one-to-one basis. Most of the time people just bickered, and while that was pretty annoying it was a lot better than having a sword stuck in your liver. What he remembered most, among the descriptions of puddles filled with blood and the flying limbs, was the time one old man said, “An’ if your foot caught in something, it was always best not to look and see what it was, if ’n you wanted to hold on to your dinner. ” He’d never explained what he meant. The other old men seemed to know. Anyway, nothing could have been worse than the explanations Vimes thought of for himself. And he remembered that the three old men who spent most of their days sitting on a bench in the sun had, between them, five arms, five eyes, four and a half legs and two and three-quarter faces. |
And seventeen ears (Crazy Winston would bring out his collection for a good boy who looked suitably frightened). “He wants to start a war…” Vimes had to open his mouth because otherwise there was no room to get his head around such a crazy idea. This man who everyone said was honest, noble and good wanted a war. “Oh, certainly,” said Ahmed. “Nothing unites people like a good war. ” How could you deal with someone who thought like that? Vimes asked himself. A mere murderer, well, you had a whole range of options. He could deal with a mere murderer. You had criminals and you had policemen, and there was a sort of see-saw there which balanced out in some strange way. But if you took a man who’d sit down and decide to start a war, what in the name of seven hells could you balance him with? You’d need a policeman the size of a country. You couldn’t blame the soldiers. They’d just joined up to be pointed in the right direction. Something clicked against the fallen pillar. Vimes glanced down and pulled the baton out of his pocket. It glinted in the moonlight. What damn good was something like this? All it really meant was that he was allowed to chase the little criminals, who did the little crimes. There was nothing he could do about the crimes that were so big you couldn’t even see them. You lived in them. So…safer to stick to the little crimes, Sam Vimes. “ALL RIGHT, MY SONS! LET ’EM HAVE IT RIGHT UP THE JOGRAPHY!” Figures bounded over the fallen pillars. There was a metallic whirr as Ahmed unsheathed his sword. Vimes saw a halberd coming toward him—an Ankh-Morpork halberd!—and street reaction took over. He didn’t waste time sneering at someone stupid enough to use a pike on a foot soldier. He dodged the blade, caught the shaft, and pulled it so hard that its owner stumbled right into his upswinging boot. Then he jerked away, struggling to untangle his sword from the unfamiliar robes. He ducked another shadowy figure’s wild slice and managed to make an elbow connect with something painful. As he rose he looked into the face of a man with an upraised sword— —there was a silken sound— —and the man swayed backward, his head looking surprised as it fell away from the body. Vimes dragged his headdress off. “I’m from Ankh-Morpork, you stupid sods!” A huge figure sprang in front of him, a sword in each hand. “I’LL CUT YER TONKER OFF’F YER YER GREASY—Oh, is that you, Sir Samuel?” “Huh? Willikins?” “Indeed, sir. ” The butler straightened up. “ Willikins ?” “Do excuse me one moment, sir KNOCK IT OFF YOU MOTHERLOVIN SONS OF BITCHES I had no apprehension of your presence, sir” “This one’s fightin’ back, sarge!” Ahmed had his back to a pillar. A man already lay at his feet. Three others were trying to get close enough to the wali while staying away from the whirling wall he was creating with his sword. “Ahmed! These are on our side!” Vimes yelled. “Oh, really? Pardon me. ” Ahmed lowered his sword and removed the cigarette holder from his mouth. He nodded at one of the soldiers who had been trying to attack him and said, “Good morning to you. ” “’ere, are you one of ours, too?” “No, I’m one of—” “He’s with me,” Vimes snapped. “How come you’re here, Willikins? Sergeant Willikins, I see. ” “We were on patrol, sir, and were attacked by some Klatchian gentlemen. After the ensuing unpleasantness—” “—you should’ve seen ’im, sir. ’e bit one bastard’s nose right orf!” a soldier supplied. “It is true that I endeavored to uphold the good name of Ankh-Morpork, sir. Anyway, after we—” “—and one bloke, sarge, stabbed ’im right in the—” “Please, Private Bourke, I am apprising Sir Samuel of events,” said Willikins. “Sarge ort to get a medal, sir!” “Those few of us who survived tried to get back, sir, but we had to conceal ourselves from other patrols and were just considering lying up until dawn in this edifice when we espied you and this gentleman here. ” Ahmed was watching him with his mouth open. “How many were in this Klatchian patrol, sergeant?” he said. “Nineteen men, sir. ” “That’s a very precise count, in this light. ” “I was able to enumerate them subsequently, sir. ” “You mean they were all killed?” “Yes, sir,” said Willikins calmly. “However, we ourselves lost five men, sir. Not including Privates Hobbley and Webb, sir, who regrettably seem to have passed away as a result of this unfortunate misunderstanding. With your permission, sir, I will remove them. ” “Poor devils,” said Vimes, aware that it was not enough but that nothing else would be, either. “The fortunes of war, sir. Private Hobbley, Ginger to his friends, was nineteen and lived in Ettercap Street, where until recently he made bootlaces. ” Willikins took the dead man’s arms and pulled. “He was courting a young lady called Grace, a picture of whom he was kind enough to show me last night. A maid at Lady Venturi’s, I was given to understand. If you would be good enough to pass me his head, sir, I will get on with things SMUDGER WHO TOLD YOU TO SIT DOWN GET ON YORE FEET RIGHT NOW GET OUT YORE SHOVEL TAKE OFF YORE HELMET SHOW SOME RESPECT GET DIGGINGHA!” A cloud of smoke rolled past Vimes’s ear. “I know what you are thinking,” said Ahmed. “But this is war, Sir Samuel. Wake up and smell the blood. ” “But…one minute they’re alive—” “Your friend here knows how it works. You don’t. ” “He’s a butler!” “So? It’s kill or be killed, even for butlers. You’re not a natural warrior, Sir Samuel. ” Vimes thrust the baton in his face. “I’m not a natural killer ! See this? See what it says? I’m supposed to keep the peace, I am! If I kill people to do it, I’m reading the wrong manual!” Willikins appeared silently, hefting the other corpse. “I was not privileged to know much about this young man,” he said, as he carried him behind a rock. “We called him Spider, sir,” he went on, straightening up. “He played the harmonica rather badly and spoke longingly of home. Will you be taking tea, sir? Private Smith is having a brew-up. Er…” The butler coughed politely. “Yes, Willikins?” “I hardly like to broach the subject, sir…” “Broach it, man!” “Do you have such a thing as a biscuit about you, sir? I hesitate to provide tea without biscuits, but we have not eaten for two days. ” “But you were on patrol!” “Forage party, sir. ” Willikins looked embarrassed. Vimes was bewildered. “You mean Rust didn’t even wait to take on food?” “Oh, yes, sir. But as it transpired—” “We knew there was somethin’ wrong when the mutton barrels started to explode,” muttered Private Bourke. “The biscuits was pretty lively, too. Turned out bloody Rust’d bought a lot of stuff even a rag’ead wouldn’t eat—” “And we eat anything ,” said 71-hour Ahmed solemnly. “PRIVATE BOURKE YOU ORRIBLE MAN SPEAKIN OF YORE COMMANDIN OFFICER LIKE THAT YOU WILL BE ON A CHARGE I apologize, sir, but we are feeling a little faint. ” “Long time between noses, eh?” said 71-hour Ahmed. “Ahahaha, sir,” said Willikins. Vimes sighed. “Willikins…when you’ve finished, I want you and your men to come with me. ” “Very good, sir. ” Vimes nodded at Ahmed. “And you, too,” he said. “Push has come to shove. ” The hot wind flapped the banners. The sunlight sparkled off the spears. Lord Rust surveyed his army and found that it was good. But small. He leaned toward his adjutant. “Let us not forget, though, that even General Tacticus was outnumbered ten to one when he took the Pass of Al-Ibi,” he said. “Yes, sir. Although I believe his men were all mounted on elephants, sir,” said Lieutenant Hornett. “And had been well provisioned,” he added meaningfully. “Possibly, possibly. But then Lord Pinwoe’s cavalry once charged the full might of the Pseudopolitan army and are renowned in song and story. ” “But they were all killed, sir!” “Yes, yes, but it was a famous charge, nevertheless. And every child knows, do they not, the story of the mere one hundred Ephebians who defeated the entire Tsortean army? A total victory, hey? Hey?” “Yes, sir,” said the adjutant glumly. “Oh, you admit it?” “Yes, sir. Of course, some commentators believe the earthquake helped. |
” “At least you will admit that the Seven Heroes of Hergen beat the Big-Footed People although outnumbered by a hundred to one?” “Yes, sir. That was a nursery story, sir. It never really happened. ” “Are you calling my nurse a liar, boy?” “No, sir,” said Lieutenant Hornett hurriedly. “Then you’ll concede that Baron Mimbledrone single-handedly beat the armies of the Plum Pudding Country and ate their Sultana?” “I envy him, sir. ” The lieutenant looked at the lines again. The men were very hungry, although Rust would probably have called them sleek. Things would have been even worse if it hadn’t been for the fortuitous shower of boiled lobsters on the way over. “Er…you don’t think, sir, since we have a little time in hand, we should look to the disposition of the men, sir?” “They look well disposed to me. Plucky men, eager to be at the fray!” “Yes, sir. I meant…more…well…positioned, sir. ” “Nothing wrong with ’em, man. Beautifully lined up! Hey? A wall of steel poised to thrust at the black heart of the Klatchian aggressor!” “Yes, sir. But—and I realize this is a remote chance, sir—it might be that while we’re thrusting at the heart of the Klatchian aggressor—” “—black heart—” Rust corrected him. “—black heart of the Klatchian aggressor, sir, the arms of the Klatchian aggressor, those companies there and there , sir, will sweep around in the classic pincer movement. ” “The thrusting wall of steel served us magnificently in the second war with Quirm!” “We lost that one, sir. ” “But it was a damn close-run thing!” “We still lost, sir. ” “What did you do as a civilian, lieutenant?” “I was a surveyor, sir, and I can read Klatchian. That’s why you made me an officer. ” “So you don’t know how to fight?” “Only how to count, sir. ” “Pah! Show a little courage, man. Although I’ll wager you won’t need to. No stomach for a battle, Johnny Klatchian. Once he tastes our steel, he’ll be off!” “I certainly hear what you say, sir,” said the adjutant, who had been surveying the Klatchian lines and had formed his own opinion about the matter. His opinion was this: the main force of the Klatchian army had, in recent years, been fighting everyone. That suggested, to his uncomplicated mind, that by now the surviving soldiers were the ones who were in the habit of being alive at the end of battles. And were also very experienced at facing all kinds of enemies. The stupid ones were dead. The current Ankh-Morpork army, on the other hand, had never faced an enemy at all, although day-to-day experience of living in the city might count for something there, at least in the rougher areas. He believed, along with General Tacticus, that courage, bravery and the indomitable human spirit were fine things which nevertheless tended to take second place to the combination of courage, bravery, the indomitable human spirit and a six-to-one superiority of numbers. It had all sounded straightforward in Ankh-Morpork, he thought. We were going to sail into Klatch and be in Al-Khali by teatime, drinking sherbet with pliant young women in the Rhoxi. The Klatchians would take one look at our weapons and run away. Well, the Klatchians had taken a good look this morning. So far they hadn’t run. They appeared to be sniggering a lot. Vimes rolled his eyes. It worked…but how did it work? He’d heard plenty of good speakers, and Captain Carrot was not among them. He hesitated, lost the thread, repeated himself and in general made a mess of the whole thing. And yet… And yet… He watched the faces that were watching Carrot. There were the D’regs, and some of the Klatchians who had stayed behind, and Willikins and his reduced company. They were listening. It was a kind of magic. He told people they were good chaps, and they knew they weren’t good chaps, but the way he told it made them believe it for a while. Here was someone who thought you were a noble and worthy person, and somehow it would be unthinkable to disappoint them. It was a mirror of a speech, reflecting back to you what you wanted to hear. And he meant it all. Even so, men occasionally glanced up at Vimes and Ahmed and he could see them thinking, in their separate ways, “It must be all right if they’re in on it. ” That, he was ashamed to realize, was one of the advantages of armies. People looked to other people for orders. “This is a trick?” said Ahmed. “No. He doesn’t know any tricks like that,” said Angua. “He really doesn’t. Uh-oh…” There was a scuffle in the ranks. Carrot strode forward and reached down, bringing up Private Bourke and a D’reg, each man held by the collar in one big fist. “What’s going on, you two?” “He called me the brother of a pig, sir. ” “Liar! You called me a greasy dishcloth-head!” Carrot shook his head. “And you were both doing so well, too,” he said sadly. “There really is no call for this. Now I want you, Hashel, and you , Vincent, to shake hands, right? And apologize, yes? We’ve all had a rather trying time, but I know you’re both fine fellows underneath it all—” Vimes heard Ahmed murmur. “Oh, well, now it’s all over…” “—so if you’ll just shake hands we’ll say no more about it. ” Vimes glanced at 71-hour Ahmed. The man wearing a sort of waxen grin. The two scufflers very gingerly touched hands, as if they were expecting a spark to leap the gap. “And now you, Vincent, apologize to Mr. Hashel…” There was a reluctant “’ry. ” “And we’re sorry for what?” Carrot prompted. “…sorry for calling him a greasy dishcloth-head…” “Well said. And you , Hashel, apologize to Private Bourke. ” The D’reg’s eyes scurried around their sockets, looking to find a way out that would allow their body to come too. Then he gave up. “’ry…” “For…?” “’ry for calling him a brother of a pig…” Carrot lowered both men. “Good! I’m sure you’ll get along splendidly once you get to know each other—” “I didn’t just see that, did I?” said Ahmed. “I didn’t just see him talk like a little schoolteacher to Hashel who, I happen to know, once hit a man so hard his nose ended up in one of his ears?” “Yes, you did,” said Angua. “And now watch them. ” When the rest of the men turned their attention back to Carrot the scufflers looked at one another, as unfortunates who had both been through the same baptism of fiery embarrassment. Private Bourke gingerly offered Hashel a cigarette. “It only works around him,” said Angua. “But it does work. ” Let it go on working, Vimes prayed. Carrot walked over to a kneeling camel and climbed into the saddle. “That’s ‘Evil Brother-in-Law of a Jackal,’” said Ahmed. “Jabbar’s camel! It bites everyone who tries to ride it!” “Yes, but this is Carrot. ” “It even bites Jabbar!” “And you notice how he knew how to get on a camel?” said Vimes. “How he wears the robes? He’s fitting in. The boy was raised in a dwarf mine. It took him about a month to know my own damn city better than I do. ” The camel rose. Now the flag, Vimes thought, give him the flag. When you go to war, there’s got to be a flag. On cue, Constable Shoe passed up the spear with the tightly rolled cloth around it. The constable looked proud. He’d stitched the thing in conditions of great secrecy half an hour before. One thing about a zombie, you always knew someone who had a needle and thread. But don’t unfurl it, Vimes thought. Don’t let them see it. It’s enough for them to know they’re marching under a flag. Carrot brandished the spear. “And I promise you this,” he shouted, “if we succeed, no one will remember. And if we fail, no one will forget!” Probably one of the worst rallying cries, Vimes thought, since General Pidley’s famous “Let’s all get our throats cut, boys!” but it got a huge cheer. And once again he speculated that there was magic going on at some bone-deep level. People followed Carrot out of curiosity. “All right, you’ve got an army, I suppose,” said Ahmed. “And now?” “I’m a policeman. So are you. There’s going to be a crime. Saddle up, Ahmed. ” Ahmed salaamed. “I am happy to be led by a white officer, offendi. ” “I didn’t mean—” “Have you ever ridden a camel before, Sir Samuel?” “No!” “Ah?” Ahmed smiled faintly. |
“Then just give it a prod to get started. And when you want to stop, hit it very hard with the stick and shout ‘Huthuthut!’” “You hit it with a stick to make it stop?” “Is there any other way?” said 71-hour Ahmed. His camel looked at Vimes, and then spat in his eye. Prince Cadram and his generals surveyed the distant enemy, from horseback. The various Klatchian armies were drawn up in front of Gebra. Compared to them, the Ankh-Morpork regiments looked like a group of tourists who had missed their coach. “Is that all ?” he said. “Yes, sire,” said General Ashal. “But, you see, they believe that fortune favors the brave. ” “That is a reason to field such a contemptible little army?” “Ah, sire, but they believe that we will turn and run as soon as we taste some cold steel. ” The Prince looked back at the distant banners. “Why?” “I couldn’t say, sire. It appears to be an item of faith. ” “Strange. ” The Prince nodded to one of his bodyguards. “Fetch me some cold steel. ” After some hurried discussion a sword was handed up very gingerly, handle first. The prince peered at it, and then licked it with theatrical care. The watching soldiers laughed. “No,” he said at last. “No, I have to say that I don’t feel the least apprehensive. Is this as cold as steel gets?” “Lord Rust was probably being metaphorical, sire. ” “Ah. He is the sort who would be. Well, let us go forward and meet him. We must be civilized, after all. ” He urged his horse forward. The generals fell in behind him. The Prince leaned down toward General Ashal again. “And why are we going out to meet him before battle commences?” “It’s a…it’s a goodwill gesture, sire. Warriors honoring one another. ” “But the man’s a complete incompetent!” “Indeed, sire. ” “And we’re about to set thousands of our countrymen against one another, aren’t we?” “Indeed, sire. ” “So what does the maniac want to do? Tell me there’s no hard feelings?” “Broadly speaking, sire…yes. I understand the motto of his old school was ‘It matters not that you won or lost, but that you took part. ’” The Prince’s lips moved as he tried this out once or twice. Finally he said: “And, knowing this, people still take orders from him?” “It would seem so, sire. ” Prince Cadram shook his head. We can learn from Ankh-Morpork, his father had said. Sometimes we can learn what not to do. And so he’d set out to learn. First he’d learned that Ankh-Morpork had once ruled quite a slice of Klatch. He’d visited the ruins of one of its colonies. And so he’d found out the name of the man who had been audacious enough to do this, and had got agents in Ankh-Morpork to find out as much about him as possible. General Tacticus, he’d been called. And Prince Cadram had read a lot and remembered everything, and “tactics” had been very, very useful in the widening of the empire. Of course, this had its own drawbacks. You had a border, and across the border came bandits. So you sent a force to quell the bandits, and in order to stamp them out you had to take over their country, and soon you had another restless little vassal state to rule. And now that had a border, over which came, sure as sunrise, a fresh lot of raiders. So your new tax-paying subjects were demanding protection from their brother raiders, neglecting to pay their taxes, and doing a little light banditry on the side. And so once again you stretched your forces, whether you wanted to or not… He sighed. For the serious empire-builder there was no such thing as a final frontier. There was only another problem. If only people would understand… Nor was there such a thing as a game of war. General Tacticus knew that. Learn about your opposite number, yes , and respect his abilities if he had them, certainly. But never pretend that afterward you were going to meet up for a drink and charge-by-charge replay. “He could well be insane, sire,” the general went on. “Oh, good. ” “However, I’m told that he recently referred to Klatchians as the finest soldiers in the world, sire. ” “Really?” “He added ‘when led by white officers,’ sire. ” “Oh?” “And we are offering him breakfast, sire. It would be most impolite of him to refuse. ” “ What a good idea. Have we got an adequate supply of sheeps’ eyes?” “I took the liberty of telling the cooks to save some up for this very eventuality, sire. ” “Then we must see he gets them. After all, he will be our honored guest. Well, let us do this thing properly. Please try to look as if you hate the taste of cold steel. ” The Klatchians had set up an open-sided tent on the sand between the two armies. In the welcome shade a low table had been laid. Lord Rust and his company were already waiting, and had been for more than half an hour. They stood up and bowed awkwardly as Prince Cadram entered. Around the tent the Klatchian and Ankh-Morpork honor guards eyed one another suspiciously, every man trying to get the drop on the others. “ Tell me…Do any of you gentleman speak Klatchian ?” said Prince Cadram, after the lengthy introductions. Lord Rust’s grin stayed fixed. “Hornett?” he hissed. “I’m not quite certain what he said, sir,” said the lieutenant nervously. “I thought you knew Klatchian!” “I can read it, sir. That’s not the same…” “Oh, don’t worry,” said the Prince. “As we say in Klatch, this clown’s in charge of an army ?” Around the tent, the Klatchian generals suddenly went poker-faced. “Hornett?” “Er…something about…to own, to control…er…” Cadram smiled at Lord Rust. “I’m not entirely familiar with this custom,” he said. “You often meet your enemies before battle?” “It is considered honorable,” said Lord Rust. “I believe that on the night before the famous Battle of Pseudopolis officers from both sides attended a ball at Lady Selachii’s, for example. ” The Prince glanced questioningly at General Ashal, who nodded. “Really? Obviously we have so much to learn. As the poet Mosheda says, I can’t believe this man. ” “Ah, yes,” said Lord Rust. “Klatchian is a very poetic language. ” “Excuse me, sir,” said Lieutenant Hornett. “What is it, man?” “There’s…er…something going on…” There was a column of dust in the distance. Something was approaching fast. “One moment,” said General Ashal. He came back from his saddle with an ornate metal tube, covered in the curly Klatchian script. He squinted into one end and pointed the other at the cloud. “Mounted men,” he said. “Camels and horses. ” “That’s a Make-Things-Bigger device, isn’t it?” said Lord Rust. “My word, you are up to date. They were invented only last year. ” “I didn’t buy this, my lord. I inherited it from my grandfather—” The general looked through the eyepiece again. “About forty men, I’d say. ” “Dear me,” murmured Prince Cadram. “Reinforcements, Lord Rust?” “They’ve…the rider in the lead is holding a…a banner, I think, still rolled up—” “Certainly not, sire!” said Lord Rust. Behind him, Lord Selachii rolled his eyes. “—ah, now he’s unfurling it…it’s…a white flag, sire. ” “Someone wishes to surrender?” The general lowered his telescope. “It doesn’t…I don’t…they seem to be in a great hurry to do so, sire. ” “Send a squad to apprehend them,” said Prince Cadram. “We will do so, too,” added Lord Rust hurriedly, nodding to the lieutenant. “Ah, a joint effort,” said the Prince. A few seconds later groups of men detached themselves from each army and rode out on an interception course. Everyone saw the sudden glints of sunlight from the approaching cloud. Weapons had been drawn. “Fighting under a flag of surrender? That’s… immoral !” said Lord Rust. “Novel, certainly,” said the Prince. The three companies would have met, had it not been that even experts find it hard to judge how much ground a running camel can cover. By the time both commanders realized they should start to turn, they should have already been turning. “It seems your people misjudged things, sire,” said Lord Rust. “I knew I should have had them led by white officers,” said the Prince. “But…oh dear, it seems your men have been equally unlucky—” He stopped. Some confusion had resulted. |
The foray parties had their instructions, but no one had told them what to do if they ran into the other foray party. And it was composed, after all, of men they were about to fight, and everyone knew they were treacherous greasy towel heads or perfidious untrustworthy sausage-eating madmen. And this was a battlefield. And everyone was frightened and, therefore, angry. And everyone was armed. Sam Vimes heard the shouting behind him but had other things on his mind at this point. It is impossible to ride a running camel without concentrating on your liver and kidneys, in the hope that they won’t be pounded out of your body. The thing’s legs weren’t moving right, he was sure. Nothing on normal legs could be jolting him around so much. The horizon jerked backward and forward and up and down. What was it Ahmed had said? Vimes hit the camel hard and yelled, “Huthuthut!” It accelerated. The jolts ran together, so that his body was no longer being jolted but was in effect in a permanent state of jolt. Vimes thrashed it again and tried to yell, “Huthuthut!” although the word came out more like “Hngngngn!” In any case, the camel found some extra knees somewhere. There was more shouting behind him. Turning his head as much as he dared, he saw several of his accompanying D’regs falling behind. He was certain he heard Carrot yell, but he couldn’t be certain because of his own screaming. “Stop, you bastard!” he yelled. The tent was coming up fast. Vimes slapped the stick down again and hauled on the reins and, clearly now judging with special camel sensitivity that this was the most embarrassing moment to stop, the camel stopped. Vimes slid forward, flung his arms round a neck that was apparently thatched with old doormats, and half fell, half dropped on to the sand. Other camels were thudding to a halt around him. Carrot grabbed his arm. “Are you all right, sir? That was amazing! You really impressed the D’regs, screaming defiance like that! And you were still shouting for the camel to go faster when it was already galloping!” “Gngn?” The guards around the tent were hesitating, but that wouldn’t last long. The wind caught the white flag on Carrot’s lance, making it snap. “Sir, this is all right, isn’t it? I mean, usually a white flag—” “Might as well show what we’re fighting for, eh?” “I suppose so, sir. ” D’regs had surrounded the tent. The air was full of dust and screams. “What happened back there?” “A bit of a fracas, sir. Our—” Carrot hesitated and then corrected himself. “That is, Ankh-Morpork soldiers and Klatchians have started fighting, sir. And the D’regs are fighting both of them. ” “What, before the battle’s officially declared? Can’t you get disqualified for that?” Vimes looked back at the guards and pointed to the flag. “You know what this flag is?” he said. “Well, I want you to—” “Aren’t you Mr. Vimes?” said one of the Morpor-kians. “And that’s Captain Carrot, isn’t it?” “Oh, hello, Mr. Smallblank,” said Carrot. “Feeding you well, are they?” “Yessir!” Vimes rolled his eyes. That was Carrot again, knowing everyone. And the man had called him “sir”… “We just need to go through,” said Carrot. “We won’t be a minute. ” “Well, sir, these tow—” Smallplank hesitated. Certain words didn’t come so easily when the subjects were standing very close to you, looking very big and tooled up. “These Klatchians are on guard, too, you see—” A stream of blue smoke was blown past Vimes’s ear. “Good morning, gentlemen,” said 71-hour Ahmed. He had a D’reg crossbow in each hand. “You will note that the soldiers behind me are also well armed? Good. My name is 71-hour Ahmed. I will shoot the last man to drop his weapons. You have my word on it. ” The Morporkians looked puzzled. The Klatchians began to whisper urgently. “Put ’em down, boys,” said Vimes. The Morporkians threw their swords down hurriedly. The Klatchians dropped theirs very shortly afterward. “A tie between the gentleman on the left and the tall one with the squint,” said 71-hour Ahmed, raising both crossbows. “Hey,” said Vimes, “you can’t—” The bows twanged. The men dropped, yelling. “However,” said Ahmed, handing the bows to a D’reg behind him, who handed him another loaded one, “out of deference to the sensibilities of Commander Vimes here, I’m settling for one in the thigh and one in the toes. We are, after all, on a mission of peace. ” He turned to Vimes. “I’m sorry, Sir Samuel, but it’s important that people know where they stand with me. ” “These two don’t,” said Vimes. “They’ll live. ” Vimes moved closer to the wali. “ Huthuthut ?” he hissed. “You told me that it meant—” “I thought it would prove a good example to all if you were in the lead,” Ahmed whispered. “The D’regs will always follow a man who is in a hurry for the fray. ” Lord Rust stepped out into the sunlight and glared at Vimes. “Vimes? What the hell are you doing?” “Not turning a blind eye, my lord. ” Vimes pushed past and into the shade. There was Prince Cadram, still seated. And there were a lot of armed men. These, he noted almost in passing, didn’t have the look of ordinary soldiers. They had the much tougher look of loyal bodyguards. “So,” said the Prince, “you come in here armed, under a flag of peace?” “Are you Prince Cadram?” said Vimes. “And you, too, Ahmed?” said the Prince, ignoring Vimes. Ahmed nodded, and said nothing. Oh, not now, thought Vimes. Tough as leather and vicious as a wasp, but now he’s in the presence of his king… “You’re under arrest,” he said. The Prince made a little sound between a cough and a laugh. “I’m what ?” “I am arresting you for conspiracy to murder your brother. And there may be other charges. ” The Prince put his hands over his face for a moment and then pulled them down toward his chin, in the action of a tired man endeavoring to come to grips with a trying situation. “Mr. —?” he began. “Sir Samuel Vimes, Ankh-Morpork City Watch,” said Vimes. “Well, Mr. Samuel, when I raise my hand the men behind me will cut you d—” “I will kill the first man that moves,” said Ahmed. “Then the second man that moves will kill you , traitor!” shouted the Prince. “They’ll have to move very fast,” said Carrot, drawing his sword. “Any volunteers to be the third man?” said Vimes. “Anyone?” General Ashal moved, but only very gently, holding up a hand. The bodyguards relaxed slightly. “What was that… lie you uttered about a murder?” he said. “Have you gone mad, Ashal?” said the Prince. “Oh, sire, before I can disbelieve these pernicious lies, I do need to know what they are. ” “Vimes, you have gone insane,” said Rust. “You can’t arrest the commander of an army!” “Actually, Mr. Vimes, I think we could,” said Carrot. “And the army, too. I mean, I don’t see why we can’t. We could charge them with behavior likely to cause a breach of the peace, sir. I mean, that’s what warfare is. ” Vimes’s face split in a manic grin. “I like it. ” “But in fairness our—that is, the Ankh-Morpork army—are also—” “Then you’d better arrest them, too,” said Vimes. “Arrest the lot of ’em. Conspiracy to cause an affray,” he started to count on his fingers, “going equipped to commit a crime, obstruction, threatening behavior, loitering with intent, loitering within tent, hah, traveling for the purposes of committing a crime, malicious lingering and carrying concealed weapons. ” “I don’t think that one—” Carrot began. “ I can’t see ’em,” said Vimes. “Vimes, I order you to come to your senses this minute!” roared Lord Rust. “Have you been out in the sun?” “That’s one count of offensive behavior to his lordship as well,” said Vimes. The Prince was still staring at Vimes. “You seriously think that you can arrest an army?” he said. “Perhaps you think you have a bigger army?” “Don’t need one,” said Vimes. “Power at a point, that’s what Tacticus says. And here it’s the one right on the end of Ahmed’s crossbow. That wouldn’t frighten a D’reg, but you…I reckon you don’t think like them. Tell your men to stand down. I want the order to go out right now. ” “Even Ahmed would not shoot his prince in cold blood,” said Prince Cadram. |
Vimes snatched the crossbow. “I wouldn’t ask him to!” He took aim. “Give that order!” The Prince stared at him. “Count of three!” shouted Vimes. General Ashal leaned down and whispered something to the Prince. The man’s expression stiffened and he glanced back at Vimes again. “That’s right,” said Vimes. “It runs in the family. ” “It would be murder!” “Would it? In wartime? I’m from Ankh-Morpork. Aren’t I supposed to be at war with you? Can’t be murder if there’s a war on. That’s written down somewhere. ” The general leaned down and whispered. “One,” said Vimes. Now there was a hurried argument. “Two. ” “Myprincewishesmetosay—” the general began. “All right, slow down,” said Vimes. “If it makes you any happier, I will send out the order,” said the general. “Let the messengers leave. ” Vimes nodded and lowered the bow. The Prince shifted uneasily. “And the Ankh-Morpork army will stand down as well,” said Vimes. “But, Vimes, you’re on our side—” Rust began. “Bloody hell, I’m going to shoot someone today and it could just be you, Rust,” Vimes snarled. “Sir?” Lieutenant Hornett tugged at his commander’s jacket. “May I have a word?” Vimes heard them whispering, and then the young man left. “All right, we are all disarmed,” said Rust. “We are all ‘under arrest. ’ And now, commander?” “I ought to read them their rights, sir,” said Carrot. “What are you talking about?” said Vimes. “The men out there, sir. ” “Oh. Yeah. Right. Do it, then. ” Oh gods, I arrested an entire battlefield, Vimes thought. And you can’t do that. But I’ve done it. And we’ve only got six cells back at the Yard, and we keep the coal in one of them. You can’t do it. Was this the army that invaded your country, ma’am? No, officer, they were taller than that… How about this one? I’m not sure—get them to march up and down a bit… Carrot’s voice could be heard outside, slightly muffled: “ Now…can you all hear me? You gentlemen in the back there? Anyone who can’t hear me, please raise…all right, has anyone got a megaphone? Some cardboard I could roll up? In that case I’ll shout …” “What now?” said the Prince. “I’m taking you back to Ankh-Morpork—” “I don’t think so. That would be an act of war. ” “You are making a mockery of the whole business, Vimes!” said Lord Rust. “So long as I’m doing something right, then. ” Vimes nodded at Ahmed. “Then you can answer for your crime here, sire,” he said. “In what court?” said the Prince. Ahmed leaned closer to Vimes. “What was your plan from here on?” he whispered. “I never thought we’d get this far!” “Ah. Well…it has been interesting, Sir Samuel. ” Prince Cadram smiled at Vimes. “Would you like some coffee while you are considering your next move?” he said. He gestured to an ornate silver pot on the table. “We’ve got proof. ” Vimes said. But he could feel the world dropping away. The point about burning your boats is that you shouldn’t be standing on them when you drop the match. “Really? Fascinating. And to whom will you show this proof, Sir Samuel?” “We’ll have to find a court. ” “Intriguing. A court in Ankh-Morpork, perhaps? Or a court here?” “Someone told me that the world watches,” said Vimes. There was silence except for the muffled sounds of Carrot, outside, and the occasional buzz of a fly. “… bingeley-bingeley beep …” The Dis-organizer’s voice had lost its chirpy little edge, and sounded sleepy and bewildered. Heads turned. “… Seven eh em…Organize Defenders at River Gate…Seven twenty-five…Hand-to-Hand Fighting in Peach Pie Street…Seven forty-eight eight eight…Rally Survivors in Sator Square…Things To Do Today: Build Build Build Barricades …” He was aware of surreptitious movement behind him, and then slight pressure. Ahmed was standing back to back with him. “What is that thing talking about?” “Search me. Sounds like it’s in a different world, doesn’t it…?” He could feel events racing toward a distant wall. Sweat filled his eyes. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had a proper sleep. His legs twinged. His arms ached, pulled down by the heavy bow. “… bingeley…Eight oh two eh em, Death of Corporal Littlebottombottom…Eight oh three eh em…Death of Sergeant Detritus…Eight oh threethreethree eh em and seven seconds seconds…Death of Constable Visit…Eight oh three eh em and nineninenine seconds…Death of death of death of …” “They say that in Ankh-Morpork one of your ancestors killed a king,” said the Prince. “And he also came to no good end. ” Vimes wasn’t listening. “… Death of Constable Dorfl…Eight oh three eh em and fourteenteenteen seconds …” The figure in the throne seemed to take up the whole world. “… Death of Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson…beep …” And Vimes thought: I nearly didn’t come. I nearly stayed in Ankh-Morpork. He had always wondered how Old Stoneface had felt, that frosty morning when he picked up the axe that had no legal blessing because the King wouldn’t recognize a court even if a jury could be found, that frosty morning when he prepared to sever what people thought was a link between men and deity— “… beep…Things To Do Today Today Today: Die …” The sensation flowed into his veins like fresh warm blood. It was the feeling that you got when the law ran out, and you looked into a mocking face on the other side of it and you decided that you couldn’t go on living if you did not step over the line and do one clean thing— There was shouting outside. He blinked away the sweat. “Ah…Commander Vimes…” said a voice somewhere back over the border. He kept his aching gaze sighted along the bow. “Yes?” A hand darted down and grabbed the arrow out of its groove. Vimes blinked. His finger automatically squeezed the trigger. The string slamed back with a thunk. And the look on the Prince’s face, he knew, would keep him warm on cold nights, if there were ever cold nights again. He’d heard them all die. But they weren’t dead. And yet the damn thing had sounded so…accurate… Lord Vetinari dropped the arrow fastidiously, like a society lady who has had to handle something sticky. “Well done, Vimes. I see you’ve got the donkey up the minaret. Good morning, gentlemen. ” He gave the company a happy smile. “I see I am not too late. ” “Vetinari?” said Rust, seeming to wake up. “What are you doing here? This is a battlefield—” “I wonder. ” The Patrician gave him a very brief smile of his very own. “Outside there seem to be a lot of men sitting around. Many of them seem to be having what I believe is known in military parlance as a brew-up. And Captain Carrot is organizing a football match. ” “He’s what ?” said Vimes, lowering the bow. Suddenly the world had to be real again. If Carrot was doing something as dumb as that, things were normal. “Quite a large number of fouls so far, I’m afraid. But I wouldn’t call it a battlefield. ” “Who’s winning?” “Ankh-Morpork, I believe. By two hacked shins and a broken nose. ” For the first time in ages Vimes felt a little pang of patriotism. Everything else in life was in the privy, but when it came to gouging and kicking he knew which side he was on. “Besides,” Vetinari went on, “I believe quite a large number of people are technically under arrest. And clearly a state of war is not, in practical fact, in being. It is merely a state of football. Therefore, I believe, I am, shall we say…back. Excuse me, sire, but this won’t take a moment. ” He held up a metal cylinder and began to unscrew the end. For some reason Vimes felt inclined to take a few steps away from it. “What’s that?” “I thought this might become necessary,” said Vetinari. “It took some preparation, but I am certain it will work. I hope they’re readable. We did our best to keep the damp off them. ” A thick roll of paper dropped out on to the floor. “Commander, have you nothing you should be doing?” he added. “Refereeing, perhaps?” Vimes picked up the roll and read the first few lines. “Whereas…heretofore, etc. , etc…. City of Ankh-Morpork… Surrender ?” “What?” said Rust and the Prince together. “Yes, surrender,” said Vetinari cheerfully. “A little piece of paper and it’s all over. I think you’ll find it all in order. ” “You can’t—” Rust began. |
“You can’t—” said the Prince. “Unconditionally?” said General Ashal sharply. “Yes, I think so,” said Vetinari. “We give up all claim to Leshp in favor of Klatch, we withdraw all troops from Klatch and our citizens from the island, and as for reparations…shall we say a quarter of a million dollars? Plus various favorable trade arrangements, most-favored nation status and so on and so on. It’s all here. Feel free to read it at your leisure. ” He passed the document over the head of the Prince and into the hands of the general, who flicked through the pages. “But we haven’t got —” Vimes began. Perhaps I did get killed, he thought. I’m on the other side, or someone hit me very hard on the head and this is all some kind of mirage— “It’s a forgery!” snapped the Prince. “It’s a trick!” “Well, sire, this man certainly does appear to be Lord Vetinari and these do seem to be the official seals of Ankh-Morpork,” said the general. “‘Whereas…whereby…without prejudice…ratification within four days…way of trade’…yes, this does, I have to say, look genuine. ” “I won’t accept it!” “I see, sire. It does, though, appear to cover all the points which in your speech last week you—” “I certainly wouldn’t accept it!” Rust shouted. He waved a finger under Vetinari’s nose. “You’ll be banished for this!” But we haven’t got that money, Vimes repeated, but this time to himself. We’re a very rich city, but we haven’t got any actual money. The wealth of Ankh-Morpork is in its people, we’re told. And you couldn’t remove it with big pliers. He felt the wind change. And Vetinari watching him. And there was something about General Ashal. A certain hunger… “I agree with Rust,” he said. “This is dragging the good name of Ankh-Morpork in the mud. ” To his mild surprise he managed to say that without smiling. “We lose nothing, sire,” General Ashal insisted. “They withdraw from Klatch and Leshp—” “Damned if we will!” screamed Lord Rust. “Right! And have everyone know we’ve been beaten ?” said Vimes. “ Outwitted ?” He looked at the Prince, whose gaze was hunting from man to man, but occasionally staring at nothing, as if he was watching some inner vision. “A quarter of a million is not enough,” the Prince said. Lord Vetinari shrugged. “We can discuss it. ” “There is much that I need to buy. ” “Things of a sharp metallic nature, no doubt,” said Vetinari. “Of course, if we are talking about goods rather than money, there is room for…flexibility…” And now we’re going to arm him, too, Vimes thought. “You’ll be out of the city in a week!” Rust screamed. Vimes thought the general smiled briefly. Ankh-Morpork without Vetinari…ruled by people like Rust. His future was looking bright indeed. “The surrender will need to be ratified and formally witnessed, however,” said Ashal. “May I suggest Ankh-Morpork?” said Lord Vetinari. “No. On neutral territory, of course,” said the general. “But where, between Ankh-Morpork and Klatch, is there such a thing?” said Vetinari. “I suppose…there is Leshp,” said the general thoughtfully. “What a good idea,” said the Patrician. “That would not have occurred to me. ” “The place is ours anyway!” snapped the Prince. “ Will be, sire. Will be,” said the general soothingly. “We will take possession. Quite legally. While the world watches. ” “And that’s it? What about my arrest?” said Vimes. “I’m not going to—” “These are matters of state,” said Vetinari. “And there are…diplomatic considerations. I am afraid the good ordering of international affairs cannot hinge upon your concerns over the doings of one man. ” Once again Vimes felt that the words he was hearing were not the words that were being said. “I won’t—” he began. “There are larger issues here. ” “But—” “Sterling work, nevertheless. ” “There are big crimes and little crimes, is that it?” said Vimes. “Why don’t you take some well-earned rest, Sir Samuel? You are,” Vetinari flashed one of his lightning-fast smiles, “a man of action. You deal in swords, and chases, and facts. Now, alas, it is the time for the men of words, who deal in promises and mistrust and opinions. For you the war is over. Enjoy the sunshine. I trust we shall all be returning home shortly. I would like you to stay, Lord Rust…” Vimes realized that he’d been switched off. He spun round and marched out of the tent. Ahmed followed him. “That’s your master, is it?” “No! He’s just the man who pays my wages!” “Often hard to know the difference,” said Ahmed sympathetically. Vimes sat down on the sand. He wasn’t certain how he’d been managing to stand up. There was some kind of a future now. He hadn’t the faintest idea what was in it, but there was one. There hadn’t been one five minutes ago. He wanted to talk now. That way, he didn’t have to think about the Dis-organizer’s death roll. It had sounded so… accurate … “What’s going to happen to you?” he said, to drive the thought out of his mind. “When this is over, I mean. Your boss isn’t going to be pleased with you. ” “Oh, the desert can swallow me. ” “He’ll send people after you. He looks the type. ” “The desert will swallow them. ” “Without chewing?” “Believe it. ” “It shouldn’t have to be like this!” Vimes shouted, at the sky in general. “You know? Sometimes I dream that we could deal with the big crimes, that we could make a law for countries and not just for people, and people like him would have—” Ahmed pulled him upright and patted him on the shoulder. “I know how it is,” he said. “I dream, too. ” “You do?” “Yes. Generally of fish. ” There was a roar from the crowd. “Someone’s scored a convincing foul, by the sound of it,” said Vimes. They slid and staggered up the side of a dune, and watched. Someone broke from the scrum and, punching and kicking, staggered toward the Klatchian goal. “Isn’t that man your butler?” said Ahmed. “Yes. ” “One of your soldiers said he bit a man’s nose off. ” Vimes shrugged. “He’s got a very pointed look if I don’t use the sugar tongs, I know that. ” A white figure marched authoritatively through the mill of players, blowing a whistle. “And that man, I believe, is your king. ” “No. ” “Really? Then I am Queen Punjitrum of Sumtri. ” “Carrot’s a copper, same as me. ” “A man like that could inspire a handful of broken men to conquer a country. ” “Fine. Just so long as he does it on his day off. ” “And he too takes orders from you? You are a remarkable man, Sir Samuel. But you would not, I think, have killed the Prince. ” “No. But you’d have killed me if I had. ” “Oh, yes. Flagrant murder in front of witnesses. I am, after all, a copper. ” They’d reached the camels. One looked round as Ahmed prepared to mount, thought better of spitting at him, and hit Vimes instead. With great precision. Ahmed looked back at the footballers. “Up in Klatchistan the nomads play a game very similar to that,” he said. “But on horseback. The aim is to get the object around the goal. ” “Object?” “Probably best just to think of it as an ‘object,’ Sir Samuel. And now, I think, I shall head that way. There are thieves in the mountains. The air is clear up there. As you know, there is always work for policemen. ” “You thinking of returning to Ankh-Morpork at any time?” “You’d like to see me there, Sir Samuel?” “It’s an open city. But be sure to call in at Pseudopolis Yard when you arrive. ” “Ah, and we can reminisce about old times. ” “No. So you can hand over that sword. We’d give you a receipt and you can pick it up when you leave. ” “I’d take some persuading, Sir Samuel. ” “Oh, I think I’d only ask once. ” Ahmed laughed, nodded at Vimes and rode away. For a few minutes he was a shape at the base of a column of dust, and then a shifting dot in the heat haze, and then the desert swallowed him. The day wore on. Various Klatchian officials and some of the Ankh-Morpork people were summoned to the tent. Vimes wandered close to it a few times and heard the sound of voices raised in dispute. Meanwhile, the armies dug in. Someone had already erected a crude signpost, its arms pointing to various soldiers’ homes. Since these were all in part of Ankh-Morpork the arms all pointed exactly the same way. |
He found most of the Watch sitting out of the wind, while a wizened Klatchian woman cooked quite a complicated meal over a small fire. They all seemed to be fully alive, with the usual slight question mark in the case of Reg Shoe. “Where’ve you been, Sergeant Colon?” said Vimes. “Been sworn to secrecy about that, sir. By his lordship. ” “Right. ” Vimes didn’t press the point. Getting information out of Colon was like getting water out of a flannel. It could wait. “And Nobby?” “Right here, sir!” The wizened woman saluted in a clash of bangles. “That’s you ?” “Yessir! Doing the dirty work as per the woman’s role in life, sir, despite the fact that there is less senior watchmen present, sir!” “Now then, Nobby,” said Colon. “Cheery can’t cook, we can’t let Reg do it because bits fall into the pan, and Angua—” “—doesn’t do cookery,” said Angua. She was lying back on a rock with her eyes closed. The rock was the slumbering shape of Detritus. “Anyway, you just started doing the cooking like you was expecting to have to do it,” said Colon. “Kebab, sir?” said Nobby. “There’s plenty. ” “You certainly got a lot of food from somewhere,” said Vimes. “Klatchian quartermaster, sir,” said Nobby, grinning beneath his veil. “Used my sexual wiles on him, sir. ” Vimes’s kebab stopped halfway to his mouth and dripped lamb fat on to his legs. He saw Angua’s eyes slam open and stare in horror at the sky. “I told him I’d take my clothes off and scream if he didn’t give me some grub, sir. ” “That’d scare the daylights out of me, sure enough,” said Vimes. He saw Angua breathe out again. “Yeah, I reckon if I played my cards right I could be one of them fatal femmies,” said Nobby. “I’ve only got to wink at a man and he runs a mile. Could be useful, that. ” “I told him he could change back into his uniform, but he says he feels more comfortable like this,” whispered Colon to Vimes. “I’m getting a bit worried, to tell you the truth. ” I can’t handle this, Vimes thought. This isn’t in the book of rules. “Er…how can I explain this…?” he began. “I don’t want any of them in-you-endoes,” said Nobby. “It’s a good idea to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes, that’s all I’m saying. ” “Well, so long as it’s just sh—” “I’ve just been gettin’ in touch with my softer side, all right? Seein’ the other man’s point of view, sort of thing, even if he’s a woman. ” He looked at their faces and waved his hands vaguely. “All right, all right, I’ll put my uniform on after I’ve tidied up around the camp. Will that make you all happy?” “Something smells nice!” Carrot ran up, bouncing his football. He’d stripped to his waist. The whistle bounced on its string around his neck. “I’ve declared half-time,” he said, sitting down. “So I’ve sent some of the lads into Gebra to get four thousand oranges. Shortly the combined Ankh-Morpork regimental bands will put on a display of counter-marching while playing a selection of military favorites. ” “Have they practiced counter-marching?” said Angua. “I don’t think so. ” “Should be good, then. ” “Carrot,” said Vimes, “I don’t wish to pry, but how, in the middle of a desert, did you find a football?” And the voice in the back of his mind insisted: you heard him die, you heard them all die…somewhere else. “Oh, these days I carry a deflated one in my pack, sir. A very pacifying object, a football. Are you all right, sir?” “Eh? What? Oh. Yes. Just a bit…tired. So who’s winning?” Vimes patted his pockets, and found his last cigar. “It’s broadly speaking a tie, sir. I had to send four hundred and seventy-three men off, though. Klatch is now well ahead on fouls, I’m sorry to say. ” “Sport as a substitute for war, eh?” said Vimes. He rootled in the ashes of Nobby’s fire and pulled out a half-consumed…well, it helped to think of it as a desert coal. Carrot gave him a solemn look. “Yes, sir. No one’s using weapons. And have you noticed how the Klatchian army is getting smaller? Some of the chiefs from distant parts are taking their men away. They say there’s no point in staying if there’s not going to be a war. I don’t think they really wanted to be here in any case, to tell you the truth. And I don’t think it’s going to be easy to get them to come back—” There was shouting behind them. Men were coming out of the tent, arguing. Lord Rust was among them. He looked around, talking to his companions. Then he spotted Vimes and rocketed furiously toward him. “Vimes!” Vimes looked up, hand halfway to his cigar. “We would have won, you know,” growled Rust. “We would have won! But we were betrayed on the brink of success!” Vimes stared at him. “And it’s your fault, Vimes! We’ll be the laughingstock of Klatch! You know the value these people put on face, and we won’t have any! Vetinari is finished ! And so are you! And so is your stupid, mongrel, cowardly Watch! What do you say to that, Vimes? Eh?” The watchmen sat like statues, waiting for Vimes to say something. Or even move. “Eh? Vimes?” Rust sniffed. “What’s that smell?” Vimes slowly shifted his gaze to his fingers. Smoke was rising. There was a faint sizzling. He stood up and brought his fingers up in front of Rust’s face. “ Take it ,” he said. “That’s…just some trick…” “Take it,” said Vimes. Mesmerized, Rust licked his fingers and gingerly took the ember. “It doesn’t hurt—” “Yes, it does,” said Vimes. “In fact it—Aargh!” Rust jumped back, dropped the ember and sucked his blistered fingers. “The trick is not to mind that it hurts,” said Vimes. “Now go away. ” “You won’t last long,” Rust sneered. “You wait until we’re back in the city. You just wait. ” He strode off, holding his stricken hand. Vimes went back and sat down by the fire. After a while he said: “Where’s he gone now?” “Back to the lines, sir. I think he’s ordering the men home. ” “Can he see us?” “No. ” “You sure?” “There’s too many people in the way, sir. ” “You’re quite sure?” “Not unless he can see through camels, sir. ” “Good. ” Vimes stuck his fingers in his mouth. Sweat was pouring down his face. “Damn damn damn! Has anyone got any cold water?” Captain Jenkins had got his ship afloat again. It had taken a lot of digging, and some careful work with balks of timber and the assistance of a Klatchian captain who had decided not to let patriotism stand in the way of profit. He and his crew were resting on the shore when a greeting rang out from over them. He squinted into the sun. “That…that can’t be Vimes, can it?” The crew stared. “Let’s get aboard right now !” A figure started down the face of the dune. It moved very fast, much faster than a man could run on the shifting sand, and moved in a zig-zag fashion. As it drew nearer, it turned out to be a man standing on a shield. It slid to a halt a few feet away from the astonished Jenkins. “Good of you to wait, captain!” said Carrot. “Very many thanks! The others will be down in a minute. ” Jenkins looked back to the top of the dune. There were other, darker figures there now. “Those are D’regs!” he shouted. “Oh, yes. Lovely people. Have you met them at all?” Jenkins stared at Carrot. “Did you win ?” he said. “Oh, yes. On penalties, in the end. ” Green-blue light filtered through the tiny windows of the Boat. Lord Vetinari pulled the steering levers until he was pretty certain that they were heading toward a suitable ship and said: “What is it I can smell, Sergeant Colon?” “It’s Bet—It’s Nobby, sir,” said Colon, pedaling industriously. “Corporal Nobbs?” Nobby almost blushed. “I bought a bottle of scent, sir. For my young lady. ” Lord Vetinari coughed. “What exactly do you mean by ‘your young lady’?” he said. “Well, for when I get one,” said Nobby. “Ah. ” Even Lord Vetinari sounded relieved. “On account of I expect I shall now, me having fully explored my sexual nature and now feeling fully comfortable with myself,” said Nobby. “You feel comfortable with yourself?” “Yessir!” said Nobby happily. “And when you find this lucky lady, you will give her this bottle of—” “’s called ‘Kasbah Nights,’ sir. ” “Of course. Very… floral , isn’t it?” “Yessir. That’s ’cos of the jasmine and rare ungulants in it, sir. |
” “And yet at the same time curiously… penetrative. ” Nobby grinned. “Good value for money, sir. A little goes a long way. ” “Not far enough, possibly?” But Nobby rusted even irony. “I got it in the same shop that sarge got the hump, sir. ” “Ah…yes. ” There wasn’t very much space in the Boat, and most of it was taken up with Sergeant Colon’s souvenirs. He’d been allowed a brief shopping expedition “to take home something for the wife, sir, otherwise I’ll never hear the last of it. ” “Mrs. Colon will like a stuffed camel hump, will she, sergeant?” said the Patrician doubtfully. “Yessir. She can put things on it, sir. ” “And the set of nested brass tables?” “To put things on, sir. ” “And the”—there was a clanking—“set of goat bells, ornamental coffee pot, miniature camel saddle and this…strange glass tube with little bands of different colored sand in it…what are these for?” “Conversation pieces, sir. ” “You mean people will say things like ‘What are they for?’, do you?” Sergeant Colon looked pleased with himself. “See, sir? We’re talking about ’em already. ” “Remarkable. ” Sergeant Colon coughed and indicated with a tilt of his head the hunched figure of Leonard, who was sitting in the stern with his head in his hands. “He’s a bit quiet, sir,” he whispered. “Can’t seem to get a word out of him. ” “He has a lot on his mind,” said the Patrician. The watchmen pedaled onward for a while, but the close confines of the Boat encouraged a confidentiality that would never have been found on land. “Sorry to hear you’re getting the sack, sir,” said Colon. “Really,” said Lord Vetinari. “You’d definitely get my vote, if we had elections. ” “Capital. ” “I think people want the thumbscrew of firm government, myself. ” “Good. ” “Your predecessor, Lord Snapcase, now he was mental. But, like I’ve always said, people know where they stand with Lord Vetinari…” “Well done. ” “They might not like where they’re standing, of course…” Lord Vetinari looked up. They were under a boat now and it seemed to be going in the right direction. He steered the Boat until he heard the thunk of hull hitting hull, and gave the auger a few turns. “Am I being sacked, sergeant?” he said, sitting back. “Well, eh, I heard Lord Rust’s people say that if you rat…rat…” “Ratify,” said Lord Vetinari. “Yeah, if you ratify that surrender next week, they’ll get you exiled, sir. ” “A week is a long time in politics, sergeant. ” Colon’s face widened in what he thought of as a knowing grin. He tapped the side of his nose. “Ah, politics ,” he said. “Ah, you should’ve said. ” “Yeah, they’ll laugh at the other foot then, eh?” said Nobby. “Got some secret plan, I’ll be bound,” said Colon. “You know where the chicken is all right. ” “I can see there’s no fooling such skilled observers of the carnival that is life,” said Lord Vetinari. “Yes, indeed, there is something I intend to do. ” He adjusted the position of the camel-hump pouffe, which in fact smelled of goat and was beginning to leak sand, and lay back. “I’m going to do nothing. Wake me up if anything interesting happens. ” Nautical things happened. The wind spun about so much that a weathercock might as well be harnessed to grinding corn. At one point there was a fall of anchovies. And Commander Vimes tried to sleep. Jenkins showed him a hammock, and Vimes realized that this was another sheep’s eyeball. No one could possibly sleep in something like that. Sailors probably kept them up for show and had real beds tucked away somewhere. He tried to make himself comfortable in the hold, and dozed while the others talked in the corner. They were very politely keeping out of his way. “—ordship wouldn’t give the whole thing away, would he? What were we fighting for?” “He’ll have a hard job hanging on to the job after this, that’s for sure. It’s dragging the good name of Ankh-Morpork in the mud, like Mr. Vimes said. ” “For Ankh-Morpork, mud is up. ” That was Angua. “On der other han’, everyone is still breathin’. ” That was Detritus. “That’s a vitalist remark—” “Sorry, Reg. What you scratchin’ for?” “I think I picked up a filthy foreign disease. ” “Sorry?” Angua again. “What can a zombie catch?” “Don’t like to say…” “You’re talking to someone who knows every brand of flea powder they sell in Ankh-Morpork, Reg. ” “Oh, if you must know…Mice, miss. It’s shameful. I keep myself clean, but they just find a way—” “Have you tried everything?” “Excepting ferrets. ” “If his lordship goes, who’ll take over?” That was Cheery. “Lord Rust?” “He’d last five minutes. ” “Maybe the guilds will get together and—” “They’ll fight like—” “—ferrets,” said Reg. “The cure’s worse than the disease. ” “Cheer up, there’ll still be a Watch. ” That was Carrot. “Yes, but Mr. Vimes’ll be out on his ear. ’cos of politics. ” Vimes decided to keep his eyes closed. A silent crowd was waiting on the quayside when the ship finally docked. They watched Vimes and his men walk down the gangway. There were one or two coughs, and then someone called out: “Say it ain’t so, Mr. Vimes!” At the foot of the gangplank Constable Dorfl saluted stiffly. “Lord Rust’s Ship Got In This Morning, Sir,” the golem said. “Anyone seen Vetinari?” “No, Sir. ” “Afraid to show his face!” someone shouted. “Lord Rust Said You Were To Do Your Duty, Damn You,” said Dorfl. Golems had a certain literalness of speech. He handed Vimes a sheet of paper. Vimes grabbed it and read the first few lines. “What’s this? ‘Emergency Council?’ And this?… Treason ? Against Vetinari? I’m not carrying this out!” “Can I see, sir?” said Carrot. It was Angua who noticed the wave, while the others were staring at the warrant. Even in human form a werewolf’s ears are pretty sensitive. She wandered back to the quayside and looked downriver. A wall of white water a few feet high was running up the Ankh. As it passed, boats were lifted and rocked. It sloshed by her, sucking at the quay and making Jenkins’s boat dance for a moment. There was a crash of crockery somewhere aboard. Then it was gone, a line of surf heading toward the next bridge. For a moment the air smelled not of the Ankh’s eau de latrine but of sea winds and salt. Jenkins appeared out of his cabin and looked over the side. “What was that? The tide changing?” Angua called up. “We came up on the tide,” said Jenkins. “Beats me. One of those phenomena, I expect. ” Angua went back to the group. Vimes was already red in the face. “It has been signed by quite a lot of the major guilds, sir,” Carrot was saying. “In fact they’re all here except the Beggars and the Seamstresses. ” “Really? Well, piss on ’em! Who are they to give me an order like that ?” Angua saw the look of pain cross Carrot’s face. “Uh… someone has to give us orders, sir. In a general sort of way. We aren’t supposed to make up our own. That’s sort of…the point. ” “Yes…but…not like…” “And I suppose they represent the will of the people—” “That bunch? Don’t give me that rubbish! We’d have been slaughtered if we’d fought! And then we’d be in just the same position as we—” “This does look legal, sir. ” “It’s…ridiculous!” “It’s not as if we are accusing him, sir. We just have to make sure he turns up at the Rats Chamber. Look, sir, you’ve had a very trying time—” “But…arrest Vetinari? I can’t—” Vimes stopped, because his ears had caught up. And because that was the point, wasn’t it? If you could arrest anyone, then that’s what you had to do. You couldn’t turn round and say “but not him. ” Ahmed would snigger. Old Stoneface would turn in all five of his graves. “I can, can’t I?” he said, sadly. “Oh, all right. Put out a description, Dorfl. ” “That Will Not Be Necessary, Sir. ” The crowds moved aside as Lord Vetinari walked along the quay, with Nobby and Colon behind him. At least, if it wasn’t Sergeant Colon it was a very strangely deformed camel. “I think I caught quite a lot of that, commander,” said Lord Vetinari. “Please do your duty. ” “All you’ve got to do is go to the palace, sir. Let’s—” “You’re not going to handcuff me?” Vimes’s mouth dropped open. |
“Why should I do that?” “Treason is very nearly the ultimate crime, Sir Samuel. I think I should demand handcuffs. ” “All right, if you insist. ” Vimes nodded at Dorfl. “Cuff him, then. ” “You haven’t any shackles, by any chance?” said Lord Vetinari, as Dorfl produced a pair of handcuffs. “We may as well do this thing properly—” “No. We don’t have any shackles. ” “I was only trying to help, Sir Samuel. Shall we be going?” The crowd weren’t jeering. That was almost frightening. They were just waiting, like an audience watching to see how the trick was going to be done. They parted again as the Patrician headed toward the center of the city. He stopped and turned. “What was the other thing…oh yes, I don’t have to be dragged on a hurdle, do I?” “Only if you’re actually executed, my lord,” said Carrot, cheerfully. “Traditionally, traitors are dragged to their place of execution on a hurdle. And then you’re hung, drawn and quartered. ” Carrot looked embarrassed. “I know about the hanging and quartering but I’m not sure how you’re drawn, sir. ” “Are you any good with a pencil, captain?” said Lord Vetinari innocently. “No, he’s not!” said Vimes. “Do you actually have a hurdle?” “ No !” snapped Vimes. “Oh? Well, I believe there’s a sports equipment shop in Sheer Street. Just in case, Sir Samuel. ” A figure walked across the trampled sand near Gebra, and paused when a voice very near ground level said, hopefully, “Bingeley-bingeley beep?” The Dis-organizer felt itself being picked up. W HAT KIND OF A THING ARE YOU ? “I am the Dis-organizer Mk II, with many handy hard-to-use features, Insert Name Here!” S UCH AS ? Even the Dis-organizer’s tiny mind felt slightly uneasy. The voice it was speaking to didn’t sound right. “I know what time it is everywhere,” it ventured. S O DO I. “Er…I can maintain an up-to-the-minute contacts directory…” The Dis-organizer felt movements that suggested the new owner had mounted a horse. R EALLY ? I HAVE A GREAT MANY CONTACTS. “There you are, then,” said the demon, trying to hold on to its rapidly draining enthusiasm. “So I make a note of them, and when you want to contact them again—” T HAT IS GENERALLY NOT NECESSARY. M OSTLY, THEY STAY CONTACTED. “Well…do you have many appointments?” There were hoofbeats, and then no sound but rushing wind. M ORE THAN YOU COULD POSSIBLY IMAGINE. N O …I THINK, PERHAPS, YOUR TALENTS COULD BE BETTER EMPLOYED ELSEWHERE … There was more rushing wind, and then a splash. The Rats Chamber was crowded. Guild leaders were entitled to be there, but there were plenty of other people who considered they had a right to be in at the death, too. There were even some of the senior wizards. Everyone wanted to be able to say to their grandchildren “I was there. ” * “I feel certain I ought to be wearing more chains,” said Vetinari, as they paused in the doorway and looked at the assembled crowd. “Are you taking this seriously, sir?” said Vimes. “Incredibly seriously, commander, I assure you. But if by some chance I survive, I authorize you to buy some shackles. We must learn to do this sort of thing properly. ” “I shall keep them handy, I assure you. ” “Good. ” The Patrician nodded at Lord Rust, who was flanked by Mr. Boggis and Lord Downey. “Good morning,” he said. “Can we make this quick? It’s going to be a busy day. ” “It pleases you to continue to make Ankh-Morpork a laughingstock,” Rust began. His glance flicked to Vimes for a moment, and wrote him out of the universe. “This is not a formal trial, Lord Vetinari. It is an arraignment so that the charges may be known. Mr. Slant tells me that it will be many weeks before a full trial can be mounted. ” “Expensive weeks no doubt. Shall we get on with it?” said Vetinari. “Mr. Slant will read the charges,” said Rust. “But in a nutshell, as you are well aware, Havelock, you are charged with treason. You surrendered most ignobly—” “—but I did not—” “—and quite illegally waived all rights to our sovereignty of the country known as Leshp—” “—but there is no such place. ” Lord Rust paused. “Are you quite sane, sir?” “The surrender terms were to be ratified on the island of Leshp, Lord Rust. There is no such place. ” “We passed it on the way here, man!” “Has anyone looked recently?” Angua tapped Vimes on the shoulder. “A strange wave came up the river just after we arrived, sir—” There was some urgent conversation among the wizards, and Archchancellor Ridcully stood up. “There seems to be a bit of a problem, your lordships. The Dean says it really isn’t there. ” “It’s an island. Are you suggesting someone’s stolen it? Are you sure you know where it is, man?” “We do know where it is, and it isn’t there. There’s just a lot of seaweed and wreckage,” said the Dean coldly. He stood up, holding a small crystal ball in his hands. “We’ve been watching it most evenings. For the fights, you know. Of course, the picture is pretty bad at this distance—” Rust stared at him. But the Dean was too large to be written out of the scene. “But an entire island can’t just vanish,” said Rust. “In theory they can’t just appear either, my lord, but this one did. ” “Perhaps it’s sunk again,” said Carrot. Now Rust glared at Vetinari. “Did you know about this?” he demanded. “How could I know something like that?” Vimes watched the faces around the room. “You do know something about this!” said Rust. He glanced toward Mr. Slant, who was leafing hurriedly through a large volume. “All I know, my lord, is that Prince Cadram has, at a politically dangerous time for him, given up a huge military advantage in exchange for an island which seems to have sunk under the sea,” said Lord Vetinari. “The Klatchians are a proud people. I wonder what they will think?” And Vimes thought about General Ashal, standing beside Prince Cadram’s throne. Klatchians like successful leaders, he thought. I wonder what happens to the unsuccessful ones? I mean, look at what we do when we think— Someone nudged him. “’s us, sir,” said Nobby. “They said they didn’t have any hurdles but they do a Ping-Pong table for ten dollars. There’s a small trampoline we could drag him on but sarge thinks that’d be a bit ridiculous. ” Vimes walked out of the room, dragging Nobby with him, and pushed the little man against the wall. “Where did you get to with Vetinari, corporal? And remember I know when you tell me lies. Your lips move. ” “We…we…we…just went on a little voyage, sir. He said I wasn’t to say we went under the island, sir!” “So you— Under Leshp?” “Nossir! We didn’t go down there! Stinking hole it was, too. Stunk of rotten eggs, the whole bloody cave, and as big as the city, believe me!” “I bet you’re glad you didn’t go, then. ” Nobby looked relieved. “That’s right, sir. ” Vimes sniffed. “Are you using some kind of aft—”—he corrected himself—“some kind of insteadofshave, Nobby?” “No, sir. ” “Something smells of fermented flowers. ” “Oh, it’s just a souvenir I picked up in foreign parts, sir. It kind of lingers, if you know what I mean. ” Vimes shrugged and went back into the Rats Chamber. “—and I resent most strongly the suggestion that I would have negotiated with His Highness in the knowledge that…ah, Sir Samuel. The keys to the handcuffs, please. ” “You knew! You knew all the time!” Rust shouted. “Is Lord Vetinari charged with anything?” said Vimes. Mr. Slant was scrabbling through another volume. He looked quite flustered, for a zombie. His gray-green shade was distinctly greener. “Not as such…” he muttered. “But he will be!” said Lord Rust. “Well, when you find out what it is you be sure and let me know, and I’ll go and arrest him for it,” said Vimes, unlocking the handcuffs. He was aware of cheering outside. Nothing stayed secret very long in Ankh-Morpork. The damn island wasn’t there anymore. And, somehow, it had all worked out. He met Vetinari’s eyes. “Piece of luck for you, eh?” he said. “Oh, there’s always a chicken, Sir Samuel. If you look hard enough. ” The day turned out to be nearly as trying as war. |
At least one carpet made the flight from Klatch, and there was a constant stream of messages between the palace and the embassy. A crowd still hung around outside the palace. Things were happening, and even if they did not know what they were they weren’t going to miss them. If any history was going to occur, they wanted to watch it. Vimes went home. To his amazement, the door was answered by Willikins. He had his sleeves rolled up and was wearing a long green apron. “You? How the hell did you get back so quickly?” said Vimes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be impolite—” “I inveigled myself onto Lord Rust’s ship in the general confusion, sir. I did not wish to let things go to rack and ruin here. The silverware is frankly disgusting, I am afraid. The gardener does not have the least idea how to do it. Allow me to apologize in advance for the shocking condition of the cutlery, sir. ” “A few days ago you were biting people’s noses off!” “Ah, you must not believe Private Bourke, sir,” said the butler, as Vimes stepped in. “It was only one nose. ” “And now you’ve hurried back to polish the silver?” “It does not do to let standards slip, sir. ” He stopped. “Sir?” “Yes?” “Did we win?” Vimes looked into the round pink face. “Er…we didn’t lose, Willikins,” he said. “We couldn’t let a foreign despot raise a hand to Ankh-Morpork, could we, sir?” said the butler. There was a slight tremble in his voice. “I suppose not…” “So it was right, what we did. ” “I suppose so…” “The gardener was saying that Lord Vetinari put one over on the Klatchians, sir…” “I don’t see why not. He’s done it with everyone else. ” “That would be very satisfactory, sir. Lady Sybil is in the Slightly Pink Drawing Room, sir. ” She was knitting inexpertly when Vimes came in, but rose and gave him a kiss. “I heard the news,” she said. “Well done. ” She looked him up and down. As far as she could see, he was all there. “I’m not sure that we won…” “Getting you back alive counts as a win, Sam. Although of course I wouldn’t say that in front of Lady Selachii. ” Sybil waved the knitting at him. “She’s organized a committee to knit socks for our brave lads at the front, but it turns out you’re back. And I haven’t even worked out how to turn a heel yet. She’s probably going to be annoyed. ” “Er…how long do you think my legs are?” “Um…” She looked at the knitting. “Do you need a scarf?” He kissed her again. “I’m going to have a bath and then something to eat,” he said. The water was only lukewarm. Vimes had some hazy idea that Sybil thought that really hot baths might be letting the side down while there was a war on. He was lying with his nose just above the surface when he heard, with the addition of that special gloinggloing sound that comes from listening with your ears underwater, some distant talking. Then the door opened. “Fred’s here. Vetinari wants you,” said Sybil. “Already? But we haven’t even started dinner. ” “I’m coming with you, Sam. He can’t keep on calling you out at all hours, you know. ” Sam Vimes tried to look as serious as any man can when he’s holding a loofah. “Sybil, I’m the Commander of the Watch and he’s the ruler of the city. It’s not like going to complain to the teacher because I’m not doing well in geography…” “I said I’m coming with you, Sam. ” The Boat slipped down its rails and into the water. A stream of bubbles came up. Leonard sighed. He had very carefully refrained from putting the cork in. The current might roll it anywhere. He hoped it’d roll to the deepest pit of the ocean, or even right over the Rim. He walked unnoticed through the crowds until he came to the palace. He let himself into the secret corridor and avoided the various traps without thinking, since he himself had designed them. He reached the door to his airy room and unlocked it. When he was inside he locked it again, and pushed the key back under the door. And then he sighed. So that was the world, was it? Clearly a mad place, with madmen in it. Well, from now on he’d be careful. It was clear that some men would try to turn anything into a weapon. He made himself a cup of tea, a process slightly delayed while he designed a better sort of spoon and a small device to improve the circulation of the boiling water. Then he sat back in his special chair and pulled a lever. Counterweights dropped. Somewhere, water sloshed from one tank to another. Bits of the chair creaked and slid into a comfortable position. Leonard stared bleakly out of the skylight. A few seabirds turned lazily in the blue square, circling, hardly moving their wings… After a while, his tea growing cold, Leonard began to draw. “Lady Sybil? This is an unexpected surprise,” said Lord Vetinari. “Good evening, Sir Samuel, and may I say what a nice scarf you’re wearing. And Captain Carrot. Please sit down. We have a lot of business to finish. ” They sat. “Firstly,” said Lord Vetinari, “I have just drafted a proclamation for the town criers. The news is good. ” “The war is officially over, is it?” said Carrot. “The war, captain, never happened. It was a…misunderstanding. ” “Never happened?” said Vimes. “People got killed!” “Quite so,” said Lord Vetinari. “And this suggests, does it not, that we should try to understand one another as much as possible?” “What about the Prince?” “Oh, I am sure we can do business with him, Vimes. ” “I don’t think so!” “Prince Khufurah? I thought you rather liked the man. ” “What? What happened to the other one?” “He appears to have gone on a long visit to the country,” said the Patrician. “At some speed. ” “You mean the kind of visit where you don’t even stop to pack?” “That kind of visit, yes. He seems to have upset people. ” “Do we know which country?” said Vimes. “Klatchistan, I believe—I’m sorry, did I say something funny?” “Oh, no. No. Just a thought crossed my mind, that’s all. ” Vetinari leaned back. “And so once again peace spreads her tranquil blanket. ” “I shouldn’t think the Klatchians are very happy, though. ” “It is in the nature of people to turn on their leaders when they fail to be lucky,” Vetinari added, his expression not changing. “Oh, there will no doubt be problems. We will just have to…discuss them. Prince Khufurah is an amiable man. Very much like most of his ancestors. A flask of wine, a loaf of bread and thou, or at least a selection of thous, and he’d not be too interested in politics. ” “They’re as clever as us,” said Vimes. “We just have to stay ahead of them, then,” said Vetinari. “A brain race, sort of,” said Vimes. “Better than an arms race. Cheaper, too,” said the Patrician. He flicked through the papers in front of him. “Now then, what was—Oh, yes. The matter of traffic?” “Traffic?” Vimes’s brain tried to do a U-turn. “Yes. Our ancient streets are becoming very congested these days. I hear there is a carter in Kings’ Way who settled down and raised a family while in the queue. And the responsibility for keeping the streets clear is, in fact, one of the most ancient ones incumbent on the Watch. ” “Maybe, sir, but these days—” “So you will set up a department, Vimes, to regulate matters. To deal with things. Stolen carts and so on. And keeping the major crossroads clear. And perhaps to fine carters who park for too long and impede the flow. And so on. Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs would, I think, be eminently fitted for this work which, I suspect, should easily be self-financing. What is your opinion?” A chance to be “self-financing” and not get shot at, thought Vimes. They’ll think they’ve died and gone to heaven. “Is this some sort of a reward for them, sir?” “Let us say, Vimes, that where one finds one has a square peg, one should look for a square hole. ” “I suppose that’s all right, sir. Of course, that means I’ll have to promote someone—” “I am sure I can leave the details to you. A small bonus for each of them would not be out of order. Ten dollars, say. Oh, there is one other thing, Vimes. And I am particularly glad that Lady Sybil is here to hear this. I am persuaded to change the title of your office. ” “Yes?” “‘Commander’ is rather a mouthful. |
So I have been reminded that a word that originally meant commander was ‘Dux. ’” “Dux Vimes?” said Vimes. He heard Sybil gasp. He was aware of a waiting hush around him, such as may be found between the lighting of a fuse and the bang. He rolled the word over and over in his mind. “ Duke ?” he said. “Oh, no —Sybil, could you wait outside?” “Why. Sam?” “I need to discuss this very personally with his lordship. ” “Have a row, you mean?” “A discussion. ” Lady Sybil sighed. “Oh, very well. It’s up to you, Sam. You know that. ” “There are…associated matters,” said Lord Vetinari, when the door closed behind her. “No!” “Perhaps you should hear them. ” “No! You’ve done this to me before! We’ve got the Watch set up, we’ve almost got the numbers, the widows and orphans fund is so big the men are queueing up for the dangerous beats, and the dartboard we’ve got is nearly new! You can’t bribe me into accepting this time! There is nothing we want!” “Stoneface Vimes was a much-maligned man, I’ve always thought,” said Vetinari. “I’m not accepting—What?” Vimes skidded in mid-anger. “I’ve always thought that, too,” said Carrot loyally. Vetinari stood up and went to stand by the window, looking down at Broad Way with his hands behind his back. “The thought occurs that this might be time for…reconsideration of certain ancient assumptions,” said Vetinari. The meaning enveloped Vimes like a chilly mist. “You’re offering to change history?” he said. “Is that it? Rewrite the—” “Oh, my dear Vimes, history changes all the time. It is constantly being reexamined and reevaluated, otherwise how would we be able to keep historians occupied? We can’t possibly allow people with their sort of minds to walk around with time on their hands. The Chairman of the Guild of Historians is in full agreement with me, I know, that the pivotal role of your ancestor in the city’s history is ripe for fresh…analysis. ” “Discussed it with him, have you?” said Vimes. “ Not yet. ” Vimes opened and shut his mouth a few times. The Patrician went back to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper. “And, of course, other details would have to be taken care of…” he said. “Such as?” Vimes croaked. “The Vimes coat of arms would be resurrected, of course. It would have to be. I know Lady Sybil was extremely upset when she found you weren’t entitled to one. And a coronet, I believe, with knobs on—” “You can take that coronet with the knobs on and—” “—which I hope you will wear on formal occasions, such as, for example, the unveiling of the statue which has for so long disgraced the city by its absence. ” For once, Vimes managed to get ahead of the conversation. “Old Stoneface again?” he said. “That part of it, is it? A statue to old Stoneface?” “Well done,” said Lord Vetinari. “Not of you, obviously. Putting up a statue to someone who tried to stop a war is not very, um, statuesque. Of course, if you had butchered five hundred of your own men out of arrogant carelessness, we’d be melting the bronze already. No. I was thinking of the first Vimes who tried to make a future and merely made history. I thought perhaps somewhere in Peach Pie Street—” They watched one another like cats, like poker players. “Top of Broad Way,” Vimes said hoarsely. “Right in front of the palace. ” The Patrician glanced out of the window. “Agreed. I shall enjoy looking at it. ” “And right up close to the wall. Out of the wind. ” “Certainly. ” Vimes looked nonplussed for a moment. “We lost people—” “Seventeen, caught in skirmishes of one sort or another,” said Lord Vetinari. “I want—” “Financial arrangements will be made for widows and dependants. ” Vimes gave up. “Well done, sir!” said Carrot. The new duke rubbed his chin. “But that means I’ll have to be married to a duchess,” he said. “That’s a big fat word, duchess. And Sybil’s never been very interested in that sort of thing. ” “I bow to your knowledge of the female psyche,” said Vetinari. “I saw her face just now. No doubt when she next takes tea with her friends, who I believe include the Duchess of Quirm and Lady Selachii, she will be entirely unmoved and not faintly smug in any way. ” Vimes hesitated. Sybil was an amazingly levelheaded woman, of course, and this sort of thing…She’d left it entirely up to him, hadn’t she?…This sort of thing wouldn’t…Well, of course she wouldn’t, she…Of course she would, wouldn’t she? She wouldn’t swank, she’d just be very comfortable knowing that they knew that she knew that they knew… “All right,” he said, “but, look, I thought only a king could make someone a duke. It’s not like all these knights and barons, that’s just, well, political, but something like a duke needs a—” He looked at Vetinari. And then at Carrot. Vetinari had said that he’d been reminded … “I’m sure, if ever there is a king in Ankh-Morpork again, he will choose to ratify my decision,” said Vetinari smoothly. “And if there never is a king, well, I see no practical problems. ” “I’m bought and sold, aren’t I?” said Vimes, shaking his head. “Bought and sold. ” “Not at all,” said Vetinari. “Yes, I am. We all are. Even Rust. And all those poor buggers who went off to get slaughtered. We’re not part of the big picture, right? We’re just bought and sold. ” Vetinari was suddenly in front of Vimes, his chair hitting the floor behind his desk. “Really? Men marched away, Vimes. And men marched back. How glorious the battles would have been that they never had to fight!” He hesitated, and then shrugged. “And you say bought and sold? All right. But not, I think, needlessly spent. ” The Patrician flashed one of those sharp, fleeting little smiles to say that something that wasn’t very funny had nevertheless amused him. “ Veni, vici …Vetinari. ” Seaweed floated away on aimless currents. Apart from the driftwood, there was nothing to show that Leshp had ever been. Seabirds wheeled. But their cries were more or less drowned out by the argument going on just above sea level. “It is entirely our wood, you nodding acquaintance of a dog!” “Oh? Really? On your side of the island, is it? I don’t think so!” “It floated up!” “How do you know we didn’t have some driftwood on our side of the island? Anyway, we’ve still got a barrel of fresh water, camel breath!” “All right! We’ll share! You can have half the raft!” “Aha! Aha! Want to negotiate, eh, now we’ve got you over a barrel?” “Can we just say yes, Dad? I’m fed up with treading water!” “And you’ll have to do your share of the paddling. ” “Of course. ” The birds glided and turned, white scribbles against the clear blue sky. “To Ankh-Morpork!” “To Klatch!” Down below, as the sunken mountain of Leshp settled further onto the sea bed, the Curious Squid jetted back along its curious streets. They had no idea why, at enormous intervals, their city disappeared up into the sky, but it never went away for very long. It was just one of those things. Things happened, or sometimes they didn’t. The Curious Squid just assumed that it all worked out, sooner or later. A shark swam by. If anyone had risked placing an ear to its side, they would have heard: “Bingeley-bingeley beep! Three pee em…Eat, Hunger, Swim. Things To Do Today: Swim, Hunger, Eat. Three oh five pee em: Feeding Frenzy…” It wasn’t the most interesting of schedules, but it was very easy to organize. Unusually, Sergeant Colon had put himself on the patrol roster. It was good to get out in the cool air. And also, for some reason, the news had got around that the Watch were somehow bound up with what seemed, in some indefinable way, to have been a victory, which meant that a Watch uniform was probably good for the odd free pint at the back door of the occasional pub. He patrolled with Corporal Nobbs. They walked with the confident tread of men who had been places and seen things. With a true copper’s instinct, the tread took them past Mundane Meals. Mr. Goriff was cleaning the windows. He stopped when he saw them and darted inside. “Call that gratitude?” sniffed Colon. The man reappeared carrying two large packages. “My wife made this specially for you,” he said. |
He added, “She said she knew you’d be along. ” Colon pulled aside the waxed paper. “My word,” he said. “Special Ankh-Morpork curry,” said Mr. Goriff. “Containing yellow curry powder, big lumps of swede, green peas and soggy sultanas the—” “—size of eggs!” said Nobby. “Thank you very much,” said Colon. “How’s your lad, then, Mr. Goriff?” “He says you have set him an example and now he will be a watchman when he grows up. ” “Ah, right,” said Colon happily. “That’ll please Mr. Vimes. You just tell him—” “In Al-Khali,” said Goriff. “He is staying with my brother. ” “Oh. Well…fair enough, then. Er…thanks for the curry, anyway. ” “What sort of example do you think he meant?” said Nobby, as they strolled away. “The good sort, obviously,” said Colon, through a mouthful of mildly spiced swede. “Yeah, right. ” Chewing slowly and walking even slower, they headed toward the docks. “I was gonna write Bana a letter,” said Nobby, after a while. “Yeah, but…she thought you was a woman, Nobby. ” “Right. So she saw, like, my inner self, shorn of…” Nobby’s lips moved as he concentrated, “shorn of surface thingy. That’s what Angua said. Anyway, then I thought, well, her boyfriend’ll be coming back, so I thought I’d be noble about it and give her up. ” “’cos he might be a big stroppy bloke, too,” said Sergeant Colon. “I never thought about that, sarge. ” They paced for a while. “It’s a far, far better thing I do now than I have ever done before,” said Nobby. “Right,” said Sergeant Colon. They walked on in silence for a while and he added: “O’ course, that’s not difficult. ” “I still got the hanky she gave me, look. ” “Very nice, Nobby. ” “That’s genuine Klatchian silk, that is. ” “Yeah, it looks very nice. ” “I’m never going to wash it, sarge. ” “You soppy old thing, Nobby,” said Fred Colon. He watched Corporal Nobbs blow his nose. “So…you’re going to stop using it, are you?” he said, doubtfully. “It still bends, sarge. See?” Nobby demonstrated. “Yeah, right. Silly of me to ask, really. ” Overhead, the weathervanes started to creak round. “Made me a lot more understanding about women, that experience,” said Nobby. Colon, a much-married man, said nothing. “I met Verity Pushpram this afternoon,” Nobby went on, “and I said how about coming out with me tonight and I don’t mind about the squint at all and I’ve got this expensive exotic perfume which’ll totally disguise your smell, and she said bugger off and threw an eel at me. ” “Not good, then,” said Colon. “Oh, yeah , sarge, ’cos she used to just cuss when she saw me. And I’ve still got the eel, and there’s a good feed off it, so I look upon it as a very positive step. ” “Could be. Could be. Just so long as you give someone that scent soon, eh? Only even the people across the street are starting to complain. ” Their feet, moving like bees toward a flower, had found their way to the waterfront. They looked up at the Klatchian’s Head, on its spike. “It’s only wooden,” said Colon. Nobby said nothing. “And it’s, like, part of our traditional heritage an’ that,” Colon went on, but hesitantly, as if he didn’t believe his own voice. Nobby blew his nose again, an exercise which, with all its little arpeggios and flourishes, went on for some time. The sergeant gave in. Some things didn’t seem quite the same any more, he had to admit. “I’ve never really liked the place. Let’s go to the Bunch of Grapes then, all right?” Nobby nodded. “Anyway, the beer here is frankly piss,” said Colon. Lady Sybil held her handkerchief in front of her husband. “Spit!” she commanded. Then she carefully cleaned a smut off his cheek. “There. Now you look very—” “—ducal,” said Vimes gloomily. “I thought I’d done this once already…” “They never actually had the Convivium after all that fuss,” said Lady Sybil, picking some microscopic lint off his doublet. “It’s got to be held. ” “You’d think if I’m a duke I wouldn’t have to wear all this damn silly outfit, wouldn’t you?” “Well, I did point out that you could wear the official ducal regalia, dear. ” “Yes, I’ve seen it. White silk stockings are not me. ” “Well, you’ve got the calves for them—” “I think I’ll stick with the commander’s costume,” said Vimes quickly. Archchancellor Ridcully hurried up. “Ah, we’re ready for you now, Lord Vi—” “Call me Sir Samuel,” said Vimes. “I can just about live with that. ” “Well, we’ve found the Bursar in one of the attics, so I think we can make a start. If you’d take your place…” Vimes walked to the head of the procession, feeling every gaze on him, hearing the whispers. Maybe you could get chucked out of the peerage? He’d have to look that up. Although, considering what lords had got up to in the past, it would have to be for something really, really awful. Still, the drawings of the statue looked good. And he’d seen what was going to go in the history books. Making history, it turned out, was quite easy. It was what got written down. It was as simple as that. “Jolly good,” Ridcully bellowed, above the buzz. “Now, if we all step smartly and follow Lor—Com—Sir Samuel we ought to be back here for lunch no later than half past one. Is the choir ready? No one is treading on anyone else’s robes? Then orf we go!” Vimes set out at the mandatory slow walking pace. He heard the procession start up behind him. There were no doubt problems, as there always are on civic occasions which have to involve the old and deaf and the young and stupid. Several people were probably already walking in the wrong direction. As he stepped out into Sator Square there were the jeers and various flatulent noises and murmurs of “Oozee then, oozee finkee izz?” that are the traditional crowd responses on these occasions. But there were one or two cheers, too. He tried to look straight ahead. Silk stockings. With garters. Well, they were out. There were a lot of things he’d do for Sybil, but if garters figured anywhere in the relationship they weren’t going to be on him. And everyone said he had to wear a purple robe lined with vermine. They could forget that, too. He’d spent a desperate hour in the library, and all that stuff about the gold knobs and silk stockings was so much marsh gas. Tradition? He’d show them tradition. What the original dukes wore, as far as he could see, was good sensible chain mail with blood on it, preferably other people’s— There was a scream from the crowd. His head jerked round and he saw a stout woman sitting on the ground, waving her arms. “’e stole my bag! And ’e never showed me ’is Thieves’ Guild badge!” The procession shunted to a halt as Vimes stared at the figure legging it across Sator Square. “You stop right there, Sidney Pickens!” he yelled, and leapt forward. And, of course, very few people do know how Tradition is supposed to go. There’s a certain mysterious ridiculousness about it by its very nature— once there was a reason why you had to carry a posy of primroses on Soul Cake Tuesday, but now you did it because…that’s what was Done. Besides, the intelligence of that creature known as a crowd is the square root of the number of people in it. Vimes was running, so the University choir hurried after him. And the people behind the choir saw the gap opening up and responded to the urge to fill it. And then everyone was just running, because everyone else was running. There were occasional whimpers from those whose heart, lungs or legs weren’t up to this kind of thing, and a bellow from the Archchancellor who had tried to stand firm in the face of the frantic stampede and was now having his head repeatedly trodden into the cobbles. And apprentice thief Sidney Pickens ran because he’d taken one look over his shoulder and seen the whole of Ankh-Morpork society bearing down on him, and that sort of thing has a terrible effect on a growing lad. And Sam Vimes ran. He tore off his cloak and whirled away his plumed hat, and he ran and ran. There would be trouble later on. People would ask questions. |
But that was later on—for now, gloriously uncomplicated and wonderfully clean, and hopefully with never an end, under a clear sky, in a world untarnished…there was only the chase. About the Author Terry Pratchett’s novels have sold more than thirty million (give or take a few million) copies worldwide. He lives in England. www. terrypratchettbooks. com Visit www. AuthorTracker. com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author. Praise for TERRY PRATCHETT’s DISCWORLD “Smart and funny. ” Denver Post “Pratchett has created an alternate universe full of trolls, dwarfs, wizards, and other fantasy elements, and he uses that universe to reflect on our own culture with entertaining and gloriously funny results. It’s an accomplishment nothing short of magical. ” Chicago Tribune “Pratchett’s writing is hilarious. ” Cleveland Plain Dealer “Humorously entertaining (and subtly thought-provoking) fantasy…Pratchett’s Discworld books are filled with humor and with magic, but they’re rooted in, of all things, real life and cold, hard reason. ” Contra Costa Times “Discworld is more complicated and satisfactory than Oz…. It has the energy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and the inventiveness of Alice in Wonderland. It also has an intelligent wit and a truly original grim and comic grasp of the nature of things. ” A. S. Byatt “In [Pratchett’s] range of invented characters, his adroit storytelling, and his clear-eyed acceptance of humankind’s foibles, he reminds me of no one in English literature as much as Geoffrey Chaucer. No kidding. ” Washington Post Book World “What makes Terry Pratchett’s fantasies so entertaining is that their humor depends on the characters first, on the plot second, rather than the other way around. The story isn’t there simply to lead from one slapstick pratfall to another pun. Its humor is genuine and unforced. ” Ottawa Citizen “Consistently, inventively mad…wild and wonderful. ” Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine “Pratchett’s storytelling [is] a clever blend of Monty Pythonesque humor and Big Questions about morality and the workings of the universe. ” Publishers Weekly “Think J. R. R. Tolkien with a sharper, more satiric edge. ” Houston Chronicle “The Discworld novels are a phenomenon. ” Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel “Pratchett, for those not yet lucky enough to have discovered him, is one of England’s most highly regarded satirists. Nothing—not religion, not politics, not anything—is safe from him. ” South Bend Tribune “He is head and shoulders above the best of the rest. He is screamingly funny. He is wise. He has style. ” Daily Telegraph (London) “Pratchett’s humor is international, satirical, devious, knowing, irreverent, unsparing, and, above all, funny. ” Kirkus Reviews “Pratchett demonstrates just how great the distance is between one-or two-joke writers and the comic masters whose work will be read into the next century. ” Locus “If Terry Pratchett is not yet an institution, he should be. ” Fantasy & Science Fiction B OOKS BY T ERRY P RATCHETT The Carpet People The Dark Side of the Sun Strata • Truckers Diggers • Wings Only You Can Save Mankind Johnny and the Dead • Johnny and the Bomb The Unadulterated Cat (with Gray Jollife) Good Omens (with Neil Gaiman) T HE D ISCWORLD ® S ERIES : Going Postal • Monstrous Regiment • Night Watch The Last Hero • The Truth • Thief of Time The Fifth Elephant • Carpe Jugulum The Last Continent • Jingo Hogfather • Feet of Clay • Maskerade Interesting Times • Soul Music • Men at Arms Lords and Ladies • Small Gods Witches Abroad • Reaper Man Moving Pictures • Eric (with Josh Kirby) Guards! Guards! • Pyramids Wyrd Sisters • Sourcery • Mort • Equal Rites The Light Fantastic • The Color of Magic The Art of Discworld (with Paul Kidby) Mort: A Discworld Big Comic (with Graham Higgins) The Streets of Ankh-Morpork (with Stephen Briggs) The Discworld Companion (with Stephen Briggs) The Discworld Mapp (with Stephen Briggs) The Pratchett Portfolio (with Paul Kidby) Copyright This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. JINGO. Copyright © 1997 by Terry Pratchett and Lyn Pratchett. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. EPub Edition © AUGUST 2007 ISBN: 9780061807695 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 About the Publisher Australia HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd. 25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321) Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia http://www. harpercollinsebooks. com. au Canada HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. 55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900 Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada http://www. harpercollinsebooks. ca New Zealand HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited P. O. Box 1 Auckland, New Zealand http://www. harpercollinsebooks. co. nz United Kingdom HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. 77-85 Fulham Palace Road London, W6 8JB, UK http://www. harpercollinsebooks. co. uk United States HarperCollins Publishers Inc. 10 East 53rd Street New York, NY 10022 http://www. harpercollinsebooks. com * The palms are held at right angles to one another and flapped together rather than clapped, while the flapper stares intently at the audience as if to say “We’re going to have some applause here or else the whole school is in detention. ” * Women always do this. * The possibility that they were not guilty of anything was one that he didn’t even think worthy of consideration. * A term invented by the wizard Denephew Boot †. who had found that by a system of rewards and punishments he could train a dog, at the ringing of a bell, to immediately eat a strawberry meringue † His parents, who were uncomplicated country people, had wanted a girl. They were expecting to call her Denise. * Plain clothes was the problem. Both the men had been used to uniforms all their lives. Sergeant Colon’s only suit had been bought by a man two stone lighter and ten years younger, so the buttons creaked under tension, and Nobby’s idea of plain clothes was the ribbon-and-bell-bedecked costume he wore as a leading member of the Ankh-Morpork Folk Dance and Song Society. Small children had followed them in the street to see where the show was going to be. * Constable Visit-The-Ungodly-With-Explanatory-Pamphlets was a good copper, Vimes always said, and that was his highest term of praise. He was an Omnian with his countrymen’s almost pathological interest in evangelical religion and spent all his wages on pamphlets; he even had his own printing press. The results were handed out to anyone interested and everyone who wasn’t interested as well. Even Detritus couldn’t clear a crowd faster than Visit, Vimes said. And on his days off he could be seen tramping the streets with his colleague, Smite-The-Unbeliever-With-Cunning-Arguments. So far they hadn’t made a single convert. Vimes thought that Visit was probably a really nice man underneath it all, but somehow he could never face the task of finding out. * And would not, therefore, be officially burgled. Ankh-Morpork had a very direct approach to the idea of insurance. When the middleman was cut out, that wasn’t a figure of speech. * It is a long-cherished tradition among a certain type of military thinker that huge casualties are the main thing. If they are on the other side then this is a valuable bonus. * One of the universal rules of happiness is: always be wary of any helpful item that weighs less than its operating manual. |
* Thinking up good names was, oddly enough, one area where Leonard of Quirm’s genius tended to give up. * Except in the particular case of Sidney Lopsides, who was paid two dollars a day from City funds to wear a sack over his head. It wasn’t that he was spectacularly deformed, as such, it was merely that anyone who saw him spent the rest of the day with an unnerving feeling that they were upside down. * Sidney Lopsides again. * Jugglers will tell you that juggling with items that are identical is always easier than a mixture of all shapes and sizes. This is even the case with chainsaws, although of course when the juggler misses the first chainsaw it is only the start of his problems. Some more will be along very shortly. * Corporal Nobbs’s appearance could best be summarized this way. One of the minor laws of the narrative universe is that any homely featured man who has, for some reason, to disguise himself as a woman will apparently become attractive to some otherwise perfectly sane men with, as the ancient scrolls say, hilarious results. In this case the laws were fighting against the fact of Corporal Nobby Nobbs, and gave up. * And Mr. Harris of the Blue Cat Club. His admission caused a lot of argument in the Guild, who knew competition when they saw it, but Mrs. Palm overruled opposition on the basis, she said, that unnatural acts were only natural. * Usually because they suspect the joke’s on them. * Although of course wizards aren’t allowed to, because they’re not supposed to have grandchildren. Table of Contents Cover Title Page Dedication Contents Begin Reading About the Author Praise Other Books by Terry Pratchett Copyright About the Publisher Terry Pratchett The Fifth Elephant A Novel of Discworld ® Contents 1 They say the world is flat and supported on the… About the Author Praise Other Books by Terry Pratchett Copyright About the Publisher 1 T hey say the world is flat and supported on the back of four elephants who themselves stand on the back of a giant turtle. They say that the elephants, being such huge beasts, have bones of rock and iron, and nerves of gold for better conductivity over long distances. * They say that the fifth elephant came screaming and trumpeting through the atmosphere of the young world all those years ago and landed hard enough to split continents and raise mountains. No one actually saw it land, which raised the interesting philosophical point: When millions of tons of angry elephant come spinning through the sky, but there is no one to hear it, does it—philosophically speaking—make a noise? And if there was no one to see it hit, did it actually hit? In other words, wasn’t it just a story for children, to explain away some interesting natural occurrences? As for the dwarfs, whose legend it is, and who mine a lot deeper than other people, they say that there is a grain of truth in it. On a clear day, from the right vantage point on the Ramtops, a watcher could see a very long way across the plains. If it was high summer, they could count the columns of dust as the ox trains plodded on at a top speed of two miles an hour, each two pulling a train of two wagons carrying four tons each. Things took a long time to get anywhere, but when they did, there was certainly a lot of them. To the cities of the Circle Sea they carried raw material, and sometimes people who were off to seek their fortune and a fistful of diamonds. To the mountains they brought manufactured goods, rare things from across the oceans, and people who had found wisdom and a few scars. There was usually a day’s traveling between each convoy. They turned the landscape into an unrolled time machine. On a clear day, you could see last Tuesday. Heliographs twinkled in the distant air as the columns flashed messages back and forth about bandit presence, cargoes and the best place to get double egg, treble chips and a steak that overhung the plate all around. Lots of people traveled on the carts. It was cheap, it beat walking, and you got there eventually. Some people traveled for free. The driver of one wagon was having problems with his team. They were skittish. He’d expect this in the mountains, where all sorts of wild creatures might regard the oxen as a traveling meal. Here there was nothing more dangerous than cabbages, wasn’t there? Behind him, down in a narrow space between the loads of cut lumber, something slept. It was just another day in Ankh-Morpork… Sergeant Colon balanced on a shaky ladder at one end of the Brass Bridge, one of the city’s busiest thoroughfares. He clung by one hand to the tall pole with the box on top of it, and with the other he held a homemade picture book up to the slot in the front of the box. “And this is another sort of cart,” he said. “Got it?” “’S,” said a very small voice from within the box. “O-kay,” said Colon, apparently satisfied. He dropped the book and pointed down the length of the bridge. “Now, you see those two markers what has been painted across the cobbles?” “’S. ” “And they mean…?” “If-a-cart-g’s-tween-dem-in-less’na-minute-’s-goin-toofas’,” the little voice parroted. “Well done. And then you…?” “Painta pic-cher. ” “Taking care to show…?” “Drivr’s-face-or-cart-lisens. ” “And if it’s nighttime you…?” “Use-der-sal’mander-to-make-it-brite…” “Well done, Rodney. And one of us will come along every day and collect your pictures. Got everything you want?” “’S. ” “What’s that, Sergeant?” Colon looked down at the very large, brown upturned face, and smiled. “Afternoon, All,” he said, climbing ponderously down the ladder. “What you’re looking at, Mister Jolson, is the modern Watch for the new millenienienum…num. ” “’S a bit big, Fred,” said All Jolson, looking at it critically. “I’ve seen lots of smaller ones. ” “Watch as in City Watch, All. ” “Ah, right. ” “Anyone goes too fast around here and Lord Vetinari’ll be looking at his picture next morning. The iconographs do not lie, All. ” “Right, Fred. ’Cos they’re too stupid. ” “His Lordship’s got fed up with carts speeding over the bridge, see, and asked us to do something about it. I’m Head of Traffic now, you know. ” “Is that good, Fred?” “I should just think so!” said Sergeant Colon expansively. “It’s up to me to keep the, er, arteries of the city from clogging up, leadin’ to a complete breakdown of commerce and ruination for us all. Most vital job there is, you could say. ” “And it’s just you doing it, is it?” “Well, mainly. Mainly. Corporal Nobbs and the other lads help, of course. ” All Jolson scratched his nose. “It was on a similar subject that I wanted to talk to you, Fred,” said Jolson. “No problem, All. ” “Something very odd’s turned up outside my restaurant, Fred. ” Sergeant Colon followed the huge man around the corner. Fred usually liked All’s company because, next to All, he was very skinny indeed. All Jolson was a man who’d show up on an atlas and change the orbit of smaller planets. Paving stones cracked under his feet. He combined in one body—and there was plenty of room left over—Ankh-Morpork’s best chef and its keenest eater, a circumstance made in mashed potato heaven. Sergeant Colon couldn’t remember what the man’s real first name had been; he’d picked up the nickname by general acclaim, since no one seeing him in the street for the first time could believe that it was all Jolson. There was a big cart on Broad Way. Other traffic was backed up trying to maneuver around it. “Had my meat delivered at lunchtime, Fred, and when my carter came out…” All Jolson pointed to the large triangular construction locked around one wheel of the cart. It had been made of oak and steel, and then someone had sloshed some yellow paint over it. Fred tapped it carefully. “I can see where your problem is, right here,” he said. “So how long was your carter in there?” “Well. I gave him lunch…” “And very good lunches you do, All, I’ve always said. What was the special today?” “Smitten steak with cream sauce and slumpie, and Black Death meringue to follow,” said All Jolson. There was a moment of silence as they both pictured this meal. |
Fred Colon gave a little sigh. “Butter on the slumpie?” “You wouldn’t insult me by suggesting I’d leave it off, would you?” “A man could linger a long time over a meal like that,” said Fred. “The trouble is, the Patrician, All, gets very short about carts parking on the street for more than ten minutes. He reckons that’s a sort of crime. ” “Taking ten minutes to eat one of my lunches isn’t a crime, Fred, it’s a tragedy,” said All. “It says here ‘City Watch—fifteen-dollar removal,’ Fred. That’s a couple of days’ profits, Fred. ” “Thing is,” said Fred Colon, “it’ll be paperwork, see? I can’t just wave that away. I only wish I could. There’s all them counterfoils on the spike in my office. If it was me running the Watch, of course…but my hands are tied, see…” The two men stood some way apart, hands in pockets, apparently paying little attention to one another. Sergeant Colon began to whistle under his breath. “I know a thing or two,” said All, carefully. “People think waiters ain’t got ears. ” “I know lots of stuff, All,” said Colon, jingling his pocket change. Both men stared at the sky for a while. “I may have some honey ice cream left over from yesterday—” Sergeant Colon looked down at the cart. “Here, Mister Jolson,” he said, in a voice of absolute surprise, “some complete bastard’s put some sort of clamp on your wheel! Well, we’ll soon see about that. ” Colon pulled a couple of round, white-painted paddles from his belt, sighted on the Watch House semaphore tower peeking over the top of the old lemonade factory, waited until the watching gargoyle signaled him, and with a certain amount of verve and flair ripped off an impression of a man with stiff arms playing two games of table tennis at once. “The team’ll be along any minute—ah, watch this…” A little farther along the street two trolls were carefully clamping a hay wagon. After a minute or two one of them happened to glance at the Watch House tower, nudged his colleague, produced two bats of his own and with, rather less élan than Sergeant Colon, sent a signal. When it was answered the trolls looked around, spotted Colon, and lumbered toward him. “Ta-da,” said Colon, proudly. “Amazing, this new technology,” said All Jolson, admiringly. “And they must’ve been, what, forty or fifty yards away?” “’S’right, All. In the old days I’d’ve had to blow a whistle. And they’ll arrive here knowin’ it was me who wanted ’em, too. ” “Instead of having to look and see it was you,” said Jolson. “Well, yeah,” said Colon, aware that what had transpired might not be the brightest ray of light in the new dawn of the communications revolution. “Of course, it’d have worked just as well if they’d been streets away. On the other side of the city, even. And if I told the gargoyle to, as we say, ‘put’ it on the ‘big’ tower over on the Tump they’d have got it in Sto Lat within minutes, see?” “And that’s twenty miles. ” “At least. ” “Amazing, Fred. ” “Time moves on, All,” said Colon, as the trolls reached them. “Constable Chert, who told you to clamp my friend’s cart?” he demanded. “Well, Sarge, dis morning you said we was to clamp every—” “Not this cart,” said Colon. “Unlock it right now, and we’ll say no more about it, eh?” Constable Chert seemed to reach the conclusion that he wasn’t being paid to think, and this was just as well, because Sergeant Colon did not believe trolls gave value for money in that department. “If you say so, Sarge…” “While you’re doing that, me and All here will have a little chat, right, All?” said Fred Colon. “That’s right, Fred. ” “Well, I say chat, but I’ll be mostly listenin’, on account of having my mouth full. ” Snow cascaded from the fir branches. The man forced his way through, stood fighting for breath for a moment and then set off across the clearing at a fast jog. Across the valley he heard the first blast on the horn. He had an hour, then, if he could trust them. He might not make it to the tower, but there were other ways out. He had plans. He could outwit them. Keep off the snow as much as you can, double back, make use of the streams…it was possible, it had been done before. He was sure of that. A few miles away sleek bodies set out through the forest. The hunt was on. And elsewhere in Ankh-Morpork, the Fools’ Guild was on fire. This was a problem, because the Guild’s fire brigade largely consisted of clowns. And this was a problem because, if you show a clown a bucket of water and a ladder, he knows only one way to act. Years of training take over. It’s something in the red nose speaking to him. He can’t help himself. Sam Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch leaned against a wall and watched the show. “We really must put that proposal for a civic fire service to the Patrician again,” he said. Across the street, a clown picked up a ladder, turned, knocked the clown behind him into a bucket of water, then turned again to see what the commotion was, thus sending his rising victim into the bucket again with a surprising parping noise. The crowd watched silently. If it were funny, clowns wouldn’t be doing it. “The guilds are all against it,” said Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson, his second in command, as the clown with the ladder had a bucket of water poured down his trousers. “They say it’d be trespass. ” The fire had taken hold in a first-floor room. “If we let it burn it’d be a blow for entertainment in this city,” said Carrot earnestly. Vimes looked sideways at him. That was a true Carrot comment. It sounded as innocent as hell, but you could take it a different way. “It certainly would,” he said. “Nevertheless, I suppose we’d better do something. ” He stepped forward and cupped his hands. “All right, this is the Watch! Bucket chain!” he shouted. “Aw, must we?” said someone in the crowd. “Yes, you must,” said Captain Carrot. “Come on, everyone, if we form two lines we’ll have this done in no time at all! What d’you say, eh? It might even be fun!” And they did it, Vimes noted. Carrot treated everyone as if they were jolly good chaps and somehow, in some inexplicable way, they couldn’t resist the urge not to prove him wrong. And to the disappointment of the crowd the fire was soon put out, once the clowns were disarmed and led away by kind people. Carrot reappeared, wiping his forehead, as Vimes lit a cigar. “Apparently the fire eater was sick,” he said. “It’s just possible we might never be forgiven,” said Vimes, as they set off on patrol again. “Oh no…what now?” Carrot was staring upward, toward the nearest clacks tower. “Riot in Cable Street,” he said. “It’s All Officers, sir. ” They broke into a run. You always did for an All Officers. The people in trouble might well be you. There were more dwarfs on the streets as they got nearer, and Vimes recognized the signs. The dwarfs all wore preoccupied looks and were walking in the same direction. “It’s over,” he said, as they rounded a corner. “You can tell by the sudden increase in suspiciously innocent bystanders. ” Whatever else the emergency had been, it had been a big one. The street was strewn with debris, and a fair amount of dwarfs. Vimes slowed down. “Third time this week,” he said. “What’s gotten into them?” “Hard to say, sir,” said Carrot. Vimes shot him a glance. Carrot had been raised by dwarfs. He also, if he could possibly avoid it, never told a lie. “That isn’t the same as I don’t know , is it,” he said. The captain looked awkward. “I think it’s…sort of political,” he said. Vimes noted a throwing ax buried in a wall. “Yes, I can see that,” he said. Someone was coming along the street, and was probably the reason why the riot had broken up. Lance-Constable Bluejohn was the biggest troll Vimes had ever met. He loomed. He was so big that he didn’t stand out in a crowd because he was the crowd; people failed to see him because he was in the way. And, like many overgrown people, he was instinctively gentle and rather shy and inclined to let others tell him what to do. If fate had led him to join a gang, he’d be the muscle. In the Watch, he was the riot shield. Other watchmen were peering around him. |
“Looks like it started in Gimlet’s Delicatessen,” said Vimes, as the rest of the Watch moved in. “Get a statement off Gimlet. ” “Not a good idea, sir,” said Carrot firmly. “He didn’t see anything. ” “How do you know he didn’t see anything? You haven’t asked him. ” “I know, sir. He didn’t see anything. He didn’t hear anything, either. ” “With a mob trashing his restaurant and scrapping in the street outside?” “That’s right, sir. ” “Ah. I get it. There’s none so deaf as those that won’t hear, are you saying?” “Something like that, sir, yes. Look, it’s all over, sir. I don’t think anyone’s seriously hurt. It’ll be for the best, sir. Please?” “Is this one of those private dwarf things, Captain?” “Yes, sir—” “Well, this is Ankh-Morpork, Captain, not some mine in the mountains, and it’s my job to keep the peace, and this , Captain, doesn’t look like it. What’re people going to say about rioting in the streets?” “They’ll say it’s another day in the life of the big city, sir,” said Carrot woodenly. “Yes, I suppose they would, at that. However—” Vimes picked up a groaning dwarf. “Who did this?” he demanded. “I’m not in the mood for being messed around. Come on, I want a name!” “Agi Hammerthief,” muttered the dwarf, struggling. “All right,” said Vimes, letting him go. “Write that down, Carrot. ” “No, sir,” said Carrot. “Excuse me?” “There is no Agi Hammerthief in the city, sir. ” “You know every dwarf?” “A lot of them, sir. But Agi Hammerthief is only found down mines, sir. He’s a sort of mischievous spirit, sir. For example, ‘put it where Agi puts the coal,’ sir, means—” “Yes, I can guess,” said Vimes. “You’re telling me that dwarf just said this riot was started by Sweet Fanny Adams?” The dwarf had disappeared smartly around a corner. “More or less, sir. Excuse me a moment, sir. ” Carrot stepped across the street, pulling two white painted paddles out of his belt. “I’ll just get a line of sight on a tower,” he said. “I’d better send a clacks. ” “Why?” “Well, we’ve kept the Patrician waiting, sir, so it’d be good manners to let him know we’re late. ” Vimes pulled out his watch and stared at it. It was turning out to be one of those days…the sort that you got every day. It is in the nature of the universe that the person who always keeps you waiting ten minutes will, on the day you are ten minutes tardy, have been ready ten minutes early and will make a point of not mentioning this. “Sorry we’re late, sir,” said Vimes, as they entered the Oblong Office. “Oh, are you late?” said Lord Vetinari, looking up from his paperwork. “I really hadn’t noticed. Nothing serious, I trust. ” “The Fools’ Guild caught fire, sir,” said Carrot. “Many casualties?” “No, sir. ” “Well, that is a blessing,” said Lord Vetinari carefully. He put down his pen. “Now…what do we have to discuss?” He pulled another document toward him and read it swiftly. “Ah…I see that the new traffic division is having the desired effect. ” He indicated a large pile of paper. “I am getting any amount of complaints from the Carters’ and Drovers’ Guild. Well done. Do pass on my thanks to Sergeant Colon and his team. ” “I will, sir. ” “I see in one day they clamped seventeen carts, ten horses, eighteen oxen and one duck. ” “It was parked illegally, sir. ” “Indeed. ” “However, a strange pattern seems to emerge. ” “Sir?” “Many of the carters say that they were not in fact parked but had merely halted while an extremely old and extremely ugly lady crossed the road extremely slowly. ” “That’s their story, sir. ” “They know she was an old lady by her constant litany on the lines of ‘oh deary me, my poor old feet’ and similar expressions. ” “Certainly sounds like an old lady to me, sir,” said Vimes, his face still wooden. “Quite so. What is rather strange is that several of them then report seeing the old lady subsequently legging it away along an alley rather fast. I’d discount this, of course, were it not for the fact that the lady has apparently been seen crossing another street, very slowly, some distance away shortly afterward. Something of a mystery, Vimes. ” Vimes put his hand over his eyes. “It’s one I intend to solve quite quickly, sir. ” The Patrician nodded, and made a short note on the list in front of him. As he went to move it aside he uncovered a much grubbier, much folded scrap of paper. He picked up two letter knives and, using them fastidiously, unfolded the paper and inched it across the desk toward Vimes. “Do you know anything about this?” he said. Vimes read, in large, round, crayoned letters: DeEr Cur, The CruELt to HOMLIss DoGs In thIs CITy Is A DIssGrays, Wat arE The WaTCH Do Ing A BouT IT¿ SiNeD The LeAK AgyANsct CrUle T To DoGs. “Not a thing,” he said. “My clerks say that one like it is pushed under the door most nights,” said the Patrician. “Apparently no one is seen. ” “Do you want me to investigate?” said Vimes. “It shouldn’t be hard to find someone in this city who dribbles when he writes and spells even worse than Carrot. ” “Thank you, sir,” said Carrot. “None of the guards report noticing anyone,” said the Patrician. “Is there any group in Ankh-Morpork particularly interested in the welfare of dogs?” “I doubt it, sir. ” “Then I shall ignore it pro tem,” said Vetinari. He let the soggy letter splash into the wastepaper basket. “On to more pressing matters,” he said briskly. “Now, then…what do you know about Bonk?” Vimes stared. There was a polite cough from Carrot. “The river or the town, sir?” he said. The Patrician smiled. “Ah, Captain, you have long ago ceased to surprise me. Yes, I was referring to the town. ” “It’s one of the major towns in Überwald, sir,” said Carrot, balancing the umlaut perfectly. “Exports: precious metals, leather, timber and of course fat from the deep fat mines at Shmaltzberg—” “There’s a place called Bonk?” said Vimes, still marveling at the speed with which they’d got here from a damp letter about dogs. “Strictly speaking, sir, it’s more correctly pronounced Beyonk,” said Carrot. “Even so—” “And in Beyonk, sir, ‘morpork’ sounds exactly like their words for an item of ladies’ underwear,” said Carrot. “There’s only so many syllables in the world, when you think about it. ” “How do you know all this stuff, Carrot?” “Oh, you pick it up, sir. Here and there. ” “Really? So exactly which item of—” “Something extremely important will be taking place there in a few weeks,” said Lord Vetinari. “Something which, I have to add, is vital to the future prosperity of Ankh-Morpork. ” “The crowning of the Low King,” said Carrot. Vimes stared from Carrot to the Patrician, and back again. “Is there some kind of circular that goes around that doesn’t get as far as me?” he said. “The dwarf community has been talking about little else for months, sir. ” “Really?” said Vimes. “You mean the riots? Those fights every night in the dwarf bars?” “Captain Carrot is correct, Vimes. It will be a grand occasion, attended by representatives of many governments. And from various Uberwald principalities, of course, because the Low King only rules those areas of Uberwald that are below ground. His favor is valuable. Borogravia and Genua will be there, without a doubt, and probably even Klatch. ” “Klatch? But they’re even farther from Uberwald than we are! What are they bothering to go for?” He paused for a moment, and then added: “Hah. I’m being stupid. Where’s the money?” “I beg your pardon, Commander?” “That’s what my old sergeant used so say when he was puzzled, sir. Find out where the money is and you’ve got it half-solved. ” Vetinari stood up and walked over to the big window, with his back to them. “A large country, Uberwald,” he said, apparently addressing the glass. “Dark. Mysterious. Ancient…” “Huge untapped reserves of coal and iron ore,” said Carrot. “And fat, of course. The best candles, lamp oils and soap come ultimately from the Shmaltzberg deposits. ” “Why? We’ve got our own slaughterhouse, haven’t we?” “Ankh-Morpork uses a great many candles, sir. ” “It certainly doesn’t use much soap,” said Vimes. “There are so many uses for fats and tallows, sir. |
We couldn’t possibly supply ourselves. ” “Ah,” said Vimes. The Patrician sighed. “Obviously I hope that we may strengthen our trading links with the various nations within Uberwald,” he said. “The situation there is volatile in the extreme. Do you know much about Uberwald, Commander Vimes?” Vimes, whose knowledge of geography was microscopically detailed within five miles of Ankh-Morpork and merely microscopic beyond that, nodded uncertainly. “Only that it’s not really a country,” said Vetinari. “It’s—” “It’s rather more what you get before you get countries,” said Carrot. “It’s mainly fortified towns and fiefdoms with no real boundaries and lots of forest in between. There’s always some sort of feud going on. There’s no law apart from whatever the local lords enforce, and banditry of all kinds is rife. ” “So unlike the home life of our own dear city,” said Vimes, not quite under his breath. The Patrician gave him an impassive glance. “In Uberwald the dwarfs and trolls haven’t settled their old grievances, there are large areas controlled by feudal vampire or werewolf clans, and there are also tracts with much higher than normal background magic. It is a chaotic place, indeed, and you’d hardly think you were in the Century of the Fruitbat. It is to be hoped that things will improve, however, and Uberwald will, happily, be joining the community of nations. ” Vimes and Vetinari exchanged looks. Sometimes Carrot sounded like a civics essay written by a stunned choirboy. “Well put,” said the Patrician, at last. “But until that joysome day, Uberwald remains a mystery inside a riddle wrapped in an enigma. ” “Let me see if I’ve got this right,” said Vimes. “Uberwald is like this big suet pudding that everyone’s suddenly noticed, and now with this coronation as an excuse we’ve all got to rush there with knife, fork and spoon to shovel as much on our plates as possible?” “Your grasp of political reality is masterly, Vimes. You lack only the appropriate vocabulary. Ankh-Morpork must send a representative, obviously. An ambassador, as it were. ” “You’re not suggesting I should go to this affair, are you?” said Vimes. “Oh, I couldn’t send the Commander of the City Watch,” said Lord Vetinari. “Most of the Uberwald countries have no concept of a modern civil peacekeeping authority. ” Vimes relaxed. “I’m sending the Duke of Ankh-Morpork, instead. ” Vimes sat bolt upright. “They are mostly feudal systems,” Vetinari went on. “They set great score by rank—” “I’m not being ordered to go to Uberwald!” “Ordered, Your Grace?” Vetinari looked shocked and concerned. “Good heavens, I must have misunderstood Lady Sybil…She told me yesterday that a holiday a long way from Ankh-Morpork would do you the world of good…” “You spoke to Sybil?” “At the reception for the new president of the Tailors’ Guild, yes. I believe you left early. You were called away. Some emergency, I understand. Lady Sybil happened to mention how you seemed to be, as she put it, constantly on the job, and one thing led to another. Oh dear, I do hope I haven’t caused some marital misunderstanding…” “I can’t leave the city now of all times!” said Vimes desperately. “There’s so much to do!” “That is exactly why Sybil says you ought to leave the city,” said Vetinari. “But there’s the new training school—” “Ticking over nicely now, sir,” said Carrot. “The whole carrier pigeon network is a complete mess—” “More or less sorted out, sir, now that we’ve changed their feed. Besides, the clacks seems to be functioning very well. ” “We’ve got to get the River Watch set up—” “Can’t do much for a week or two, sir, until we’ve dredged up the boat. ” “The drains at the Chitterling Street station are—” “I’ve got the plumbers working on it, sir. ” Vimes knew that he had lost. He had lost as soon as Sybil was involved, because she was always a reliable siege engine against the walls of his defenses. But there was such a thing as going down fighting. “You know I’m no good at diplomatic talk,” he said. “On the contrary, Vimes, you appear to have amazed the diplomatic corps here in Ankh-Morpork,” said Lord Vetinari. “They’re not used to plain speech. It confuses them. What was it you said to the Istanzian ambassador last month?” He riffled through the papers on his desk. “Let me see, the complaint is here somewhere…Oh yes, on the matter of military incursions across the Slipnir River, you indicated that further transgressions would involve him, personally, that is to say the ambassador, and I quote ‘going home in an ambulance. ’” “I’m sorry about that, sir, but it had been a long day and he was really getting on my—” “Since when their armed forces have pulled back so far that they are nearly in the next country,” said Lord Vetinari, moving the paper aside. “I have to say that your observation complied only with the general thrust of my view in this matter but was, at least, succinct. Apparently you also looked at the ambassador in a very threatening way. ” “It was only the way I usually look. ” “To be sure. Happily, in Uberwald you will only need to look friendly. ” “Ah, but you don’t want me saying things like ‘how about selling us all your fat really cheap?’ do you?” said Vimes, desperately. “You will not be required to do any negotiating, Vimes. That will be dealt with by one of my clerks, who will set up the temporary embassy and discuss such matters with his opposite numbers among the courts of Uberwald. All clerks speak the same language. You will simply be as ducal as you can. And, of course, you will take a retinue. A staff,” Vetinari added, seeing Vimes’s blank look. He sighed. “People to go with you. I suggest Sergeant Angua, Sergeant Detritus and Corporal Littlebottom. ” “Ah,” said Carrot, nodding encouragingly. “Sorry?” said Vimes. “I think there must have been a whole piece of conversation just then that I must have missed. ” “A werewolf, a troll and a dwarf,” said Carrot. “Ethnic minorities, sir. ” “…but, in Uberwald, they are ethnic majorities ,” said Lord Vetinari. “All three officers come from there originally, I believe. Their presence will speak volumes. ” “So far it hasn’t sent me a postcard,” said Vimes. “I’d rather take—” “Sir, it will show people in Uberwald that Ankh-Morpork is a multicultural society, you see?” said Carrot. “Oh, I see. ‘People like us. ’ People you can do business with,” said Vimes, glumly. “Sometimes,” Vetinari said, testily, “it really does seem to me that the culture of cynicism in the Watch is…is…” “Insufficient?” said Vimes. There was silence. “All right,” he sighed, “I’d better go off and polish the knobs on my coronet, hadn’t I?” “The ducal coronet, if I remember my heraldry, does not have knobs on. It is decidedly…spiky,” said the Patrician, pushing across the desk of small pile of papers topped by a gold-edged invitation card. “Good. I will have a…a clacks sent immediately. You will be more fully briefed later. Do give my regards to the duchess. And now, please do not let me detain you further…” “He always says that,” muttered Vimes, as the two men hurried down the stairs. “He knows I don’t like being married to a duchess. ” “I thought you and Lady Sybil—” “Oh, being married to Sybil is fine, fine,” said Vimes hurriedly. “It’s just the duchess bit I don’t like. Where is everyone tonight?” “Corporal Littlebottom’s on pigeon duty, Detritus is on night patrol with Swires, and Angua’s on special duty in the Shades, sir. You remember? With Nobby?” “Oh gods, yes. Well, when they come in tomorrow you’d better get them to report to me. Incidentally, get that bloody wig off Nobby and hide it, will you?” Vimes leafed through the paperwork. “I’ve never heard of the Low King of the Dwarfs. I thought that ‘king’ in Dwarfish just meant a sort of senior engineer. ” “Ah, well, the Low King is rather special,” said Carrot. “Why?” “Well, it all starts with the Scone of Stone, sir. ” “The what?” “Would you mind a little detour on the way back to the Yard, sir? It’ll make things clearer. ” The young woman stood on a corner of the Shades. |
Her general stance indicated that she was, in the specialized patois of the area, a lady in waiting. To be more precise a lady in waiting for Mr. Right, or at least Mr. Right Amount. She idly swung her handbag. This was a very recognizable signal, for anyone with the brains of a pigeon. A member of the Thieves’ Guild would have passed carefully by on the other side of the lane, giving her nothing more than a gentlemanly and above all nonaggressive nod. Even the less-polite freelance thieves that lurked in this area would have thought twice before eyeing the handbag. The Seamstresses’ Guild operated a very swift and nonreversible kind of justice. The skinny body of Done It Duncan however, did not have the brains of a pigeon. The little man had been watching the bag like a cat for fully five minutes, and now the very thought of its contents had hypnotized him. He could practically taste the money. He rose on his toes, lowered his head, dashed out of the alley, grabbed the bag and got several inches before the world exploded behind him and he ended up flat in the mud. Something right by his ear started to drool. And there was a long, very long drawn out growl, not changing in tone at all, just unrolling a deep promise of what would happen if he tried to move. He heard footsteps, and out of the corner of his eyes saw a swirl of lace. “Oh, Done It ,” said a voice. “Bag snatching? That’s a bit low, isn’t it? Even for you? You could’ve got really hurt. It’s only Duncan, miss. He’ll be no trouble. You can let him up. ” The weight was removed from Duncan’s back. He heard something pad off into the gloom of an alley. “I done it, I done it,” said the little thief desperately, as Corporal Nobbs helped him to his feet. “Yes, I know you did. I saw you,” said Nobby. “And you know what’d happen to you if the Thieves’ Guild spotted you? You’d be dead in the river with no time off for good behavior. ” “They hate me ’cos I’m so good,” said Duncan, through his matted beard. “’Ere, you know the robbery at All Jolson’s last month? I done that. ” “That’s right, Duncan. You done that. ” “An’ that haul at the gold vaults last week, I done that, too. It wasn’t Coalface and his boys. ” “No, it was you, wasn’t it, Duncan. ” “An’ that job at the goldsmith’s that everyone says Crunchie Ron done—” “You done it, did you?” “’S’right,” said Duncan. “And it was you what stole fire from the gods, too, wasn’t it, Duncan?” said Nobby, grinning evilly under his wig. “Yeah, that was me,” Duncan nodded. He sniffed. “I was a bit younger then, of course. ” Duncan peered shortsightedly at Nobby Nobbs. “Why’ve you got a dress on, Nobby?” “It’s hush hush, Duncan. ” “Ah, right. ” Duncan shifted uneasily. “You couldn’t spare me a bob or two, could you, Nobby? I ain’t eaten for two days. ” Small coins gleamed in the dark. “Now push off,” said Corporal Nobbs. “Thanks, Nobby. You got any unsolved crimes, you know where to find me. ” Duncan lurched off into the night. Sergeant Angua appeared behind Nobby, buckling on her breastplate. “Poor old devil,” she said. “He was a good thief in his day,” said Nobby, taking a notebook out of his handbag and jotting down a few lines. “Kind of you to help him,” said Angua. “Well, I can get the money back out of petty cash,” said Nobby. “An’ now we know who did the bullion job, don’t we. That’ll be a feather in my cap with Mister Vimes. ” “Bonnet, Nobby. ” “What?” “Your bonnet, Nobby. It’s got a rather fetching band of flowers around it. ” “Oh…yeah…” “It’s not that I’m complaining,” said Angua, “but when we were assigned this job I thought it was me who was going to be the decoy and you who was going to be the backup, Nobby. ” “Yeah, but what with you bein’…” Nobby’s expression creased as he edged his way into unfamiliar linguistic territory, “…mor…phor…log…ic…ally gifted…” “A werewolf, Nobby. I know the word. ” “Right…well, obviously, you’d be a lot better at lurkin’, an’…an’ obviously it’s not right, women havin’ to act as decoys in police work…” Angua hesitated, as she so often did when attempting to talk to Nobby on difficult matters, and waved her hands in front of her as if trying to shape the invisible dough of her thoughts. “It’s just that…I mean, people might…” she began. “I mean…well, you know what people call men who wear wigs and gowns, don’t you?” “Yes, miss. ” “You do?” “Yes, miss. Lawyers, miss. ” “Good. Yes. Good,” said Angua slowly. “Now try another one…” “Er…actors, miss?” Angua gave up. “You look good in taffeta, Nobby,” she said. “You don’t think it makes me look too fat?” Angua sniffed. “Oh no…” she said, quietly. “I thought I’d better put scent on for verysillymitude,” said Nobby quickly. “What? Oh…” Angua shook her head, took another breath. “I can smell…some…thing…else…” “That’s surprising, ’cos this stuff’s a bit on the pungent side and frankly I don’t think lily of the valley is supposed to smell like this…” “…it’s not perfume…” “…but the lavender stuff they had you could clean brass with…” “Can you get back to the Chitterling station by yourself, Nobby?” said Angua. Despite her rising panic, she mentally added: After all, what could happen? I mean, really? “Yes, miss. ” “There’s something I’d better…sort out…” Angua hurried away, the new scent filling her nostrils. It would have to be powerful to combat Eau de Nobbs, and it was. Oh, it was. Not here, she thought. Not now. Not him. The running man swung along a branch wet with snow, and managed at last to lower himself onto a branch belonging to the next tree. That took him a long way from the stream. How good was their sense of smell? Pretty damn good, he knew. But this good? He’d gotten out of the stream onto another overhanging branch. If they followed the banks, and they’d be bright enough to do that, they’d surely never know he’d left the stream. There was a howl, away to the left. He headed right, into the gloom of the forest. Vimes heard Carrot scrabble around in the gloom, and the sound of a key in the lock. “I thought the Campaign for Equal Heights was running this place now,” he said. “It’s so hard to find volunteers,” said Carrot, ushering him through the low door and lighting a candle. “I come in every day just to keep an eye on things, but no one else seems very interested. ” “I can’t imagine why,” said Vimes, looking around the Dwarf Bread Museum. The one positive thing you could say about the bread products around him was that they were probably as edible now as they were on the day they were baked. “Forged” was a better term. Dwarf bread was made as a meal of last resort and also as a weapon and a currency. Dwarfs were not, as far as Vimes knew, religious in any way, but the way they thought about bread came close. There was a tinkle and a scrabbling noise somewhere in the gloom. “Rats,” said Carrot. “They never stop trying to eat dwarf bread, poor things…Ah, here we are. The Scone of Stone. A replica, of course. ” Vimes stared at the misshaped thing on its dusty display stand. It was vaguely sconelike, but only if someone pointed this out to you beforehand. Otherwise, the term “a lump of rock” was pretty accurate. It was about the size, and shape, of a well sat-on cushion. There were a few fossilized currants visible. “My wife rests her feet on something like that when she’s had a long day,” he said. “It’s fifteen hundred years old,” said Carrot, with something like awe in his voice. “I thought this was the replica. ” “Well, yes…but it’s a replica of a very important thing, sir,” said Carrot. Vimes sniffed. The air had a certain pungent quality. “Smells strongly of cats in here, doesn’t it?” “I’m afraid they get in after the rats, sir. A rat who’s nibbled on dwarf bread tends not to be able to run very fast. ” Vimes lit a cigar. Carrot gave it a look of uncertain disapproval. “We do thank people for not smoking in here, sir,” he said. “Why? You don’t know they’re not going to,” said Vimes. He leaned against the display cabinet. “All right, Captain. Why am I really going to…Bonk? I don’t know a lot about diplomacy, but I do know it’s never just about one thing. |
What’s the Low King? Why’re our dwarfs scrapping?” “Well, sir…have you heard of kruk ?” “Dwarf mining law?” said Vimes. “Well done, sir. But it’s a lot more than that. It’s about…how you live. Laws of ownership, marriage laws, inheritance, rules for dealing with disputes of all kinds, that sort of thing. Everything, really. And the Low King…well, you could call him the final court of appeal. He’s advised, of course, but he’s got the last word. Still with me?” “Makes sense so far. ” “And he is crowned on the Scone of Stone and sits on it to give his judgments because all the Low Kings have done that ever since B’hrian Bloodaxe, fifteen hundred years ago. It…gives authority. ” Vimes nodded, dourly. That made sense, too. You did something because it had always been done, and the explanation was “but we’ve always done it this way. ” A million dead people can’t have been wrong, can they? “Does he get elected, or born or what?” he said. “I suppose you could say he’s elected,” said Carrot. “But really a lot of senior dwarfs arrange it among themselves. After listening to other dwarfs, of course. Taking soundings, it’s called. Traditionally he’s from one of the big families. But…er…” “Yes?” “Things are a little different this year. Tempers are a bit…stretched. ” Ah, thought Vimes. “Wrong dwarf won?” he said. “Some dwarfs would say so. But it’s more that the whole process has been called into question,” said Carrot. “By the dwarfs in the biggest dwarf city outside Uberwald. ” “Don’t tell me, that must be that place hubward of—” “It’s Ankh-Morpork, sir. ” “What? We’re not a dwarf city!” “Fifty thousand dwarfs now, sir. ” “Really?” “Yes, sir. ” “Are you sure ?” “Yes, sir. ” Of course he is, Vimes thought. He probably knows them all by name. “You have to understand, sir, that there’s a sort of big debate going on,” said Carrot. “On how you define a dwarf. ” “Well, some people might say that they’re called dwarfs because—” “No, sir. Not size. Nobby Nobbs is shorter than many dwarfs, and we don’t call him a dwarf. ” “We don’t call him a human, either,” said Vimes. “And, of course, I am also a dwarf. ” “You know, Carrot, I keep meaning to talk to you about that—” “Adopted by dwarfs, brought up by dwarfs…to dwarfs, I’m a dwarf, sir. I can do the rite of k’zakra , I know the secrets of h’ragna , I can ha’lk my g’rakha correctly…I am a dwarf. ” “What do those things mean?” “I’m not allowed to tell non-dwarfs. ” Carrot tactfully tried to stand out of the way of the cigar smoke. “Unfortunately, some of the mountain dwarfs think that dwarfs who have moved away aren’t proper dwarfs, either. But this time, the kingship has been swung by the views of the Ankh-Morpork dwarfs, and a lot of dwarfs back home don’t like it. There’s been a lot of bad feeling all round. Families falling out, that sort of thing. Much pulling of beards. ” “Really?” Vimes tried not to smile. “It’s not funny if you’re a dwarf. ” “Sorry. ” “And I’m afraid this new Low King is only going to make matters worse, although of course I wish him well. ” “Tough, is he?” “Er…I think you can assume, sir, that any dwarf who rises sufficiently in dwarf society to even be considered as a candidate for the kingship did not get there by singing the hi-ho song and bandaging wounded animals in the forest. But by dwarf standards, King Rhys Rhysson is a modern thinker, although I hear he doesn’t like Ankh-Morpork very much. ” “Sounds like a very clear thinker, too. ” “Anyway, this has upset a lot of the more, er, traditional mountain dwarfs who thought the next king would be Albrecht Albrechtson. ” “Who is not a modern thinker?” “He thinks even coming up above ground is dangerously non-dwarfish. ” Vimes sighed. “Well, I can see there’s a problem, Carrot, but the thing about this problem, the key point, is that it’s not mine. Or yours, dwarf or not. ” He tapped the Scone’s case. “Replica, eh?” he said. “Sure it’s not the real one?” “Sir! There is only one real Scone. We call it the ‘thing and the whole of the thing. ’” “Well, if it’s a good replica, who’d know?” “Any dwarf would, sir. ” “Only joking. ” There was a hamlet down there, where two rivers met. There would be boats. This was working. The slopes behind him were white and free of dark shapes. No matter how good they were, let them try to outswim a boat… Hard-packed snow crunched under his feet. He staggered past the few rough hovels, saw the jetty, saw the boats, fought with the frozen rope that moored the nearest one, grabbed an oar and pushed himself out into the current. There was still no movement on the hills. Now, at last, he could take stock. It was a bigger boat than one man could handle, but all he had to do was fend off the banks. That’d do for tonight. In the morning he could leave it somewhere, perhaps ask someone to get a message through to the tower, and then he’d buy a horse and… Behind him, under the tarpaulin in the bows, something started to growl. They really were very clever. In a castle not far away, the vampire Lady Margolotta sat quietly, leafing through Twurp’s Peerage. It wasn’t a very good reference book for the countries on this side of the Ramtops, where the standard work was The Almanac de Gothick , in which she herself occupied almost four pages, * but if you needed to know who thought they were who in Ankh-Morpork it was invaluable. Her copy was now bristling with bookmarks. She sighed and pushed it away. Beside her was a fluted glass containing a red liquid. She took a sip, and made a face. Then she stared at the candlelight, and tried to think like Lord Vetinari. How much did he suspect? How much news got back? The clacks tower had only been up for a month, and was being roundly denounced throughout Bonk as an intrusion. But it seemed to be doing a good if stealthy local traffic. Who would he send? His choice would tell her everything, she was sure. Someone like Lord Rust or Lord Selachii…well, she’d think a lot less of him if he sent someone like those. All that she had heard, and Lady Margolotta heard a lot of things, the Ankh-Morpork diplomatic corps as a whole could not find its backside with a map. Of course, it was good business for a diplomat to appear stupid, right up to the moment when he’d stolen your socks, but Lady Margolotta had met some of Ankh-Morpork’s finest and no one could act that well. The growing howling outside began to get on her nerves. She rang for her butler. “Yeth, mithtreth?” said Igor, materializing out of the shadows. “Go and tell the children of the night to make wonderful music somewhere else, will you? I have a headache. ” “Indeed, mithtreth. ” Lady Margolotta yawned. It had been a long night. She’d think better after a good day’s sleep. As she went to blow out the candle, she glanced at the book again. There was a marker in the V s. But…surely even the Patrician couldn’t know that much… She hesitated, and then pulled the bellpull above the coffin. Igor reappeared, in the way of Igors. “Those keen young men at the clacks tower will be awake, won’t they?” “Yeth, mithtreth. ” “Send a clacks to our agent asking for everything about Commander Vimes of the Watch, will you?” “Ith he a diplomat, mithtreth?” Lady Margolotta lay back. “No, Igor. He’s the reason for diplomats. Close the lid, will you?” Sam Vimes could parallel process. Most husbands can. They learn to follow their own line of thought while at the same time listening to what their wives say. And the listening is important, because at any time they could be challenged and must be ready to quote the last sentence in full. A vital additional skill is being able to scan the dialogue for telltale phrases, such as “and they can deliver it tomorrow” or “so I’ve invited them for dinner” or “they can do it in blue, really quite cheaply. ” Lady Sybil was aware of this. Sam could coherently carry on an entire conversation while thinking about something completely different. “I will tell Willikins to pack winter clothes,” she said, watching him. “It’ll be pretty cold up there at this time of year. ” “Yes. That’s a good idea. |
” Vimes continued to stare at a point just above the fireplace. “We’ll have to host a party ourselves, I expect, so we ought to take a cartload of typical Ankh-Morpork food. Show the flag, you know. Do you think I should take a cook along?” “Yes, dear. That would be a good idea. No one outside the city knows how to make a knuckle sandwich properly. ” Sybil was impressed. Ears operating entirely on automatic had nevertheless triggered the mouth into making a small but coherent contribution. She said, “Do you think we ought to take the alligator with us?” “Yes, that might be advisable. ” She watched his face. Small furrows formed on Vimes’s brow as the ears nudged the brain. He blinked. “What alligator?” “You were miles away, Sam. In Uberwald, I expect. ” “Sorry. ” “Is there a problem?” “Why’s he sending me , Sybil?” “I’m sure Havelock shares with me a conviction that you have hidden depths, Sam. ” Vimes sank gloomily into his armchair. It was, he felt, a persistent flaw in his wife’s otherwise practical and sensible character that she believed, against all evidence, that he was a man of many talents. He knew he had hidden depths. There was nothing in them that he’d like to see float to the surface. They contained things that should be left to lie. There was also a nagging worry that he couldn’t quite pin down. Had he been able to, he might have expressed it like this: Policemen didn’t go on holiday. Where you got policemen, as Lord Vetinari was wont to remark, you got crime. So if he went to Bonk, however you pronounced the damn place, there would be a crime. It was something the world always laid on for policemen. “It’ll be nice to see Serafine again,” said Sybil. “Yes, indeed,” said Vimes. In Bonk he would not, officially, be a policeman. He did not like this at all. He liked this even less than all the other things. On the few occasions he’d been outside Ankh-Morpork and its surrounding fiefdom he’d either been going to other local cities where the Ankh-Morpork badge carried some weight, or he had been in hot pursuit, that most ancient and honorable of police procedures. From the way Carrot talked, in Bonk his badge would merely figure as extra roughage on someone’s menu. His brow wrinkled again. “Serafine?” “Lady Serafine von Uberwald,” said Sybil. “Sergeant Angua’s mother? You remember me telling you last year? We were at finishing school together. Of course, we all knew she was a werewolf, but nobody would ever dream of talking about that sort of thing in those days. Well, you just didn’t. There was all that business over the ski instructor, of course, but I’m certain in my own mind that he must have fallen down some crevasse or other. She married the baron, and they live just outside Beyonk. I write to her with a little news every Hogswatch. A very old werewolf family. ” “A good pedigree,” said Vimes, absently. “You know you wouldn’t like Angua to hear you say that, Sam. Don’t worry so. You’ll have a chance to relax, I’m sure. It will be good for you. ” “Yes, dear. ” “It’ll be like a second honeymoon,” said Sybil. “Yes indeed,” said Vimes, remembering that what with one thing and another they’d never really had a first one. “On that, er, subject,” said Sybil, a little more hesitantly, “you remember I told you I was going to see old Mrs. Content?” “Oh yes, how is she?” Vimes was staring at the fireplace again. It wasn’t just old school friends, sometimes it seemed Sybil kept in touch with anyone she’d ever met. Her Hogswatch card list ran to a second volume. “Quite well, I believe. Anyway, she agrees that—” There was a knocking at the door. She sighed. “It’s Willikins’s evening off,” she said. “You’d better answer it, Sam. I know you want to…” “I’ve told them not to disturb me unless it’s serious,” said Vimes, getting up. “Yes, but you think all crime is serious, Sam. ” Carrot was on the doorstep. “It’s a bit…political, sir,” he said. “What’s so political at a quarter to ten at night, Captain?” “The Dwarf Bread Museum’s been broken into, sir,” said Carrot. Vimes looked into his honest blue eyes. “A thought occurs to me, Captain,” he said, slowly. “And the thought is: A certain item has gone missing. ” “That’s right, sir. ” “And it’s the replica Scone. ” “Yes, sir. Either they broke in just after we left, or,” Carrot licked his lips nervously, “they were hiding while we were there. ” “Not rats, then. ” “No, sir. Sorry, sir. ” Vimes fastened his cloak and took his helmet off its peg. “So someone has stolen a replica of the Scone of Stone a few weeks before the real one is due to be used in a very important ceremony,” he said. “I find this intriguing. ” “That’s what I thought too, sir. ” Vimes sighed. “I hate the political ones. ” When they’d gone, Lady Sybil sat for a while staring at her hands. Then she took a lamp into the library and pulled down a slim volume, bound in white leather on which had been embossed in gold the words OUR WEDDING. It had been a strange event. Ankh-Morpork’s high society—so high that it’s stinking, Sam always said—had turned up mostly out of curiosity. She was Ankh-Morpork’s most eligible spinster who’d never thought she’d be married, and he was a mere captain of the guard who tended to annoy a lot of people. And here were the iconographs of the event. There she was, looking rather more expansive than radiant, and there Sam was, scowling at the camera with his hair hastily smoothed down. There was Sergeant Colon with his chest inflated so much his feet had almost left the ground, and Nobby grinning widely or perhaps just making a face, it was so hard to tell with Nobby. Sybil turned over the pages with care. She had put a sheet of tissue between each one, to protect them. In many ways, she told herself, she was very lucky. She was very proud of Sam. He worked hard for a lot of people. He cared about people who weren’t important. He always had far more to cope with than was good for him. He was the most civilized man she’d ever met. Not a gentleman, thank goodness, but a gentle man. She never really knew what it was he did. Oh, she knew what the job was, but by all accounts he didn’t spend much time behind his desk. He tended to drop his clothes into the laundry basket before he eventually came to bed, so she’d only hear later from the laundry girl about the bloodstains and the mud. There were rumors of chases over rooftops, hand-to-hand and knee-to-groin fights with men who had names like Harry “The Boltcutter” Weems… There was a Sam Vimes she knew, who went out and came home again, and out there was another Sam Vimes who hardly belonged to her and lived in the same world as all those men with the dreadful names… Sybil Ramkin had been brought up to be thrifty, thoughtful, genteel in an outdoor sort of way, and to think kindly of people. She looked at the pictures again, in the silence of the house. Then she blew her nose loudly and went off to do the packing and other sensible things. Corporal Cheery Littlebottom pronounced her name “Cheri. ” She was a she, and therefore a rare bloom in Ankh-Morpork. It wasn’t that dwarfs weren’t interested in sex. They saw the vital need for fresh dwarfs to leave their goods to and continue the mining work after they had gone. It was simply that they also saw no point in distinguishing between the sexes anywhere but in private. There was no such thing as a Dwarfish female pronoun or, once the children were on solids, any such thing as women’s work. Then Cheery Littlebottom had arrived in Ankh-Morpork, and had seen that there were men out there who did not wear chain mail or leather underwear * , but did wear interesting colors and exciting makeup, and these men were called “women. ” † And in the little bullet head the thought had arisen: “Why not me?” Now she was being denounced in cellars and dwarf bars across the city as the first dwarf in Ankh-Morpork to wear a skirt. It was hard-wearing brown leather and as objectively erotic as a piece of wood but, as some older dwarfs would point out, somewhere under there were his knees. |
* Worse, they were now finding that among their sons were some—they choked on the word—“daughters. ” Cheery was only the frothy bit on the tip of the wave. Some younger dwarfs were shyly wearing eye shadow and declaring that, as a matter of fact, they didn’t like beer. A current was running through dwarf society. Dwarf society was not against a few well-thrown rocks in the direction of those bobbing on the current, but Captain Carrot had put the word on the street that this would be assault on an officer, a subject on which the Watch held views , and however short the miscreants, their feet really would not touch the ground. Cheery had retained her beard and round iron helmet, of course. It was one thing to declare that you were female, but quite unthinkable to declare that you weren’t a dwarf. “Open and shut case, sir,” she said, when she saw Vimes come in. “They opened the window in the back room to get in, a very neat job, and didn’t shut the front door after they left. Smashed the Scone’s case; there’s the glass all round the stand. Didn’t take anything else that I can see. Left a lot of footprints in the dust. I took a few pictures, but they’re scuffed up and weren’t much good in the first place. That’s about it, really. ” “No dropped cigarette butts, wallets or bits of paper with an address on them?” said Vimes. “No, sir. They were inconsiderate thieves. ” “They certainly were,” said Carrot grimly. “A question that springs to mind,” said Vimes, “is: Why does it reek even worse of cat’s piss now?” “It is rather sharp, isn’t it,” said Cheery. “With a hint of sulfur, too. Constable Ping said it was like this when he arrived, but there’s no cat prints. ” Vimes crouched down and looked at the broken glass. “How did we find out about this?” he said, prodding a few fragments. “Constable Ping heard the tinkle, sir. He went around the back and saw the window was opened. Then the crooks got out through the front door. ” “Sorry about that, sir,” said Ping, stepping forward and saluting. He was a cautious-looking young man, who appeared permanently poised to answer a question. “We all make mistakes,” said Vimes. “You heard glass break?” “Yessir. And someone swore. ” “Really? What did they say?” “Er…‘bugger,’ sir?” “And you went around the back and saw the broken window and you…?” “I called out ‘is there anyone there?,’ sir. ” “Really? And what would you have done if a voice had said ‘no’? No, don’t answer that. What happened next?” “Er…I heard a lot more glass break and when I got around to the front the door was open and they were gone. So I legged it back to the Yard and told Captain Carrot, sir, knowing he sets a lot of store by this place…” “Thank you…Ping, is it?” “Yessir. ” Entirely unasked, but obviously prepared to answer, Ping said, “It’s a dialect word meaning ‘water-meadow,’ sir. ” “Off you go, then. ” The lance-constable visibly sagged with relief, and left. Vimes let his mind unfocus a little. He enjoyed moments like these, the little bowl of time when the crime lay before him and he believed that the world was capable of being solved. This was the time you really looked to see what was there, and sometimes the things that weren’t there were the most interesting things of all. The Scone had been kept on a plinth about three feet high, inside a case made of five sheets of glass, forming a box that was screwed down on the plinth. “They smashed the glass by accident,” he said, eventually. “Really, sir?” “Look here, see?” Vimes pointed to three loose screws, neatly lined up. “They were trying to take the box apart carefully. It must have slipped. ” “But what’s the point ?” said Carrot. “It’s just a replica, sir! Even if you could find a buyer, it’s not worth more than a few dollars. ” “If it’s a good one, you could swap it with the real thing,” said Vimes. “Well, yes, I suppose you could try,” said Carrot. “There would be a bit of a problem, though. ” “What is it?” “Dwarfs aren’t stupid, sir. The replica has got a big cross carved into the underside. And it’s only made of plaster in any case. ” “Oh. ” “But it was a good idea, sir,” Carrot said encouragingly. “You weren’t to know. ” “I wonder if the thieves knew. ” “Even if they didn’t, they wouldn’t have a hope of getting away with it, sir. ” “The real Scone is very well guarded,” said Cheery. “It’s very rare that most dwarfs get a chance to see it. ” “And other people would notice if you had a great lump of rock up your sweater,” said Vimes, more or less to himself. “So…this was a stupid crime. But it doesn’t feel stupid. I mean, why go to all this trouble? The lock on that door is a joke, you could kick it right out of the woodwork. If I was going to pinch this thing, I could be in here and out again before the glass had stopped tinkling. What would be the point of being quiet at this time of night?” The dwarf had been rummaging under a nearby display cabinet. She drew her hand out. Drying blood glistened on the blade of a screwdriver. “See?” said Vimes. “Something slipped, and someone cut their hand. What’s the point of all this, Carrot? Cat’s piss and sulfur and screwdrivers…I hate it when you get too many clues, it makes it so damn hard to solve anything. ” He threw the screwdriver down. By sheer luck it hit the floorboards tip first and stood there shuddering. “I’m going home,” he said. “We’ll find out what this is all about when it starts to smell. ” Vimes spent the following morning trying to learn about two foreign countries. One of them turned out to be called Ankh-Morpork. Uberwald was easy. It was five or six times bigger than the whole of the Sto Plains, and stretched all the way up to the Hub. It was mostly so thickly forested, so creased by little mountain ranges and beset by rivers, that it was largely unmapped. It was mostly unexplored, too. * The people who lived there had other things on their mind, and the people from outside who came to explore went into the forests and never came out again. And for centuries no one had bothered about the place. You couldn’t sell things to people hidden by too many trees. It was probably the coach road that had changed everything, a few years back, when they drove it all the way through to Genua. A road is built to follow. Mountain people had always gravitated to the plains, and in recent years Uberwald folk had joined them. The news got back home: There’s money to be made in Ankh-Morpork, bring the kids. You don’t need to bring the garlic, though because all the vampires work down at the kosher butchers’. And if you’re pushed in Ankh-Morpork, you are allowed to push back. No one cares enough about you to want to kill you. Vimes could just about tell the difference between the Uberwald dwarfs and the ones from Copperhead, who were shorter, noisier and rather more at home among humans. The Uberwald dwarfs were quiet, tended to scuttle around corners, and often didn’t speak Morporkian. In some of the alleys off Treacle Mine Road you could believe you were in another country. But they were what every copper desires in a citizen. They were no trouble. They mostly had jobs working for one another, they paid their taxes rather more readily than humans did, although to be honest there were small piles of mouse droppings that yielded more money than most Ankh-Morpork citizens, and generally any problems they had they sorted out among themselves. If such people ever come to the attention of the police, it’s usually only as a chalk outline. It turned out, though, that within the community, behind the grubby facades of all those tenements and workshops in Cable Street and Whalebone Lane, there were vendettas and feuds that had their origins in two adjoining mine shafts five hundred miles away and a thousand years ago. There were pubs you only drank in if you were from a particular mountain. There were streets you didn’t walk down if your clan mined a particular lode. The way you wore your helmet, the way you parted your beard, spoke complicated volumes to other dwarfs. They didn’t even hand a piece of paper to Vimes. |
“Then there’s the way you krazak your G’ardrgh ,” said Corporal Littlebottom. “I won’t even ask,” said Vimes. “I’m afraid I can’t explain in any case,” said Cheery. “Have I got a Gaadrerghuh?” said Vimes. Cheery winced at the mispronunciation. “Yes, sir. Everyone has. But only a dwarf can krazak his properly,” she said. “Or hers,” she added. Vimes sighed, and looked down at the pages of scrawl in his notebook, under the heading: UBERWALD. He wasn’t strictly aware of it, but he treated even geography as if he was investigating a crime (Did you see who carved out the valley? Would you recognize that glacier if you saw it again?). “I’m going to make a lot of mistakes, Cheery,” he said. “I shouldn’t worry about that, sir. Humans always do. But most dwarfs can spot if you’re trying not to make them. ” “Are you sure you don’t mind coming?” “Got to face it sooner or later, sir. ” Vimes shook his head sadly. “I don’t get it, Cheery. There’s all this fuss about a female dwarf trying to act like, like—” “A lady, sir?” “Right, and yet no one says anything about Carrot being called a dwarf, but he’s a human—” “No, sir. Like he says, he’s a dwarf. He was adopted by dwarfs, he’s performed the Y’grad , he observes the j’kargra insofar as that’s possible in a city. He’s a dwarf. ” “He’s six foot high!” “He’s a tall dwarf, sir. We don’t mind if he wants to be a human as well. Not even the drudak’ak would have a problem with that. ” “I’m running out of cough drops here, Cheery. What was that?” “Look, sir, most of the dwarfs here are…well, I suppose you’d call them liberal, sir. They’re mainly from the mountains behind Copperhead, you know? They get along with humans. Some of them even acknowledge that…they’ve got daughters, sir. But some of the more…old-fashioned…Uberwald dwarfs haven’t gotten out so much. They still act as if B’hrian Bloodaxe were still alive. That’s why we call them drudak’ak. ” Vimes had a go, but he knew that to really speak Dwarfish you needed a lifetime’s study and, if at all possible, a serious throat infection. “…‘above ground’…‘they negatively’…” he faltered. “‘They do not get out in the fresh air enough,’” Cheery supplied. “Ah, right. And everyone thought the new king was going to be one of these?” “They say Albrecht’s never seen sunlight in his life. His clan never goes above ground in daylight. Everyone was certain it’d be him. ” And as it turned out it wasn’t, thought Vimes. Some of the Uberwald dwarfs hadn’t supported him. And the world had moved on. There were plenty of dwarfs around now who had been born in Ankh-Morpork. Their kids went around with their helmets on back to front and spoke Dwarfish only at home. Many of them wouldn’t know a pick-ax if you hit them with it. * They weren’t about to be told how to run their lives by an old dwarf sitting on a stale bun under some distant mountain. He tapped his pencil on his notebook thoughtfully. And because of this, he thought, dwarfs are punching one another on my streets. “I’ve seen more of those dwarf sedan chair things around lately,” he said. “You know, the ones carried by a couple of trolls. They have thick leather curtains…” “Drudak’ak,” said Cheery. “Very… traditional dwarfs. If they have to go out in daylight, they don’t look at it. ” “I don’t recall them a year ago…” Cheery shrugged. “There’s lots of dwarfs here now, sir. The drudak’ak feel they’re among dwarfs now. They don’t have to deal with humans for anything. ” “They don’t like us?” “They won’t even talk to a human. They’re fairly choosy about talking to most dwarfs, to tell you the truth. ” “That is daft!” said Vimes. “How do they get food? You can’t live on fungi! How do they trade ore, dam streams, get wood for shoring up their shafts?” “Well, either other dwarfs are paid to do it, or humans are employed,” said Cheery. “They can afford it. They’re very good miners. Well…they own very good mines, in any case. ” “Sounds to me they’re a bunch of…” Vimes stopped himself. He was aware that a wise man should always respect the folkways of others, to use Carrot’s happy phrase, but Vimes often had difficulty with this idea. For one thing, there were people in the world whose folkways consisted of gutting other people like clams and this was not a procedure that commanded, in Vimes, any kind of respect at all. “I’m not thinking diplomatically, am I?” he said. Cheery watched him with a carefully blank expression. “Oh, I don’t know about that, sir,” she said. “You didn’t actually finish the sentence. And…well, a lot of dwarfs respect them. You know…feel better for seeing them. ” Vimes looked puzzled. Then understanding dawned. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “I bet they say things like ‘thank goodness people are keeping up the old ways,’ eh?” “That’s right, sir. I suppose that inside every dwarf in Ankh-Morpork is a little part of him—or her—that knows real dwarfs live underground. ” Vimes doodled on his notepad. “Back home,” he thought. Carrot had innocently talked about dwarfs “back home. ” To all dwarfs far away, the mountains were “back home. ” It was funny how people were people everywhere you went, even if the people concerned weren’t the people the people who made up the phrase “people are people everywhere” had traditionally thought of as people. And even if you weren’t virtuous, as you had been brought up to understand the term, you did like to see virtue in other people, provided it did not cost you anything. “ Why have these d’r …these traditional dwarfs come here, though? Ankh-Morpork’s full of humans. They must have their work cut out avoiding humans. ” “They’re…needed, sir. Dwarf law is complicated, and there’s often disputes. And they conduct marriages and that sort of thing. ” “You make them sound more like priests. ” “Dwarfs aren’t religious, sir. ” “Of course. Oh well. Thank you, Corporal. Off you go. Any fallout from last night? No sulfurous incontinent cats have come forward to confess?” “No, sir. The Campaign for Equal Heights has put out a pamphlet saying it was another example of the second-class treatment of dwarfs in the city, but it was the same one they always put out. You know, the one with blanks to fill in the details. ” “Nothing changes, Cheery. See you tomorrow morning, then. Send Detritus up. ” Why him ? Vimes thought. Ankh-Morpork was lousy with diplomats. It was practically what the upper classes were for , and it was easy for them because half the foreign bigwigs they’d meet were old chums they’d played Wet Towel Tag with back at school. They tended to be on first-name terms, even with people whose names were Ahmed or Fong. They knew which forks to use. They hunted, shot and fished. They moved in circles that more or less overlapped the circles of their foreign hosts, and were a long way from the rather grubby circles that people like Vimes went around in every working day. They knew all the right nods and winks. What chance had he got against a tie and a crest? Vetinari was throwing him among the wolves. And the dwarfs. And the vampires. Vimes shuddered. And Vetinari never did anything without a reason. “Come in, Detritus. ” It always amazed Sergeant Detritus that Vimes knew he was at the door. Vimes had never mentioned that the office wall creaked and bent inward as the big troll made his way along the corridor. “You want to see me, sir. ” “Yes. Sit down, man. It’s this Uberwald business. ” “Yessir. ” “How do you feel about visiting the old country?” Detritus’s face remained impassive, as it always did when he was waiting patiently for things to make sense. “Uberwald, I mean,” Vimes prompted. “Dunno, sir. I was a just a pebble when we left dere. Dad wanted a better life in der big city. ” “There’ll be a lot of dwarfs, Detritus. ” Vimes didn’t bother to mention vampires and werewolves. Either of those who attacked a troll was making the last big mistake of its career in any case. Detritus carried a two-thousand-pound–draw crossbow as a hand weapon. “Dat’s okay, sir. I’m very modern ’bout dwarfs. ” “These might be a bit old-fashioned about you, though. ” “Dem deep-down dwarfs?” “That’s right. |
” “I heard about dem. ” “There’s still wars with trolls up near the Hub, I hear. Tact and diplomacy will be called for. ” “You have come to der right troll for that, sir,” said Detritus. “You did push that man through that wall last week, Detritus. ” “It was done with tact, sir. Quite a fin wall. ” Vimes let it go at that. The man in question had just laid out three watchmen with a club, which Detritus had broken in one hand before selecting the suitably tactful wall. “See you tomorrow, then. Best dress armor, remember. Send Angua now, please. ” “She’s not here, sir. ” “Blast. Put out some messages for her, will you?” Igor lurched through the castle corridors, dragging one foot after the other in the approved fashion. He was Igor, son of Igor, nephew of several Igors, brother of Igors and cousin of more Igors than he could remember without checking up in his diary. Igors did not change a winning formula. * And, as a clan, Igors liked working for vampires. They kept regular hours, were generally polite to their servants and, an important extra, didn’t require much work in the bed-making and cookery department, and tended to have cool, roomy cellars where an Igor could pursue his true calling. This more than made up for those occasions when you had to sweep up their ashes. He entered Lady Margolotta’s crypt and knocked politely on the coffin lid. It moved aside a fraction. “Yes?” “Thorry to wake you in the middle of the afternoon, Your Ladythip, but you did thay —” “All right. And—?” “It’s going to be Vimeth, Ladythip. You were right. ” A dainty hand came out of the partly opened coffin and punched the air. “Yes!” “Well thpotted, Ladythip. ” “Well, well. Samuel Vimes. Poor devil. Do the doggies know?” Igor nodded. “The baron’th Igor was altho collecting a methage, Ladythip. ” “And the dwarfs?” “It ith an official appointment, Ladythip. Everyone knows. Hith Grace the Duke of Ankh-Morpork, Thir Thamuel Vimeth, Commander of the Ankh-Morpork Thity Watch. ” “Then the midden has hit the windmill, Igor. ” “Very well put, Ladythip. No one liketh a thort thower of thit. ” “I imagine, Igor, that he’ll leave them behind. ” Let us consider a castle from the point of view of its furniture. This one has chairs, yes, but they don’t look very lived in. There is a huge sofa near the fire, and that is ragged with use, but other furnishings look as if they’re there merely for show. There is a long oak table, well polished and looking curiously unused for such an old piece of furniture. Possibly the reason for this is that on the floor around it are a large number of white earthenware bowls. One of them has FATHER written on it. The Baroness Serafine von Uberwald slammed shut Twurp’s Peerage , irritably. “The man is a…a nothing,” she said. “A paper man. A man of straw. An insult. ” “The name Vimes goes back a long time,” said Wolfgang von Uberwald, who was doing one-handed push-ups in front of the fire. “So does the name Smith. What of it?” Wolf changed to the other hand, in midair. He was naked. He liked his muscles to get an airing. They shone. Someone with an anatomical chart could have picked out every one. They might also have remarked on the unusual way his blond hair grew not only on his head but down and across his shoulders as well, “He is a Duke, Mother. ” “Hah! Ankh-Morpork hasn’t even got a king!” “…nineteen, twenty…I hear stories about that, Mother…” “Oh, stories. Sybil writes a silly little letter to me every year! Sam this, Sam that. Of course, she had to be grateful for what she could get, but…the man is just a thief-taker, after all. I shall refuse to see him. ” “You will not do that, Mother,” Wolf grunted. “That would be…twenty-nine, thirty…dangerous. What do you tell Lady Sybil about us?” “Nothing! I don’t write back , of course. A rather sad and foolish woman. ” “And she still writes every year?…thirty-six, thirty-seven…” “Yes. Four pages, usually. And that tells you everything about her you need to know. Where is your father?” A flap in the bottom of a nearby door swung back and a large, heavyset wolf trotted in. It glanced around the room, and then shook itself vigorously. The baroness bridled. “Guye! You know what I said! It’s after six! Change when you come in from the garden!” The wolf gave her a look, and strolled behind a massive oak screen at the far end of the room. There was a…noise, soft and rather strange, not so much an actual sound as a change in the texture of the air. The baron walked around from behind the screen, doing up the cord of a tattered dressing gown. The baroness sniffed. “At least your father wears clothes,” she said. “Clothes are unhealthy, mother,” said Wolf, calmly. “Nakedness is purity. ” The baron sat down. He was a large, red-faced man, insofar as a face could be seen under the beard, hair, mustache and eyebrows which were engaged in a bitter four-way war over the remaining areas of bare skin. “Well?” he growled. “Vimes the thief-taker from Ankh-Morpork is going to be the alleged ambassador,” snapped the baroness. “Dwarfs?” “Of course they’ll be told. ” The baron sat staring at nothing, with the same expression Detritus used when a new thought was being assembled. “Bad?” he ventured, at last. “Ruston, I’ve told you about this a thousand times!” said the baroness. “You’re spending far too much time Changed! You know what you’re like afterward. Supposing we had official visitors?” “Bite ’em!” “You see? Go on off to bed and don’t come down until you’re fit to be human!” “Vimes could ruin everything, Father,” said Wolfgang. He was now doing handstands, using one hand. “Ruston! Down! ” The baron stopped trying to scratch his ear with his leg. “Do?” he said. Wolfgang’s gleaming body dipped a moment as he changed hands again. “City life makes men weak. Vimes will be…fun. They do say he likes running, though. ” He gave a little laugh. “We shall have to see how fast he is. ” “His wife says he’s very softhearted— Ruston! Don’t you dare do that! If you going to do that sort of thing, do it upstairs! ” The baron looked only moderately ashamed, but readjusted his clothing anyway. “Bandits!” he said. “Yes, they could be a problem at this time of year,” said Wolfgang. “At least a dozen,” said the baroness. “Yes, that should—” Wolf grunted, upside down. “ No , mother. You are being stupid. His coach must get here safely. You understand? When he is here…that is a different matter. ” The baron’s massive eyebrows tangled with a thought. “Plan! King!” “Exactly. ” The baroness sighed. “I don’t trust that little dwarf. ” Wolf somersaulted onto his feet. “No. But trustworthy or not, he’s all we’ve got. Vimes must get here, with his soft heart. He may even be useful. Perhaps we should…assist matters. ” “Why?” snapped the baroness. “Let Ankh-Morpork look after their own!” There was a knock on the door while Vimes was having breakfast. Willikins ushered in a small thin man in neat but threadbare black clothes, whose overlarge head gave him the appearance of a lollypop nearing the last suck. He was carrying a black bowler hat like a soldier carries his helmet and walked like a man who had something wrong with his knees. “I am so sorry to disturb Your Grace…” Vimes laid down his knife. He’d been peeling an orange. Sybil insisted he eat fruit. “Not Your Grace,” he said. “Just Vimes. Sir Samuel if you must. Are you Vetinari’s man?” “Inigo Skimmer, sir. Mhm, mhm. I am to travel with you to Uberwald. ” “Ah, you’re the clerk who’s going to do all the whispering and winking while I hand around the cucumber sandwiches, are you?” “I will try to be of service, sir, although I’m not much of a winker. Mhm, mhm. ” “Would you like some breakfast?” “I ate already, sir. Mhm-mhm. ” Vimes looked the clerk up and down. It wasn’t so much that his head was big, it was simply that someone appeared to have squeezed the bottom half of it and forced everything up into the top. He was going bald, too, and had carefully teased the remaining strands of hair across the pink dome. It was hard to tell his age. |
He could be twenty-five and a big worrier, or a fresh-faced forty. Vimes inclined to the former—the man had the look of someone who had spent his life watching the world over the top of a book. And there was that…well, was it a nervous laugh? A giggle? An unfortunate way of clearing his throat? And that strange way he walked… “Not even some toast? A piece of fruit? These oranges are fresh from Klatch, I really can recommend them…” Vimes tossed one at the man. It bounced off his arm, and Skimmer took a step backward, mildly appalled at the upper class’s habit of fruit hurling. “Are you all right, sir? Mhm-mhm?” “Sorry about that,” said Vimes. “I was carried away by fruit. ” He laid aside his napkin and came around the table, putting his arm around Skimmer’s shoulders. “I’ll just take you into the Mildly Yellow drawing room where you can wait,” he said, walking him toward the door and patting him on the arm in a friendly way. “The coaches are loaded up. Sybil is re-grouting the bathroom, learning Ancient Klatchian and doing all those other little last minute things women always do. You’re with us in the big coach. ” Skimmer recoiled. “Oh, I couldn’t do that, sir! I’ll travel with your retinue. Mhm-mhm. Mhm-mhm. ” “If you mean Cheery and Detritus, they’re in there with us,” said Vimes, noting the look of horror deepen slightly. “You need four for a decent game of cards and the road’s as boring as hell for most of the way. ” “And, er, your servants?” “Willikins and the cook and Sybil’s maid are in the other coach. ” “Oh. ” Vimes smiled inwardly. He remembered the saying from his childhood: too poor to paint, but too proud to whitewash… “Bit of a tough choice, is it?” he said. “I’ll tell you what, you can come in our coach but we’ll give you a hard seat and patronize you from time to time, how about that?” “I am afraid you are making a mockery of me, Sir Samuel. Mhm-mhm. ” “No, but I may be assisting. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to nip down to the Yard to sort out a few last minute things. ” A quarter of an hour later Vimes walked into the charge room at the Yard. Sergeant Stronginthearm looked up, saluted, and then ducked to avoid the orange that was tossed at his head. “Sir?” he said, bewildered. “Just testing, Stronginthearm. ” “Did I pass, sir?” “Oh yes. Keep the orange. It’s full of vitamins. ” “My mother always told me those things could kill you, sir. ” Carrot was waiting patiently in Vimes’s office. Vimes shook his head. He knew all the places to tread in the corridor and he knew he didn’t make a sound, and he’d never once caught Carrot reading his paperwork, not even upside down. Just once it’d be nice to catch him out at something. If the man was any straighter you could use him as a plank. Carrot stood up and saluted. “Yes, yes, we haven’t got a lot of time for that now,” said Vimes, sitting behind his desk. “Anything new overnight?” “An unattributed murder, sir. A tradesman called Wallace Sonky. Found in one of his own vats with his throat cut. No guild seal or note or anything. We are treating it as suspicious. ” “Yes, I think that sounds fairly suspicious,” said Vimes. “Unless he has a record as a very careless shaver. What kind of vat?” “Er…rubber, sir. ” “Rubber comes in vats? Wouldn’t he bounce out?” “No, sir. It’s a liquid in the vat, sir. Mister Sonky makes…rubber things…” “Hang on, I remember seeing something once…Don’t they make things by dipping them in the rubber? You made sort of…the right shapes and dip them in to get gloves, boots…that sort of thing?” “Er…that…er… sort of thing, sir. ” Something about Carrot’s uneasy manner got through to Vimes. And the little file at the back of his brain eventually waved a card. “Sonky, Sonky…Carrot, we’re not talking about Sonky as in ‘a packet of Sonkies,’ are we?” Now Carrot was bright red with embarrassment. “Yes, sir!” “My gods, what was he dipping in the vat?” “He’d been thrown in, sir. Apparently. ” “But he’s practically a national hero!” “Sir?” “Captain, the housing shortage in Ankh-Morpork would be a good deal worse if it wasn’t for old man Sonky and his penny-a-packet preventatives. Who’d want to do away with him?” “People do have Views, sir,” said Carrot coldly. Yes, you do, don’t you, Vimes thought. Dwarfs don’t hold with that sort of thing. “Well, put some men on it. Anything else?” “A carter assaulted Constable Swires last night for clamping his cart. ” “Assault?” “Tried to stamp on him, sir. ” Vimes had a mental picture of Constable Swires, a gnome six inches tall but a mile high in pent-up aggression. “How is he?” “Well, the man can speak, but it’ll be a little while before he can climb back on a cart again. Apart from that, it’s all run-of-the-mill stuff. ” “Nothing more about the Scone theft?” “Not really. Lots of accusations in the dwarf community, but no one really knows anything. Like you say, sir, we’ll probably know more when it goes bad. ” “Any word on the street?” “Yes, sir. It’s ‘Halt,’ sir. Sergeant Colon painted it at the top of Lower Broadway. The carters are a lot more careful now. Of course, someone has to shovel the manure off every hour or so. ” “This whole traffic thing is not making us very popular, Captain. ” “No, sir. But we aren’t popular anyway. And at least it’s bringing in money for the city treasury. Er…there is another thing, sir. ” “Yes?” “Have you seen Sergeant Angua, sir?” “Me? No. I was expecting her to be here. ” Then Vimes noticed just the very edge of concern in Carrot’s voice. “Something wrong?” “She didn’t turn up for duty last night. It wasn’t full moon, so it’s a bit…odd. Nobby said she was rather concerned about something when they were on duty the other day. ” Vimes nodded. Of course, most people were concerned about something if they were on duty with Nobby. They tended to look at clocks a lot. “Have you been to her lodgings?” “Her bed hadn’t been slept in,” said Carrot. “Or her basket, either,” he added. “Well, I can’t help you there, Carrot. She’s your girlfriend. ” “She’s been a bit…worried about the future, I think,” said Carrot. “Um…you…she…the, er, werewolf thing…?” Vimes stopped, acutely embarrassed. “It preys on her mind,” said Carrot. “Perhaps she’s just gone somewhere to think about things?” Like how on earth could she go out with a young man who, magnificent though he was, blushed at the idea of a packet of Sonkies. “That’s what I hope, sir,” Carrot said. “She does that sometimes. It’s really quite stressful, being a werewolf in a big city. I know we’d have heard if she’d run into any trouble—” There was the sound of harness outside, and the rattle of a coach. Vimes was relieved. Seeing Carrot worried was so unusual that it had the shock of the unfamiliar. “Well, we’ll have to go without her,” he said. “I want to be kept in touch about everything, Captain. A fake Scone going missing a week or two before a big dwarf coronation—that sounds like another shoe is about to drop and it might just hit me. And while you’re about it, put the word out that I’m to be sent anything about Sonky, will you? I don’t like mysteries. The clacks do a skeleton service as far as Uberwald now, don’t they?” Carrot brightened up. “It’s wonderful, sir, isn’t it? In a few months they say we’ll be able to send messages all the way from Ankh-Morpork to Genua in less than a day!” “Yes, indeed. I wonder if by then we’ll have anything sensible to say to each other?” Lord Vetinari stood at his window, watching the semaphore tower on the other side of the river. All eight of the big shutters facing him were blinking furiously—black, white, white, black, white… Information was flying into the air. Twenty miles behind him, on another tower in Sto Lat, someone was looking through a telescope and shouting out numbers… How quickly the future comes upon us, he thought. He always suspected the poetic description of Time like an ever-rolling stream. |
Time, in his experience, moved more like rocks…sliding, pressing, building up force underground and then, with one jerk that shakes the crockery, a whole field of turnips has mysteriously slipped sideways by six feet. Semaphore had been around for centuries, and everyone knew that knowledge had a value, and everyone knew that exporting goods was a way of making money. And then, suddenly, someone realized how much money you could make by exporting to Genua by tonight things known in Ankh-Morpork today. And some bright young man in the Street of Cunning Artificers had been unusually cunning. Knowledge, information, power, words…flying through the air, invisible… And suddenly the world was tap dancing on quicksand. In that case, the prize went to the best dancer. Lord Vetinari turned away, took some papers from a desk drawer, walked to a wall, touched a certain area and stepped quickly through the hidden door that noiselessly swung open. Beyond was a corridor, lit by borrowed light from high windows and paved with small flagstones. He walked forward, hesitated, said “…no, this is Tuesday…” and moved his descending foot so that it landed on a stone that in every respect appeared to be exactly the same as its fellows. * Anyone overhearing his progress along the passages and stairs may have caught muttered phrases on the lines of “…the moon is…waxing…” and “yes, it is before noon. ” A really keen listener would have heard the faint whirring and ticking inside the walls. A really keen and paranoid listener would have reflected that anything the Lord Vetinari said aloud even while he was alone might not be totally worth believing. Not, certainly, if your life depended on it. Eventually he reached a door, which he unlocked. There was a large attic room beyond, suddenly airy and bright and cheerful with sunlight from the windows in the roof. It seemed to be a cross between a workshop and a storeroom. Several bird skeletons hung from the ceiling and there were a few other bones on the worktables, along with coils of wire and metal springs and tubes of paint and more tools, many of them probably unique, than you normally saw in any one place. Only a narrow bed, wedged between a thing like a loom with wings and a large bronze statue, suggested that someone actually lived here. They were clearly someone who was obsessively interested in everything. What interested Lord Vetinari right now was the device all by itself on a table in the middle of the room. It looked like a collection of copper balls balanced on one another. Steam was hissing gently from a few rivets, and occasionally the device went blup— “Your Lordship!” Vetinari looked around. A hand was waving desperately at him from behind an upturned bench. And something made him look up as well. The ceiling above him was crusted with some brownish substance, which hung from it like stalactites… Blup With quite surprising speed the Patrician was behind the bench. Leonard of Quirm smiled at him from underneath his homemade protective helmet. “I do apologize,” he said. “I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in. I’m sure it will work this time, however. ” Blup “What is it?” said Vetinari. Blup “I’m not quite sure, but I hope it is a—” And then it was, suddenly, too noisy to talk. Leonard of Quirm never dreamed that he was a prisoner. If anything, he was grateful to Vetinari for giving him this airy work space, and regular meals, and laundry, and protecting him from those people who for some reason always wanted to take his perfectly innocent inventions, designed for the betterment of mankind, and use them for despicable purposes. It was amazing how many of them there were—both the people and the inventions. It was as if all the genius of a civilization had funneled into one head which was, therefore, in a constant state of highly inventive spin. Vetinari often speculated upon the fate of mankind should Leonard keep his mind on one thing for more than an hour or so. The rushing noise died away. Blup. Leonard peered cautiously over the bench and smiled broadly. “Ah! Happily, we appear to have achieved coffee,” he said. “Coffee?” Leonard walked over to the table and pulled a small lever on the device. A light brown foam cascaded into a waiting cup with a noise like a clogged drain. “ Different coffee,” he said. “Very fast coffee. I rather think you will like it. I’m calling this the Very-Fast-Coffee machine. ” “And that’s today’s invention, is it?” said Vetinari. “Well, yes. It would have been a scale model of a device for reaching the moon and other celestial bodies, but I was thirsty. ” “How fortunate. ” Lord Vetinari carefully removed an experimental pedal-powered shoe polishing machine from a chair and sat down. “And I have brought you some more little…messages. ” Leonard almost clapped his hands. “Oh, good! And I have finished the other ones you gave me last night. ” Lord Vetinari carefully removed a mustache of frothy coffee from his upper lip. “I beg your…? All of them? You broke the ciphers on all those messages from Uberwald?” “Oh, they were quite easy after I had finished the new device,” said Leonard, rummaging through the piles of paper on a bench and handing the Patrician several closely written sheets. “But once you realize that there are only a limited number of birth dates a person can have, and that people do tend to think the same way, ciphers are really not very hard. ” “You mentioned a new device?” said the Patrician. “Oh yes. The…thingy. It is all very crude at the moment, but it suffices for these simple codes. ” Leonard pulled a sheet off something vaguely rectangular. It seemed to Vetinari to be all wooden wheels and long thin spars which, he saw when he moved closer, were inscribed thickly with letters and numbers. A number of the wheels were not round but oval or heart shaped or some other curious curve. When Leonard turned a handle, the whole thing moved with a complex oiliness quite disquieting in something merely mechanical. “And what are you calling it?” “Oh, you know me and names, my lord. I think of it as the Engine for the Neutralizing of Information by the Generation of Miasmic Alphabets, but I appreciate that it does not exactly roll off the tongue. Er…” “Yes, Leonard?” “Er…it’s not… wrong , is it, reading other people’s messages?” Vetinari sighed. The worried man in front of him, who was so considerate of life that he carefully dusted around spiders, had once invented a device that fired lead pellets with tremendous speed and force. He thought it would be useful against dangerous animals. He’d designed a thing that could destroy whole mountains. He thought it would be useful in the mining industries. Here was a man who, in his tea break , would doodle an instrument for unthinkable mass destruction in the blank spaces around an exquisite drawing of the fragile beauty of the human smile. With a list of numbered parts. And if you taxed him with it, he’d say: Ah, but such a thing would make war completely impossible, you see? Because no one would dare use it. Leonard brightened up as a thought apparently struck him. “But, on the other hand, the more we know about one another, the more we will learn to understand. Now…you asked me to construct some more ciphers for you. I am sorry, my lord, but I must have misunderstood your requirements. What was wrong with the first ones I did?” Vetinari sighed. “I am afraid they were unbreakable, Leonard. ” “But surely—” “It is hard to explain,” said Vetinari, aware that what to him were the lucid waters of politics was so much mud to Leonard. “These new ones you have are…merely devilishly difficult?” “You specified fiendishly , sir,” said Leonard, looking worried. “Oh yes. ” “There does not appear to be a common standard for fiends, my lord, but I did some research in the more accessible occult texts and I believe these ciphers will be considered ‘difficult’ by more than ninety-six percent of fiends. ” “Good. ” “They may perhaps verge on the diabolically difficult in places—” “That is not a problem. I shall use them forthwith. |
” Leonard still seemed to have something on his mind. “It would be so easy to make them archdemonically diff—” “But these will suffice, Leonard,” said Vetinari. “My lord,” Leonard almost wailed, “I really cannot guarantee that sufficiently clever people will be unable to read your messages!” “Good. ” “But, my lord, they will know what you are thinking!” Vetinari patted him on the shoulder. “No, Leonard. They will merely know what is in my messages. ” “I really do not understand, my lord. ” “No, but on the other hand, I cannot make exploding coffee. What would the world be like if we were all alike?” Leonard’s face clouded for a moment. “I’m not sure,” he said, “but if you would like me to work on the problem, I may be able to devise a—” “It was merely a figure of speech, Leonard. ” Vetinari shook his head ruefully. It often seemed to him that Leonard, who had pushed intellect into hitherto undiscovered uplands, had discovered there large and specialized pockets of stupidity. What would be the point of ciphering messages that very clever enemies couldn’t break? You’d end up not knowing what they thought you thought they were thinking… “There was one rather strange message from Uberwald, my lord,” said Leonard. “It arrived yesterday morning, apparently. ” “Strange?” “It was not ciphered. ” “Not at all ? I thought everyone used codes. ” “Oh, the sender and recipent are code names, but the message is quite plain. It was a request for information about Commander Vimes, of whom you have often spoken. ” Lord Vetinari went quite still. “The return message was mostly clear, too. A certain amount of…gossip. ” “All about Vimes? Sent yesterday morning ? Before I—?” “My lord?” “Tell me,” said the Patrician, “this…message from Uberwald…it yields no clue at all to the sender?” Sometimes, like a ray of light through clouds, Leonard could be quite perceptive. “You think you might know the originator, my lord?” “Oh, in my younger days I spent some time in Uberwald,” said the Patrician. “In those days rich young men from Ankh-Morpork used to go on what we called the Grand Sneer, visiting far-flung countries and cities in order to see at first hand how inferior they were. Or so it seemed, at any rate. Oh yes…I spent some time in Uberwald…” It was not often Leonard of Quirm paid attention to what people around him were doing, but he saw the faraway look in Lord Vetinari’s eye. “You have fond memories, my lord?” he ventured. “Hmm? Oh…she was a very… unusual lady but, alas, rather… older than me,” said Vetinari. “Much older, I have to say. But…it was a long time ago. Life teaches us its small lessons, and we move on. The world changes. ” There was the distant look again. “Well, well, well…” “And no doubt the lady is now dead,” said Leonard. He was not much good at this sort of conversation. “Oh, I very much doubt that,” said Vetinari, coming back to the present. “I have no doubt she thrives. ” He smiled. The world was becoming more… interesting. “Tell me, Leonard,” he said, “has it ever occurred to you that one day wars will be fought with brains?” Leonard picked up his coffee cup. “Oh dear. Won’t that be rather messy?” he said. Vetinari sighed again. “Not perhaps as messy as the other sort,” he said, trying the coffee. It really was rather good. The ducal coach rolled past the last of the outlying buildings and onto the vast, flat Sto Plains. Cheery and Detritus had tactfully decided to ride on the top for the morning, and leave the duke and duchess alone inside. Skimmer was indulging in some uneasy class solidarity and riding with the servants for a while. “Angua seems to have gone into hiding,” said Vimes, watching the cabbage fields pass by. “Poor girl,” said Sybil. “The city’s not really the place for her. ” “Well, you couldn’t winkle Carrot out of it with a big pin,” said Vimes. “And that’s the problem, I suppose. ” “Part of the problem,” said Sybil. Vimes nodded. The other part, which no one talked about, was children. Sometimes it seemed to Vimes that everyone knew that Carrot was the true heir to the redundant throne of the city. It just so happened that he didn’t want to be. He wanted to be a copper, and everyone went along with the idea. But kingship was a bit like a grand piano—you could put a cover over it, but you could still see what shape it was underneath. Vimes wasn’t sure what the result was if a human and a werewolf had kids. Maybe you just got someone who had to shave twice a day around full moon and occasionally felt like chasing carts. And when you remembered what some of the city’s rulers had been like, a known werewolf as ruler ought to hold no terrors. It was the buggers who looked human all the time that were the problem. That was just his view, though. Other people might see things differently. No wonder she’d gone off to think about things. He realized he was looking, unseeing, out of the window. To take his mind off this he opened the package of papers that Skimmer had handed him just as he got on the coach. It was called “briefing material. ” The man seemed to be an expert on Uberwald, and Vimes wondered how many other clerks there were in the Patrician’s palace, beavering away, becoming experts. He settled down glumly and began to read. The first page showed the crest of the Unholy Empire that had once ruled most of the huge country. Vimes couldn’t recall much about it, except that one of the emperors once had a man’s hat nailed to his head for a joke. Uberwald seemed to be a big, cold, depressing place, so perhaps people would do anything for a laugh. The crest was altogether too florid for Vimes’s taste and was dominated by a double-headed bat. The first document was entitled: THE FAT-BEARING STRATA OF THE SHMALTZBERG REGION (“ THE LAND OF THE FIFTH ELEPHANT ”). He knew the legend, of course. There had once been five elephants, not four, standing on the back of Great A’Tuin, but one had lost its footing or had been shaken loose and had drifted off into a curved orbit before eventually crashing down, a billion tons of enraged pachyderm, with a force that had rocked the entire world and split it up into the continents people knew today. The rocks that fell back had covered and compressed the corpse and the rest, after millennia of underground cooking and rendering, was fat history. According to legend, gold and iron and all the other metals were also part of the carcass. After all, an elephant big enough to support the world on its back wasn’t going to have ordinary bones, was it? The notes in front of him were a little more believable, talking about some unknown catastrophe that had killed millions of the mammoths, bison and giant shrews and then covered them over, pretty much like the fifth elephant in the story. There were notes about old troll sagas and legends of the dwarfs. Possibly ice had been involved. Or a flood. In the case of the trolls, who were believed to be the first species in the world, maybe they’d been there and seen the elephant trumpeting across the sky. The result, anyway, was the same. Everyone—well, everyone except Vimes—knew the best fat came from the Shmaltzberg wells and mines. It made the whitest, brightest candles, the creamiest soap, the hottest, cleanest lamp oil. The yellow tallow from Ankh-Morpork’s boilers didn’t come close. Vimes didn’t see the point. Gold…now that was important. People died for it. And iron—Ankh-Morpork needed iron. Timber, too. Stone, even. Silver, now, was very… He flocked back to a page headed NATURAL RESOURCES , and under SILVER read: “No silver has been mined in Uberwald since the Diet of Bugs in AM1880, and the possession of the metal is technically illegal. ” There was no explanation. He made a note to ask Inigo. After all, where you got werewolves, didn’t you need silver? And things must have been pretty bad if everyone had to eat insects. Anyway…silver was useful, too, but fat was just…fat. It was like biscuits, or tea, or sugar. It was just something that turned up in the cupboard. There was no style to it, no romance. It was stuff in tubs. |
A note was clipped to the next page. He read: “The Fifth Elephant as a metaphor also appears in the Uberwald languages. Depending on context it can mean ‘a thing which does not exist’ (as we would say ‘Klatchian mist’) ‘a thing which is other than it seems’ and ‘a thing which, while unseen, controls events’ (in the same way that we would use the term eminence gris ). ” I wouldn’t, thought Vimes. I don’t use words like that. “Constable Shoe,” said Constable Shoe, when the door of the bootmaker’s factory was opened, “Homicide. ” “You come ’bout Mister Sonky?” said the troll who’d opened the door. Warm damp air blew out into the street, smelling of incontinent cats and sulfur. “I meant I’m a zombie,” said Reg Shoe. “I find that telling people right away saves embarrassing misunderstandings later on. But coincidentally , yes, we’ve come about the alleged deceased. ” “We?” said the troll, making no comment about Reg’s gray skin and stitch marks. “Doon here, bigjobs!” The troll looked down, not a usual direction in Ankh-Morpork, where people preferred not to see what they were standing in. “Oh,” he said, and took a few steps backward. Some people said that gnomes were no more belligerent than any other race, and this was true. However, the belligerence was compressed down into a body six inches high and, like many things when they are compressed, had an inclination to explode. Constable Swires had been on the force only for a few months, but news had gone around and already he inspired respect, or at least the bladder-trembling terror that can pass for respect on these occasions. “Don’t ye just stand there gawpin’, where’s yon stiff?” said Swire, striding into the factory. “We put him in der cellar,” said the troll. “And now we got half a ton of liquid rubber running to waste. He’d be livid ’bout that…if he was alive, o’course. ” “Why’s it wasted?” said Reg. “Gone all thick and manky, hasn’t it. I’m gonna have to dump it later on, and dat’s not easy. We was supposed to be dipping a load of Ribbed Magical Delights today, too, but all der ladies felt faint when I hauls him outa der vat and dey went off home. ” Reg Shoe looked shocked. He was not, for various reasons, a patron of Mr. Sonky’s wares, romance not being a regular feature of the life of the dead, but surely the world of the living had some standards, didn’t it? “You employ ladies here?” he said. The troll looked surprised. “Yeah. Sure. It’s good steady work. Dey’re good workers, too. Always laughing and tellin’ jokes while dey’re doin’ the dippin’ and packin’, ’specially when we’re doin’ der Big Boys. ” The troll sniffed. “Pers’nally, I don’t unnerstan der jokes. ” “Dem Big Boys are bludy good value for a penny,” said Buggy Swires. Reg Shoe stared at his tiny partner. There was just no way that he was going to ask the question. But Swires must have seen his expression. “After a bit of work wi’ yon scissors, ye won’t find a better mackintosh in the whole city,” said the gnome, and laughed nastily. Constable Shoe sighed. He knew that Mr. Vimes had an unofficial policy of getting ethnic minorities into the Watch, * but he wasn’t sure this was wise in the case of gnomes, even though there was, admittedly, no ethnic group that was more minor. They had a built-in resistance to rules. This didn’t just apply to the law, but to all the invisible rules that most people obeyed unthinkingly, like “Do not attempt to eat this giraffe” or “Do not head-butt people in the ankle just because they won’t give you a chip. ” It was best to think of Constable Swires simply as a small independent weapon. “You’d better show us the d—the person who is currently vitally challenged,” he said. They were led downstairs. What was hanging from a beam in the cellar would have frightened the life out of anyone who wasn’t already a zombie. “Sorry ’bout dat,” said the troll, pulling it down and tossing it into a corner, where it coiled into a rubbery heap. “What d’heel wazzit?” said Constable Swires. “We had to pull der rubber off’f him,” said the dwarf. “Sets quick, see? Once you get it out in der air. ” “Hey, dat’s a’ biggest Sonky I ever saw,” chuckled Buggy. “A whole-body Sonky! Reckon that’s the way he wanted to go?” Reg looked at the corpse. He didn’t mind being sent out on murders, even messy ones. The way he saw it, dying was really just a career change. Been there, done that, worn the shroud…And then you got over it and got on with your life. Of course, he knew that many people didn’t, for some reason, but he thought of them as not prepared to make the effort. There was a ragged wound in the neck. “Any next of kin?” he said. “He got a brother in Uberwald. We’ve sent word,” the troll added. “On der clacks. It cost twenty dollars! Dat’s murder!” “Can you think of any reason why someone would kill him?” The troll scratched his head. “Well, ’cos dey wanted him dead, I reckon. Dat’s a good reason. ” “And why would anyone want him dead, do you think?” Reg Shoe could be very, very patient. “Has there been any trouble?” “Business ain’t been so good, I know dat. ” “Really? I’d have thought you’d be coining money here. ” “Oh yeah , dat’s what you’d fink, but not everyfing people calls a Sonky is made by us, see? It’s to do wid us becomin’—” the troll’s face screwed up with cerebral effort, “jer-nair-rick. Lots of other buggers are jumping up and down on the bandwagon, and dey got better plant and new ideas like makin’ ’em in cheese-and-onion flavor an’ wid bells on an’ stuff like dat. Mister Sonky won’t have nothin’ to do wid dat kind of fing and dat’s been costin’ us sales. ” “I can see this would worry him,” said Reg, in a keep-on-talking tone of voice. “He’s been locking himself in his office a lot. ” “Oh? Why’s that?” said Reg. “He’s der boss. You don’t ask der boss. But he did say dat dere was a special job comin’ up and dat’d put us back on our feets. ” “Really?” said Reg, making a mental note. “What kind of job?” “Dunno. You don’t—” “—ask the boss,” said Reg. “Right. I suppose no one saw the murder, did they?” Once again the troll screwed up its enormous face in thought. “Der murderer, yeah, an’ prob’ly Mister Sonky. ” “Was there a third party?” “I dunno, I never get invited to dem things. ” “Apart from Mister Sonky and the murderer,” said Shoe, still as patient as the grave, “was there anyone else here last night?” “Dunno,” said the troll. “Thank you, you’ve been very helpful,” said Shoe. “We’ll have a look around, if you don’t mind. ” “Sure. ” The troll went back to his vat. Reg Shoe hadn’t expected to find anything and was not disappointed. But he was thorough. Zombies usually are. Mr. Vimes had told him never to get too excited about clues, because clues could lead you on a dismal dance. They could become a habit. You ended up finding a wooden leg, a silk slipper and a feather at the scene of a crime and constructing an elegant theory involving a one-legged ballet dancer and a production of Chicken Lake. The door to the office was open. It was hard to tell if things had been disturbed; Shoe got the impression that the mess was normal. A desk was awash with paperwork, Mr. Sonky having followed the usual “put it down somewhere” method of filing. A bench was covered with samples of rubber, bits of sacking, large bottles of chemicals and some wooden molds that Reg refrained from looking at too closely. “Did you hear Corporal Littlebottom talking about that museum theft when we came on duty today, Buggy?” he said, opening a jar of yellow powder and sniffing it. “No. ” “I did,” said Reg. He put the lid on the sulfur again and sniffed the air of the factory. It smelled of liquid rubber, which is very much like the smell of incontinent cats. “And some things stick in the mind,” he said. “Special job, eh?” It was Constable Visit-The-Infidel-With-Explanatory-Pamphlets’s week as Communications Officer, which largely meant looking after the pigeons and keeping an eye on the clacks, with of course the assistance of Constable Downspout. Constable Downspout was a gargoyle. |
When it came to staring fixedly at one thing, you couldn’t beat a gargoyle. The gargoyles were getting a lot of employment in the clacks industry. Constable Visit quite enjoyed the pigeons. He sang them hymns. They listened to short homilies, cocking their heads from side to side. After all, he reasoned, had not Bishop Horn preached to the mollusks of the sea? And there was no record of them actually listening, whereas he was certain that the pigeons were taking it in. And they seemed to be interested in his pamphlets on the virtues of Omnianism, admittedly as nesting material at the moment, but this was certainly a good start. A pigeon fluttered in as he was scraping the perches. “Ah, Zebedinah,” he said, lifting her up and removing the message capsule from her leg. “Well done. This is from Constable Shoe. And you shall have some corn, provided locally by Josiah Frument and Sons, Seed Merchants, but ultimately by the grace of Om. ” There was a whir of wings and another pigeon settled on the perch. Constable Visit recognized it as Wilhelmina, one of Sergeant Angua’s pigeons. He removed the message capsule. The thin paper inside was tightly folded and on it someone had written CPT. CARROT, PERSONAL. He hesitated, then put the message from Reg Shoe into the pneumatic tube and heard the whoosh of the suction as it headed off to the main office. The other one, he decided, required a more careful delivery. Carrot was working in Vimes’s office but, Visit noticed, not at the Commander’s desk. Instead, he’d set up a folding table in the corner. The tottering piles of paperwork on the desk were slightly less alpine than yesterday. There were even occasional patches of desktop. “Personal message for you, Captain. ” “Thank you. ” “And Constable Shoe wants a sergeant down at Sonky’s boot factory. ” “Did you send the message down to the office?” “Yes, sir. The pneumatic tube is very useful,” Visit added dutifully. “Commander Vimes isn’t very keen on it, but I’m sure it will eventually save us time,” said Carrot. He unfolded the note. Visit watched him. Carrot’s lips moved slightly as he read. “Where did the pigeon come from?” he said at last, screwing up the note. “It looks pretty worn out, sir. Not from inside the city, I’m sure. ” “Ah. Right. Thank you. ” “Bad news, sir?” Visit angled. “Just news, Constable. Don’t let me detain you. ” “Right, sir. ” When the disappointed Visit had gone, Carrot went and looked out of the window. There was a typical Ankh-Morpork street scene outside, although people were trying to separate them. After a few minutes he went back to his table, wrote a short note, put in into one of the little carriers and sent it away with a hiss of air. A few minutes later, Sergeant Colon came panting along the corridor. Carrot was very keen on modernizing the Watch, and in some strange way sending a message via the tube was so much more modern than simply opening the door and shouting, which is what Mr. Vimes did. Carrot gave Fred Colon a bright smile. “Ah, Fred. Everything going well?” “Yessir?” said Fred Colon, uncertainly. “Good. I am off to see the Patrician, Fred. As senior sergeant you are in charge of the Watch until Mister Vimes gets back. ” “Yessir. Er…until you get back, you mean…” “I shall not be coming back, Fred. I am resigning. ” The Patrician looked at the badge on the desk. “…and well-trained men,” Carrot was saying, somewhere in front of him. “After all, a few years ago there were only four of us in the Watch. Now it’s functioning just like a machine. ” “Yes, although bits of it do go boing occasionally,” said Lord Vetinari, still staring at the badge. “Could I invite you to reconsider, Captain?” “I’ve reconsidered several times, sir. And it’s not Captain, sir. ” “The Watch needs you, Mister Ironfoundersson. ” “The Watch is bigger than one man, sir,” said Carrot, still looking straight ahead. “I’m not sure if it’s bigger than Sergeant Colon, though. ” “People get mistaken about old Fred, sir. He’s a man with a solid bottom to his character. ” “He’s got a solid bottom to his bottom, Ca—Mister Ironfoundersson. ” “I mean he doesn’t flap in an emergency, sir. ” “He doesn’t do anything in an emergency,” said the Patrician. “Except possibly hide. I might go so far as to say that the man appears to consist of an emergency in his own right. ” “My mind is made up, sir. ” Lord Vetinari sighed, sat back, and stared up the ceiling for a moment. “Then all I can do is thank you for your services, Captain , and wish you good luck in your future endeavor. Do you have enough money?” “I’ve saved quite a lot, sir. ” “Nevertheless, it is a long way to Uberwald. ” There was silence. “Sir?” “Yes?” “How did you know ?” “Oh, people measured it years ago. Surveyors and so forth. ” “Sir!” Vetinari sighed. “I think the term is…deduction. Be that as it may…Captain, I am choosing to believe that you are merely taking an extended leave of absence. I understand that you’ve never taken a holiday while you have been here. I am sure you are owed a few weeks. ” Carrot said nothing. “And if I were you, I’d begin my search for Sergeant Angua at the Shambling Gate,” Vetinari added. After a while, Carrot said quietly: “Is that as a result of information received, my lord?” Vetinari smiled a thin little smile. “No. But Uberwald is going through some troubling times, and of course she is from one of the aristocratic families. I surmise that she has been called away. Beyond that, I cannot be of much help. You will have to follow, as they say, your nose. ” “No, I think I can find a much more reliable nose than mine,” said Carrot. “Good. ” Lord Vetinari went back to his desk and sat down. “I wish you well in your…search. Nevertheless, I’m sure we will be seeing you again. A lot of people here…depend on you. ” “Yes, sir. ” “Good day to you. ” When Carrot had gone Lord Vetinari got up and walked across to the other side of the room, where a map of Uberwald was unrolled on a table. It was quite old, but in recent years any mapmakers who had wandered off the beaten track in that country had spent all their time trying to find it again. There were a few rivers, their courses mostly guesswork, and the occasional town or at least the name of a town, probably put in to save the cartographer the embarrassment of filling his chart with, as they said in the trade, MMBU. * The door opened and Vetinari’s head clerk, Drumknott, eased his way in with the silence of a feather falling in a cathedral. “A somewhat unexpected development, my lord,” he said quietly. “An uncharacteristic one, certainly,” said Vetinari. “Do you wish me to send a clacks to Vimes, sir? He could be back in a day or so. ” Vetinari was looking intently at the blind, blank map. It was, he felt, very much like the future; a few things were outlined, there were some rough guesses, but everything else was waiting to be created… “Hmm?” he said. “Do you wish me to recall Vimes, sir?” “Good heavens, no. Vimes in Uberwald will be more amusing than an amorous armadillo in a bowling alley. And who else could I send? Only Vimes could go to Uberwald. ” “But surely this is an emergency, sir?” “Hmm?” “What else are we to call it, sir, when a young man of such promise throws away his career for the pursuit of a girl?” The Patrician stroked his beard and smiled at something. There was a line across the map: the progress of the semaphore towers. It was mathematically straight, a statement of intellect in the crowding darkness of miles and miles of bloody Uberwald. “ Possibly …a bonus,” he said. “Uberwald has much to teach us. Fetch me the papers on the werewolf clans, will you? Oh…and although I swore I would never ever do this…please prepare a message for Sergeant Colon, too. Promotion, alas, beckons. ” A grubby cloth cap lay on the pavement. On the pavement beside the cap, someone had written in damp chalk: Plese HelP This LiTTle doGGie Beside it sat a small dog. It was not cut out by nature to be a friendly little waggy-tailed dog, but was making the effort. |
Whenever someone walked by it sat up on its hind legs and whined pitifully. Something landed in the cap. It was a washer. The charitable pedestrian had gone only a few steps farther along the road when he heard: “And I hope your legs falls off, mister. ” He turned. The dog was watching him intently. “Woof?” it said. He looked puzzled, shrugged, and then turned and walked on. “Yeah…bloody woof woof,” said the strange voice, as he was about to turn the corner. A hand reached down and picked up the dog by the scruff of its neck. “Hello, Gaspode. I believe I’ve solved a little mystery. ” “Oh no …” the dog moaned. “That’s not being a good dog, Gaspode,” said Carrot, lifting the dog so they could meet eye to eye. “All right, all right, put me down, will you? This hurts, you know. ” “I need your help, Gaspode. ” “Not me. I don’t help the Watch. Nothing personal, but it doesn’t do anything for my street cred. ” “I’m not talking about helping the Watch, Gaspode. This is personal. I need your nose. ” Carrot lowered the dog to the pavement, and rubbed his hand on his shirt. “Unfortunately, this means I need the rest of you as well, although of course I am aware that under that itchy exterior beats a heart of gold. ” “Really,” said Gaspode. “ Nothing good starts with ‘I need your help. ’” “It’s Angua. ” “Oh dear. ” “I want you to track her. ” “Huh, not many dogs could track a werewolf, mister. They’re cunning. ” “Always go to the best, I always say,” said Carrot. “Finest nose known to man or beast,” said Gaspode, wrinkling it. “Where’s she gone, then?” “To Uberwald, I think. ” Carrot moved fast. Gaspode’s flight was hindered by the hand gripping his tail. “That’s hundreds of miles away! And dog miles is seven times longer! Not a chance!” “Oh? All right, then. Silly of me to suggest it,” said Carrot, letting go. “You’re right. It’s ridiculous. ” Gaspode turned, suddenly full of suspicion. “No, I didn’t say it was ridiculous,” he said. “I just said it was hundreds of miles away…” “Yes, but you said you had no chance. ” “No, I said that you had no chance of getting me to do it. ” “Yes, but winter’s coming on and, as you say, a werewolf is very hard to track and on top of that Angua’s a copper. She’ll work out that I’d use you, so she’ll be covering her trail. ” Gaspode whined. “Look, mister, respect is hard to earn in this dog’s town. If I’m not smelled around the lampposts for a couple of weeks my stock is definitely in the gutter, right?” “Yes, yes, I understand. I’ll make some other arrangements. Nervous Nigel’s still around, isn’t he?” “What? That spaniel? He couldn’t smell his own bottom if you put it in front of him!” “They say he’s pretty good, nasally. ” “And he widdles every time anyone looks at him!” snapped Gaspode. “I heard he can smell a dead rat two miles away. ” “Yeah? Well, I can smell what color it is!” Carrot sighed. “Well, I’ve got no choice, I’m afraid. You can’t do it, so I’ll—” “I didn’t say—” Gaspode stopped, and then went on. “I’m going to do it, aren’t I? I’m bloody well going to do it. You’re going to trick me or blackmail me or whatever it takes, aren’t you…” “Yes. How do you manage to write, Gaspode?” “I holds the chalk in me mouth. Easy. ” “You’re a smart dog. I’ve always said so. The world’s only talking dog, too. ” “Lower your voice, lower your voice!” said Gaspode, looking around. “Here, Uberwald’s wolf country, isn’t it?” “Oh yes. ” “I could’ve bin a wolf, you know. With diff’rent parents, of course. ” Gaspode sniffed, and looked furtively up and down the street again. “Steak?” “Every night. ” “Right. ” Sergeant Colon was a picture of misery, drawn on a lumpy pavement in bad crayon on a wet day. He sat on a chair and occasionally glanced at the message which had just been delivered, as if hoping that the words would somehow fade away. “Bloody hell, Nobby,” he moaned. “There, there, Fred…” said Nobby, currently a vision in organdy. “I can’t be promoted! I’m not an officer! I am base, common and popular!” “I’ve always said that about you, Fred. You got common off to a treat. ” “But it’s writ down, Nobby! Look, His Lordship’s signed it!” “We-ell, the way I see it, you’ve got three choices,” said Nobby. “Yeah?” “You can go and tell him you’re not doing it…” The panic in Colon’s face was replaced by glazed gray terror. “Thank you very much, Nobby,” he said bitterly. “Let me know if you’ve got any more suggestions like that, ’cos I’ll need to go and change my underwear. ” “Or you could accept it and make such a screw-up of it that he takes it away from you…” “You’re doing this on purpose, Nobby!” “Might be worth a try, Fred. ” “Yeah, but the thing about screw-ups, Nobby, is that it’s hard for you to be, you know, precise. You might think you’re making a little screw-up and then it blows up in your face and it turns out to be in fact a big screw-up, and in those circumstances, Nobby, I’m sort of worried that what His Lordship might take away from me wouldn’t just be the job. I hope I don’t have to draw you a picture?” “Good point, Fred. ” “What I’m saying is, screw-ups is like…well, screw-ups is…well, the thing about screw-ups is you never know what size they’re going to be. ” “Well, Fred, the third choice is you putting up with it. ” “That’s not helpful, Nobby. ” “It’ll only be for a couple of weeks, then Mister Vimes’ll be back. ” “Yeah, but supposing he isn’t? Nasty place, Uberwald. I heard where it’s a misery wrapped in an enema. That doesn’t sound too good. You can fall down things. Then I’m stuck, right? I don’t know how to do officering. ” “ No one knows how to do officering, Fred. That’s why they’re officers. If they knew anything, they’d be sergeants. ” Now Colon’s face screwed up again in desperate thought. As a lifelong uniformed man, a three-striped peg that had found a three-striped hole very early in its career, he subscribed automatically and unthinkingly to the belief that officers as a class could not put their own trousers on without a map. He conscientiously excluded Vimes and Carrot from the list, automatically elevating them to the rank of honorary sergeant. Nobby was watching him with an expression of combined concern, friendliness and predatory intent. “What shall I do , Nobby?” “Well, ‘Captain,’” said Nobby, and then he gave a little cough, “what officers mainly have to do, as you know, is sign things—” The door was knocked on and opened at the same time, by a flustered constable. “Sarge, Constable Shoe says he really does need an officer down at Sonky’s factory. ” “What, the rubber wally man?” said Colon. “Right. An officer. Right. We’ll be along. ” “And that’s Captain Colon,” said Nobby quickly. “Er…er…yes, and that’s Captain Colon, thank you very much,” said Colon, adding as his resolve stiffened, “and I’ll thank you not to forget it!” The constable stared at them, and then stopped trying to understand. “And there’s a troll downstairs who insists on speaking to whoever’s in charge—” “Can’t Stronginthearm deal with it?” “Er…is Sergeant Stronginthearm still a sergeant?” said the constable. “Yes!” “Even unconscious?” “What?” “He’s flat on the floor right now, Sa—Captain. ” “What’s the troll want?” “Right now he wants to kill someone, but mainly I think he wants someone to take the clamp off’f his foot. ” Gaspode ran up and down, nose barely an inch from the ground. Carrot waited, holding his horse. It was a good one. Carrot hadn’t spent a lot of his wages, up until now. Finally the dog sat down and looked depressed. “So tell me about this wonderful nose the Patrician has got, then,” he said. “Not a trace?” “You better get Vetinari down here, if he’s so good,” said Gaspode. “What’s the point of starting here? Worst place in the whole city! It’s the gate to the cattle market, am I right? Trying not to smell stuff is the trick here, is the point I’m makin’. There’s ground-in stink. If you wanted to get on the trail of somebody, this is the last place I’d start. ” “Very good point,” said Carrot, carefully. “So…what’s the strongest smell heading hubward?” “Dung carts, o’course. Yesterday. |
Always a big clear-out of the pens first thing Friday morning. ” “You can follow the smell?” Gaspode rolled his eyes. “With my head in a bucket. ” “Good. Let’s go. ” “So,” said Gaspode, as they began to leave the gate’s bustle behind, “We’re chasing this girl, right?” “Yes. ” “Just you?” “Yes. ” “Not like with dogs, then, where there might be twenty or thirty?” “No. ” “So we’re not looking at a bucket of cold water here?” “No. ” Constable Shoe saluted, but a little testily. He’d been waiting rather a long time. “Afternoon, Sergeant—” “That’s Captain,” said Captain Colon. “See the pip on my shoulder, Reg?” Reg looked closely. “I thought it was bird doings, Sarge. ” “That’s Captain,” said Colon automatically. “It’s only chalk now because I ain’t got time to get it done properly,” he said, “So don’t be cheeky. ” “What’s up with Nobby?” said Reg. Corporal Nobbs was holding a damp cloth over one eye. “Bit of a contry tomps with an illegally parked troll,” said Captain Colon. “Shows what kind of troll he was, striking a lady,” muttered Nobby. “But you ain’t a lady, Nobby. You’re just wearing your traffic-calming disguise. ” “He wasn’t to know. ” “You’d got your helmet on. Anyway, you shouldn’t have clamped him. ” “He was parked, Fred. ” “He’d been knocked down by a cart,” said Captain Colon. “And that’s Captain. ” “Well, they always have excuses,” said Nobby sullenly. “You’d better show us the corpus, Reg,” said Colon. The body in the cellar was duly inspected. “…and I remember Cheery saying there was a smell of cat’s pee and sulfur at the Dwarf Bread Museum,” said Reg. “Certainly hangs about,” said Colon. “You wouldn’t have blocked sinuses if you worked here for a day. ” “And I thought, ‘I wonder if someone’d tried to make a mold of the replica Stone,’ sir,” said Reg. “Now that is clever,” said Fred Colon. “You’d get the real one back then, wouldn’t you?” “Er…no, Sarge—Captain. But you’d get a copy of the replica. ” “Would that be legal?” “Can’t say, sir. I wouldn’t think so. It wouldn’t fool a dwarf for five minutes. ” “Then who’d want to kill him?” “A father of thirteen kids, maybe?” said Nobby. “Haha. ” “Nobby, will you stop pinching the merchandise?” said Colon. “And don’t argue, I just saw you put a couple of dozen in your handbag. ” “Dat don’t matter,” rumbled the troll. “Mister Sonky always said dey was free to the Watch. ” “That was very…civic of him,” said Captain Colon. “Yeah, he said der last fing we wanted was more bloody coppers around the city. ” A pigeon chose that diplomatic moment to flutter into the factory and land on Colon’s shoulder, where it promoted him. He reached up, removed the message capsule and unfolded the contents. “It’s from Visit,” he said. “There’s a clue, he says. ” “What to?” said Nobby. “Not to anything, Nobby. Just a clue. ” He took off his helmet and wiped his brow. This was what he’d hoped to avoid. In his heart of battered hearts, he suspected that Vimes and Carrot were good at putting clues next to other clues and thinking about them. That was their talent. He had other…well, he was good with people, and he had a shiny breastplate, and he could sergeant in his sleep. “All right, write up your report,” he said. “Well done. We’re going back to the Yard. ” “I can see this is going to get on top of me,” said Colon, as they walked away. “There’s paperwork, too. You know me and paperwork, Nobby. ” “You’re a very thorough reader, that’s all, Fred,” said Nobby. “I’ve seen you take ages over just one page. Digesting it magisterially, I thought. ” Colon brightened a little. “Yes, that’s what I do,” he said. “Even if it’s only the menu down at the Klatchian takeout, I’ve seen you staring at one line for a minute at a time. ” “Well, obviously you can’t let people put one over on you,” said Colon, sticking out his chest, or at least sticking it further up. “What you need is an aide de camp,” said Nobby, lifting his dress to step over a puddle. “I do?” “Oh yes. ’Cos of you being a figurehead and setting an example to your men,” said Nobby. “Ah. Right. Yes,” said Colon, grasping the idea with relief. “A man can’t be expected to do all that and read long words, am I right?” “Exactly. And, of course, we’re down one sergeant at the Yard now,” said Nobby. “Good point, Nobby. It’s going to be busy. ” They walked on for a while. “You could promote someone,” Nobby prompted. “Could I?” “What good’s being the boss if you can’t?” “That’s true. And it’s sort of an emergency…Hmm…any thoughts, Nobby?” Nobby sighed inwardly. A penny could drop through wet cement faster than it could drop for Fred Colon. “A name springs to mind,” he said. “Ah, right. Yes. Reg Shoe, right? Good at writing, a keen thinker, and of course he’s coolheaded,” said Colon. “Icy, practically. ” “But a bit on the dead side,” said Nobby. “Yes, I suppose that counts against him. ” “And he goes to pieces unpredictably,” said Nobby. “That’s true,” said Captain Colon. “No one likes shaking hands and ending up with more fingers than they started with. ” “So p’raps it might be better to consider someone who has been unreasonably overlooked,” said Nobby, going for broke. “Someone who’s face dunt fit, p’raps. Someone who’s experience in the Watch gen’rally and in Traffic in particular could be great service to the city if people wouldn’t go on about one or two lapses which didn’t happen in any case. ” The dawn of intelligence rose across the vistas of Colon’s face. “Ah,” he said. “I see. Well, why didn’t you come right out with that at the start, Nobby. ” “Well, it’s your decision, Fred…I mean, Captain ,” said Nobby earnestly. “But ’sposing Mister Vimes doesn’t agree? He’ll be back in a couple of weeks. ” “That’ll be long enough,” said Nobby. “And you don’t mind?” “Me? Mind? Not me. You know me, Fred, always ready to do my bit. ” “Nobby?” “Yes, Fred?” “The dress…” “Yes, Fred?” “I thought we weren’t doing the…traffic calming any more?” “Yes, Fred. But I thought I’m keep it on ready to swing into action just in case you decided that we should. ” A chilly wind blew across the cabbage fields. To Gaspode it brought, beside the overpowering fumes of the cabbage and the dark red smell of the dung carts, hints of pine, mountains, snow, sweat and stale cigar smoke. The last came from the cart men’s habit of smoking large, cheap cigars. They kept the flies off. It was better than vision. The world of smell stretched before Gaspode. “My paws hurt,” he said. “There’s a good dog,” said Carrot. The road forked. Gaspode stopped, and snuffled around. “Well, here’s an int’resting fing,” he said. “Some of the dung’s jumped down off’f the cart and headed away across the fields here. You were right. ” “Can you smell water anywhere around?” said Carrot, scanning the flat plain. Gaspode’s mottled nose wrinkled up in effort. “Pond,” he said. “Not very big. ’Bout a mile away. ” “She’ll be heading toward it. Very meticulous about cleanliness, Angua. That’s not usual in werewolves. ” “Never been one for water myself,” said Gaspode. “Is that a fact?” “Here, no need for that! I had a B…A…T…H once, you know, it’s not as if I don’t know what it’s like. ” The pond was in a clump of windblown trees. Dry grass rustled in the breeze. A single coot scuttled into the reeds as Carrot and Gaspode approached. “Yeah, here we are,” said Gaspode. “A lot of muck goes in, and…” He sniffed at the stirred-up mud. “Er…yeah, she comes out. Um. ” “Is there a problem?” said Carrot. “What? Oh, no. Clear scent. Headin’ for the mountains, just like you said. Um. ” Gaspode sat down and scratched himself with a hind leg. “There is a problem, isn’t there…” said Carrot. “Well…supposin’ there was something really bad that you wouldn’t really want to know, and I knew what it was…how’d you feel about me tellin’ you? I mean, some people’d rather not know. It’s a pers’nal thing. ” “Gaspode!” “She’s not alone. There’s another wolf. ” “Ah. ” Carrot’s mild, uninformative smile did not change. “Er…of the male persuasion,” said Gaspode. “A boy wolf. Er. Very much so. ” “Thank you, Gaspode. ” “Extremely male. Um. In a very def’nite way. |
Unmistakably. ” “Yes, I think I understand. ” “And this is just Words. In Smell, it’s a lot more, well, emphatic. ” “Thank you for that, Gaspode. And they’re heading…” “Still straight for the mountains, boss,” said Gaspode, as kindly as he could. He wasn’t certain of the details of human sexual relationships, and the ones he was certain of he still couldn’t quite believe, but he knew that they were a lot more complicated than those enjoyed by the doggy fraternity. “This smell…” “The extremely male one I was talkin’ about?” “The very one, yes,” said Carrot levelly. “You could still smell it if you were on the horse, could you?” “I could smell it with my nose in a sack of onions. ” “Good. Because I think we should move a little faster now…” “Yes, I thought you’d think that. ” Constable Visit saluted when Nobby and Colon entered Pseudopolis Yard. “I thought you ought to know about this right away, sir,” he said, flourishing a square of paper. “I just got it off Ronald. ” “Who?” “The imp on the bridge, sir. He paints pictures of carts going too fast? No one had been feeding him,” Visit added, in a mildly accusing tone. “Oh. Someone speeding,” said Colon. “So?” He looked again. “That’s one of those sedan chairs the deep-down dwarfs use, isn’t it? Them trolls must’ve been moving!” “It was just after the Scone was stolen,” said Visit. “Ronald writes the time in the corner, see? A bit odd, I thought. Like a kind of getaway vehicle, sir?” “What’d a dwarf want to steal a worthless lump of rock for?” said Colon. “Especially them dark dwarfs. They give me the creeps in those stupid clothes they wear. ” Angry silence rang like a dropped girder in a temple. There were three dwarfs in the room. “You two! You ought to be out on patrol!” barked Sergeant Stronginthearm. “ I’ve got business down at Chitterling Street!” All three dwarfs marched out, somehow contriving even to walk angrily. “Well, what was that about?” said Fred Colon. “Bit touchy, aren’t they? Mister Vimes says that sort of thing all the time and no one minds. ” “Yes, but that’s because he’s Sam Vimes,” said Nobby. “Oh? And are you inferring I’m not?” said Captain Colon. “Well… yes , Fred. You’re Fred Colon,” said Nobby patiently. “Oh, I am , am I?” “Yes, Captain Colon. ” “And they’d better bloody remember it!” Colon snapped. “I’m not a soft touch, me. I’m not going to take insubordination like that! I’ve always said Vimes was a bit too soft on those dwarfs! They gets the same pay as us and they’re only half the size!” “Yes, yes,” said Nobby, waving his hands placatingly in a desperate attempt to calm things down, “But, Fred, trolls are twice as big as us and they get paid the same, so it—” “But they’ve only got a quarter of the brains, so it’s just the same like I said—” The noise they heard was long and drawn out and menacing. It was the sound of Lance-Constable Bluejohn’s chair being pushed back. The floor creaked as he shambled past Colon, removed his helmet from its peg with one enormous hand, and headed for the door. “’M goin’ on patrol,” he mumbled. “You’re not on patrol for another hour,” said Constable Visit. “’M goin’ now,” said Bluejohn. The room was darkened for a moment as he eclipsed the doorway, and then he was gone. “Why’s everyone so tetchy all of a sudden?” said Colon. The remaining constables tried not to catch his eye. “Did I hear someone snigger?” he demanded. “I didn’t hear anyone snigger, Sarge,” said Nobby. “Oh? Oh? You think I’m a sergeant, do you, Corporal Nobbs?” “No, Fred, I—oh gawds…” “I can see things have got pretty slack around here,” said Captain Colon, an evil little gleam in his eye. “I bet you were all thinking, oh, it’s only fat old Fred Colon, it’s all going to be gravy from now on, eh?” “Oh, Fred, no one thinks you’re old—oh gawds…” “Just fat, eh?” Fred glowered around the room. Suddenly, and against all previous evidence, everyone was vitally interested in their paperwork. “Right! Well, from now on things are going to be different ,” said Captain Colon. “Oh yes. I’m up to all your little tricks—who said that?” “Said what, Captain?” said Nobby, who’d also heard the little whispered “We learned ’em all from you, Sarge” but at this moment would eat live coals rather than admit it. “Someone said something blotto voice,” said Captain Colon. “I’m sure they didn’t, Captain,” said Nobby. “And I won’t be eyeballed like that, neither!” “No one’s looking at you!” wailed Nobby. “Aha, you think I don’t know that one?” Colon shouted. “There’s plenty of ways to eyeball someone without lookin’ at ’em, Corporal. That man over there is earlobing me!” “I think Constable Ping is just really interested in the report he’s writing, Fre—Sar—Captain. ” Colon’s ruffled feathers settled a little. “Well…all right. And now I’m going up to my office, all right? There’ll be some changes around here. And someone bring me a cup of tea. ” They watched him go up the stairs, enter the office and slam the door. “Well, the—” Constable Ping began, but Nobby, who had a lot more experience with the Colon personality, waved one hand frantically for silence while he held the other one to his ear, very theatrically. Then they all heard the door click open again, quietly. “A change is as good as a rest, I suppose,” said Constable Ping. “As the prophet Ossory says, better an oxen in the potters’ fields of Hersheba than a sandal in the wine presses of Gash,” said Constable Visit. “Yeah, so I’ve heard,” said Nobby. “Well, I’ll just make him his tea. Everyone feels better after a cup of tea. ” A couple of minutes later the constables heard Colon shouting, even through the door. “What is wrong with this mug, Corporal?” “Nothing, Sa—sir. It’s yer mug. You always have your tea in it. ” “Ah, but, you see, it is a sergeant’s mug, Corporal. And what is it that officers drink out of?” “Well, Carrot and Mister Vimes have got their own mugs—” “No, they may choose to drink out of mugs, Corporal, but Watch regulations say officers have a cup and saucer. Says so right here, regulation three-oh-one, subsection C. Do you understand me?” “I don’t think we’ve got any—” “You know where the petty cash is. Usually, you’re the only person that does. You’re dismissed, Corporal. ” Nobby came down the stairs white-faced, holding the offending receptacle. The door opened again. “And none of you are to gob in it, neither!” shouted Colon. “I know that one! And it’s to be stirred with a spoon , understand? I know that one, too. ” The door slammed. Constable Visit took the mug from Nobby’s shaking hand and patted him on the shoulder. “Chalky the troll does some very good seconds, I understand—” he began. The door opened. “Bloody china, too!” The door slammed. “Anyone seen the petty cash lately?” said Constable Ping. Nobby reached mournfully into his pocket and pulled out some dollars. He handed them to Visit. “Better go to that posh shop in Kings Way,” he said. “Get one of those cups and saucers thin enough to see through. You know, with gold around the rim. ” He looked around the other constables. “What’re you lot doing here? You won’t catch many criminals in here !” “Does the petty cash count, Nobby?” said Ping. “Don’t you Nobby me, Ping! You just get out there! And the rest of you!” Days rolled by. More accurately, they rattled by. It was a comfortable coach, as coaches went, and as coaches on this road went over continual potholes, it swayed and rocked like a cradle. Initially, the motion was soothing. After a day or two, it palled. So did the scenery. Vimes stared glumly out of the window. There was another clacking tower on the horizon. They were putting them near the road, he recalled, even though that wasn’t the direct route. Only a fool would build them across the badlands. You had to remember, sometimes, that within a few hundred miles of Ankh-Morpork there were still trolls who hadn’t caught on to the fact that humans weren’t digestible. Besides, most of the settlements were near the road. The new guild must be coining money. |
Even from here he could see the scaffolding, as workers feverishly attached still more gantries and paddles to the main tower. The whole thing would likely be matchsticks after the next hurricane, but by then the owners would probably have earned enough to build another five. Or fifty. It had all happened so fast. Who’d have believed it? But all the components had been there for years. Semaphore was ancient—a century ago the Watch had used a few towers to relay messages to patrolling officers. And gargoyles had nothing to do all day but sit and watch things, and usually were too unimaginative to make mistakes. What had happened was that people thought differently about news now. Once upon a time they’d have used something like this to relay information about troop movements and the death of kings. True, that was something that people need to know, but they didn’t need to know it every day. No, what they needed to know every day were things like How much are cattle selling for in Ankh-Morpork today? Because, if they weren’t fetching much, maybe it was better to drive them to Quirm instead. People needed to know these little things. Lots and lots of little things. Little things like Did my ship get there safely? That’s why the Guild was driving hell-bent across the mountains on to Genua, four thousand miles away. It took many months for a ship to round Cape Terror. How much, exactly, would a trader pay to know, within a day, when it had arrived? And how much the cargo was worth? Has it been sold? Is there credit to my name in Ankh-Morpork? Coining money? Oh yes! And it had caught on as fast as every other craze did in the big city. It seemed as though everybody who could put together a pole, a couple of gargoyles and some secondhand windmill machinery was in on the business. You couldn’t go out to dinner these days without seeing people nip out of the restaurant every five minutes to check that there weren’t any messages for them on the nearest pole. As for those who cut out the middleman and signaled directly to their friends across a crowded room, causing mild contusions to those nearby… Vimes shook his head. That was messages without meaning: telepathy without brains. But…it had been good, hadn’t it, last week? When Don’t Know Jack had pinched that silver in Sto Lat and then galloped at speed to the sanctuary of the Shades in Ankh-Morpork? And Sergeant Edge of the Sto Lat Watch, who’d trained under Vimes, had put a message on the clacks that arrived on Vimes’s desk more than an hour before Jack sauntered through the city gates and into the waiting embrace of Sergeant Detritus? Legally it had been a bit tricky, since the offense hadn’t been committed on Ankh-Morpork soil and a semaphore message did not, strictly speaking, come under the heading of ‘hot pursuit,’ but Jack had kindly solved that one by taking a wild swing at the troll, resulting in his arrest for Assault on a Watch Officer and treatment for a broken wrist… There was a gentle snore from Lady Sybil. A marriage is always made up of two people who are prepared to swear that only the other one snores. Inigo Skimmer was hunched in a corner, reading a book. Vimes watched him for some time. “I’m just going up top for some air,” he said at last, opening the door. The clattering of the wheels filled the tiny, hot space, and dust blew in. “Your Grace—” Inigo began, standing up. Vimes, already clambering up the side of the coach, stuck his head back in. “You’re not making any friends with that attitude,” he said, and kicked the door shut with his foot. Cheery and Detritus had made themselves comfortable on the roof. It was a lot less stuffy and at least there was a view, if vegetables were your idea of a panorama. Vimes worked himself into a niche between two bundles and leaned toward Cheery. “You know about the clacks, right?” he said. “Well, sort of, sir…” “Good. ” Vimes passed her a piece of paper. “There’s bound to be a tower near where we stop tonight. Cipher this and send it to the Watch, will you? They ought to be able to turn it around in an hour, if they ask the right people. Tell them to try Washable Topsy, she does the laundry there. Or Gilbert Gilbert, he always seems to know what’s going on. ” Cheery read the message, and then stared at Vimes. “Are you sure , sir?” she said. “Maybe. Make sure you send the description. Names don’t mean much. ” “May I ask what makes you think—” “His walk. And he didn’t catch an orange,” said Vimes. “Mhm. Mhm. ” Constable Visit was cleaning out the old pigeon loft when the message arrived on the clacks. He had been spending more and more time with the pigeons these days. It wasn’t a popular job, so no one had tried to take it away from him, and at least up here the shouts and door-slammings were muffled. The perches gleamed. Constable Visit enjoyed his job. He didn’t have many friends in the city. Truth to tell, he didn’t have many friends in the Watch, either. But at least there were people to talk to, and he was making headway with the religious instruction of the pigeons. But now there was this… It was addressed to Captain Carrot. That meant it probably ought to be delivered to Captain Colon now, and personally , because Captain Colon thought that people were spying on his messages sent via the suction tube. Constable Visit had been fairly safe up until now. Omnians were good at not questioning orders, even ones that made no sense. Visit instinctively respected authority, no matter how crazy, because he’d been brought up properly. And he had plenty of time to keep his armor bright. Brightly polished armor had suddenly become very important in the Watch, for some reason. Even so, going into Colon’s office needed all the courage that the legendary Bishop Horn had shown when entering the city of the Oolites, and everyone knew what they did to strangers. Visit climbed down from the loft and made his nervous way to the main building, taking care to walk smartly. The main office was more or less empty. There seemed to be fewer watchmen around these days. Usually people preferred to loaf indoors in this chilly weather, but suddenly everyone was keen to be out of Captain Colon’s view. Visit went up to the office and knocked on the door. He knocked again. When there was no reply he pushed open the door, walked carefully over to the sparkling clean desk and went to tuck the flimsy message under the ink bottle in case it blew away— “Aha!” The ink soared up as Visit’s hand jerked. He had a vision of the blue-black shower passing his ear, and heard the splat as it hit something behind him. He turned like an automaton, to see a Captain Colon who would have been white-faced if it weren’t for the ink. “I see ,” said Colon. “Assault on a superior officer, eh?” “It was an accident, Captain!” “Oh, was it? And why, pray, were you sneaking into my office?” “I didn’t think you were in here, Captain!” Visit gabbled. “Aha!” “Sorry?” “Sneaking a look at my private papers, eh?” “No, Captain!” Visit rallied a little bit. “Why were you standing behind the door, Captain?” “Oh? I’m not allowed to stand behind my own door, is that it?” It was then that Constable Visit made his next mistake. He tried to smile. “Well, it is a bit odd, sir—” “Are you suggesting there is anything odd about me, Constable?” said Captain Colon. “Is there anything about me that you find funny ?” Visit stared at the mottled face, speckled with ink. “Not a thing, sir. ” “You’ve been working acceptably, Constable,” said Colon, standing slightly too close to Visit, “and therefore I don’t intend to be harsh with you. No one could call me an unfair man. You is demoted to lance-constable, understand? Your pay will be adjusted and backdated to the beginning of the month. ” Visit saluted. It was probably the only way to get out of there alive. One of Colon’s eyes was twitching. “However, you could redeem yourself,” said Colon, “if you was to tell me who has been stealing, I said stealing , the sugar lumps. ” “Sir?” “I knows there was forty-three last night. I counted ’em very thoroughly. |
There’s forty-one this morning, Constable. And they’re locked in the cupboard. Can you explain that?” If Visit had been suicidal and honest, he had said: Well, Captain, while of course I think you have many worthy qualities, I have known you to count your fingers twice and come up with different answers. “Er…mice?” he said, weakly. “Hah! Off you go, Lance-Constable, and just you think about what I said!” When the dejected Visit had gone, Captain Colon sat down at his big, clean desk. The little flickering part of his brain that was still sparking coherent thought through the fog of mind-numbing terror that filled Colon’s head was telling him that he was so far out of his depth that the fish had lights on their noses. Yes , he did have a clean desk. But that was because he was throwing all the paperwork away. It wasn’t that he was illiterate, but Fred Colon did need a bit of a think and a run-up to tackle anything much longer than a list and he tended to get lost in any word that had more than three syllables. He was, in fact, functionally literate. That is, he thought of reading and writing like he thought about boots—you needed them, but they weren’t supposed to be fun, and you got suspicious about people who got a kick out of them. Of course, Mr. Vimes had kept his desk piled high with paperwork, but it occurred to Colon that maybe Vimes and Carrot between them had developed a way of keeping just ahead of the piles, by knowing what was important and what wasn’t. To Colon, it was all gut-wrenchingly mysterious. There were complaints, and memos, and invitations, and letters requesting “a few minutes of your time” and forms to fill in, and reports to read, and sentences containing words like “iniquitous” and “immediate action” and they tottered in his mind like a great big wave, poised to fall on him. The sane core of Colon was wondering if the purpose of officers wasn’t to stand between the sergeants and all this sh—this slush, so that they could get on with sergeanting. Captain Colon took a deep, wobbly breath. On the other hand, if people were nicking the sugar lumps, no wonder things weren’t working properly! Get the sugar lumps right, and everything else would work out! That made sense! He turned, and his eye caught the huge accusing heap of paperwork in the corner. And the empty fireplace, too. That was what officering was all about, wasn’t it? Making decisions ! Lance-Constable Visit walked dejectedly back down to the main office, which had filled up for a watch change. Everyone was clustered around one of the desks on which lay, looking slightly muddy, the Scone of Stone. “Constable Thighbiter found it in Zephire Street, just lying there,” said Sergeant Stronginthearm. “The thief must’ve gotten scared. ” “A long way from the museum, though,” said Reg Shoe. “Why lug it all the way across the city and leave it in a posh part of town where someone’s bound to trip over it?” “Oh woe is me, for I am undone,” said Lance-Constable Visit, who felt he was playing a poor second fiddle to what he would call, if he had no use for his legs, a pagan image. “Could be drafty,” said Corporal Nobbs, a man of little sympathy. “I mean I have been reduced to Lance-Constable,” said Visit. “What? Why?” said Sergeant Stronginthearm. “I’m…not sure,” said Visit. “That just about does it!” said the dwarf. “He sacked three of the officers up at Dolly Sisters yesterday. Well, I’m not waiting for it to happen to me. I’m off to Sto Lat. They’re always looking for trained watchmen. I’m a sergeant. I could name my price. ” “But, look, Vimesy used to say that sort of thing, too, I heard him,” said Nobby. “Yeah, but that was different. ” “How?” “ That was Mister Vimes,” said Stronginthearm. “Remember that riot in Easy Street last year? Bloke came after me with a club when I was on the ground, and Mister Vimes caught it on his arm and punched the man right in the head. ” “Yeah,” said Constable Hacknee, another dwarf, “When your back’s against the wall, Mister Vimes is right behind you. ” “But old Fred…you all know old Fred Colon, boys,” Nobby wheedled, taking a kettle off the office stove and pouring the boiling water into a teapot. “He knows coppering inside and out. ” “His kind of coppering, yeah,” said Hacknee. “I mean, he’s been a copper longer than anyone in the Watch,” said Nobby. One of the dwarfs said something in Dwarfish. There were a few smiles from the shorter watchmen. “What was that?” said Nobby. “Well, roughly translated,” said Stronginthearm, “‘My bum has been a bum for a very long time but I don’t have to listen to anything it says. ’” “He fined me half a dollar for mumping,” said Hacknee. “Fred Colon! He practically goes on patrol with a shopping bag! And all I had was a free pint at the Bunch of Grapes and I found out that Posh Wally is suddenly flashing a lot of money lately. That’s worth knowing. I remember going out on patrol with Fred Colon when I started and you could practically see him tucking his napkin under his chin whenever we walked past a café. ‘Oh no , Sergeant Colon, wouldn’t dream of seeing you pay. ’ They used to lay the table when they saw him turn the corner. ” “Everyone does it,” said Stronginthearm. “Captain Carrot never did,” said Nobby. “Captain Carrot was…special. ” “But what am I supposed to do with this?” said Visit, waving the ink-speckled message. “Mister Vimes wants some information urgently, he says!” Stronginthearm took the paper and read it. “Well, this shouldn’t be hard,” he said. “Old Wussie Staid in Kicklebury Street was a janitor there for years and he owes me a favor. ” “If we’re going to send a clacks to Mister Vimes then we ought to tell him about the Scone and Sonky,” said Reg Shoe. “You know he left a message about that. I’ve done a report. ” “Why? He’s hundreds of miles away. ” “I’d just feel happier if he knew,” said Reg. “’Cos it worries me. ” “What good will it do sending it to him, then?” “Because then it’ll worry him , and I can stop worrying,” said Reg. “Corporal Nobbs!” “He listens at the door, I’ll swear he does,” said Stronginthearm. “I’m off. ” “Coming, Captain!” shouted Nobby. He pulled open the bottom drawer of his battered and stained desk and took out a packet of chocolate biscuits, some of which he arranged daintily on a plate. “Does me no good at all to see you acting like this,” Stronginthearm went on, winking at the other dwarfs. “You’ve got it in you to be a really bad copper, Nobby. Breaks my heart to see you throwin’ it all away to become a really bad waitress. ” “Ha ha ha,” said Nobby. “Just you wait, that’s all I’m saying. ” He raised his voice. “Coming right now, Captain!” There was a sharp smell of burned paper in the captain’s room when Nobby entered. “Nothing cheers up the day like a good fire, I always say,” he said, putting the tray on the desk. But Captain Colon wasn’t paying any attention. He’d removed the sugar bowl from the locked drawer of his desk and had laid the cubes out in rows. “Do you see anything wrong with these lumps, Corporal?” he said quietly. “Well, they’re a bit manky where you’ve been handling them every—” “There’s thirty-seven, Corporal. ” “Sorry about that, Captain. ” “Visit must’ve pinched them when he was in here. He must’ve used some fancy foreign trick. They can do that, you know. Climb ropes and disappear up the top of ’em, that sort of thing. ” “Did he have a rope?” said Nobby. “Are you making fun of me, Corporal?” Nobby saluted. “Nossir! Maybe it was a invisible one, sir. After all, if they can disappear up a rope, they can make the rope disappear, too. Obviously. ” “Good thinking, Corporal. ” “On the subject of thinking, sir,” said Nobby, plunging in, “have you had time in your busy schedule to give some thought to the promotion of the new sergeant?” “I have, as a matter of fact, put that very thing in hand, Corporal. ” “Good, sir. ” “I’ve borne in mind everything you said, and the choice was starin’ me in the face. ” “Yessir!” said Nobby, sticking out his chest and saluting. “I just hope it don’t cause loss of morals. |
It can do that, when people are promoted. So if there’s any trouble like that, I want the sugar-stealing person reported to me right away, understand?” “Yessir!” Nobby’s feet had almost left the ground. “And I shall rely on you, Corporal, to let me know if Sergeant Flint has any trouble. ” “Sergeant Flint,” said Nobby, in a little voice. “I know he’s a troll, but I won’t have it said I’m an unfair man. ” “Sergeant Flint. ” “I know I can rely on you, Corporal. ” “ Sergeant Flint. ” “That will be all. I’ve got to go and see His Lordship in an hour and I want some time to think for. That’s what my job is, thinking. ” “Sergeant Flint. ” “Yes. I should go and report to him if I was you. ” White chicken feathers were scattered across the field. The farmer stood at the door of his henhouse, shaking his head. He glanced up as a horseman approached. “Good morrow, sir! Are you experiencing trouble?” The farmer opened his mouth for a witty or at least snappy response, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was the sword the horseman had slung across his back. Perhaps it was the man’s faint smile. The smile was somehow more frightening. “Er…somethin’s been at my fowls,” he ventured. “Fox, I reckon. ” “Wolf, I suspect,” said the rider. The man opened his mouth to say “Don’t be daft, we don’t get wolves down here this time of the year,” but again the confident smile made him hesitate. “Got many hens, did they?” “Six,” said the farmer. “And they got in by…” “Well, that’s the strange th—Here, keep the dog away!” A small mongrel had leapt down from the saddle and was sniffing around the henhouses. “He won’t be any trouble,” said the rider. “I shouldn’t push your luck, mate. He’s in a funny mood,” said a voice behind the farmer. He turned around quickly. The dog looked up at him innocently. Everyone knew that dogs didn’t talk. “Woof? Bark? Whine?” it said. “He’s highly trained,” said the rider. “Yeah, right,” said the voice behind the farmer. He felt an overpowering desire to see the back of the horseman. The smile was getting on his nerves, and now he was hearing things. “I can’t see how they got in,” he said. “The door’s latched…” “And wolves don’t usually leave payment, right?” said the rider. “How the hell did you know that?” “Well…several reasons, sir, but I couldn’t help noticing that you clenched your fist tightly as soon as you heard me, and I surmise therefore that you found…let me see…three dollars left in the chicken house. Three dollars would buy six fine birds in Ankh-Morpork. ” The man opened his fist, wordlessly. The coins glinted in the sunlight. “But…but I sells ’em at the gate for ten pence!” he wailed. “They only had to arsk !” “Probably didn’t want to bother you,” said the horsemen. “Since I am here, sir, I would be grateful if you could sell me a chicken—” Behind the farmer the dog said “Woof woof!” “— two chickens, and I will not trespass further upon your time. ” “Woof woof woof. ” “ Three chickens,” said the rider, wearily. “And if you have them dressed and cooked while I tend to my horse, I will gladly pay a dollar apiece. ” “Woof, woof. ” “Without garlic or any seasoning on two of the chickens, please,” said the rider. The farmer nodded wordlessly. A dollar a chicken wasn’t chicken feed. You didn’t turn up your nose at an offer like that. But most importantly, you didn’t disobey a man with that faint little smile on his face. It didn’t seem to move, or change. As smiles went, you wanted this one to go as far away as possible. He hurried off to the yard that held his best fowls, reached down to select the fattest…and paused. A man who was fool enough to pay a dollar for a good chicken might be quite content with just a reasonable chicken, after all…He stood up. “Only the best, mister. ” He spun around. No one was there except the little scruffy dog, which had followed him and was now raising a cloud of dust as it scratched itself. “Woof?” it said. He threw a stone at it, and it trotted off. Then he selected three of the very best chickens. Carrot was lying down under a tree, trying to make his head comfortable on a saddlebag. “Did you see in the dust where she’d almost rubbed out her footprints?” said Gaspode. “Yes,” said Carrot, closing his eyes. “Does she always pay for chickens?” “Yes. ” “Why?” Carrot turned over. “Because animals don’t. ” Gaspode looked at the back of Carrot’s head. On the whole he enjoyed the unusual gift of speech, but something about the reddening of Carrot’s ears told him that this was the time to employ the even rarer gift of silence. He settled down in the position he almost unconsciously categorized as Faithful Companion Keeping Watch, got bored, scratched himself absentmindedly, curled up in the pose known as Faithful Companion Curled Up With His Nose Pressed On His Bottom, * and fell asleep. He awoke shortly afterward, to the sound of voices. There was also a faint smell of roast chicken coming from the direction of the farmhouse. Gaspode rolled over, and saw the farmer talking to another man on a cart. He listened for a moment and then sat up, locked in a metaphysical conundrum. Finally he awoke Carrot by licking his ear. “Fzwl…what?” “You got to promise to collect the roast chicken first, all right?” said Gaspode urgently. “What?” Carrot sat up. “Get the chickens and then we gotta go, right? You gotta promise. ” “All right, all right, I promise. What’s happening ?” “You ever heard of a town call Scant Cullot?” “I think it’s about ten miles from here…” “One of Mister Farmer’s neighbors has just told him that they’ve caught a wolf there. ” “Killed it?” “No, no, no…but the wolf hunters…there’s wolf hunters in these parts, see, ’cos of the sheep up on the hills and…they have to train their dogs first remember you promised about the chickens !” At precisely eleven o’clock there was a smart rap on Lord Vetinari’s door. The Patrician gave the woodwork a puzzled frown. At last he said: “Come. ” Fred Colon entered with difficulty. Vetinari watched him for a few moments until pity overcame even him. “Acting Captain, it is not necessary to remain at attention at all times,” he said, kindly. “You are allowed to unbend enough for the satisfactory manipulation of a doorknob. “Yes, sah!” Lord Vetinari raised a hand to his ear protectively. “You may be seated. ” “Yes, sah!” “You may be quieter, too. ” “Yes, sah!” Lord Vetinari retreated to the protection of his desk. “May I commend you on the gleam of your armor, Acting Captain—” “Spit and polish, sah! No substitute for it, sah!” Sweat was streaming down Colon’s face. “Oh, good. Clearly you have been purchasing extra supplies of spit. Now then, let me see…” Lord Vetinari drew a sheet of paper from one of the small stack in front of him. “Now then, Acti—” “Sah!” “To be sure. I have here another complaint of overenthusiastic clamping…I’m sure you know to what I refer. ” “It was causing serious traffic congestion, sah!” “Quite so. It is well known for it. But it is, in fact, the opera house. ” “Sah!” “The owner feels that big yellow clamps at each corner detract from what I might call the tone of the building. And, of course, they do prevent him from driving it away. ” “Sah!” “Indeed. I think that this is a case where discretion might be advisable, Acting Captain!” “Got to make an example to the others, sah!” “Ah. Yes. ” The Patrician held another piece of paper delicately between thumb and forefinger, as though it were some rare and strange creature. “The others being…let me see if I can recall, some things do stick in the mind so…ah, yes…three other buildings, six fountains, three statues and the gibbet in Nonesuch Street. Oh, and my own palace. ” “I fully understand you’re parked on business, sah!” Lord Vetinari paused. He found it difficult to talk to Frederick Colon. He dealt on a daily basis with people who treated conversation as a complex game, and with Colon he had to keep on adjusting his mind in case he overshot. |
“Pursuing the business of your recent career with, I have to admit, some considerable and growing fascination, I am moved to ask you why the Watch now appears to have a staff of twenty. ” “Sah?” “You had around sixty a little while ago, I’m sure. ” Colon mopped his face. “Cutting out the dead wood, sah! Making the Watch leaner an’ fitter, sah!” “I see. The number of internal disciplinary charges you have laid against your men,” and here the Patrician picked up a much thicker document, “seems somewhat excessive. I see no fewer than one hundred and seventy three offenses of eyeballing, earlobing and nostrilling, for example. ” “Sah!” “Nostrilling, Acting Captain?” “Sah!” “Oh. And I see, ah yes, one charge of ‘making his arm fall off in an insubordinate way’ laid against Constable Shoe. Commander Vimes has always given me glowing reports about this officer. ” “’E’s a nasty piece of work, sah! You can’t trust the dead ones!” “Nor, it would seem, most of the live ones. ” “Sah!” Colon leaned forward, his face twisted in a ghastly grimace of conspiratoriality. “Between you and me, sir, Commander Vimes was a good deal too soft on them. He let them get away with too much. No sugar is safe, sah!” Vetinari’s eyes narrowed, but the telescopes on Planet Colon were far too unsophisticated to detect his mood. “I certainly recall him mentioning a couple of officers whose timekeeping, demeanor, and all around uselessness were a dreadful example to the rest of the men,” said the Patrician. “There’s my point,” said Colon triumphantly. “One bad apple ruins the whole barrel!” “I think there’s only a basket now,” said the Patrician. “A punnet, possibly. ” “Don’t you worry about a thing, Your Lordship! I’ll turn things around. I’ll soon get them smartened up!” “I am sure you have it in you to surprise me even further,” said Vetinari, leaning back. “I shall definitely keep my eye on you as the man to watch. And now, Acting Captain, do you have anything else to report?” “All nice and quiet, sah!” “I would that it was,” said Vetinari. “I was just wondering if there was anything going on involving any person in this city called…” he looked down at another sheet of paper, “Sonky?” Captain Colon almost swallowed his tongue. “Minor matter, sah!” he managed. “So…Sonky is alive?” “Er…found dead, sah!” “Murdered?” “Sah!” “Dear me. Many people would not consider that a minor matter, Acting Captain. Sonky, for one. ” “Well, sah, not everyone agrees with what he does, sah. ” “Are we by any chance talking about Wallace Sonky? The manufacturer of rubber goods?” “Sah!” “Boots and gloves seem noncontroversial to me , Acting Captain. ” “It’s…er…the other stuff, sah!” Colon coughed nervously. “He makes them rubber wallies, sah. ” “Ah. The preventatives. ” “Lot of people don’t agree with that sort of thing, sah. ” “So I understand. ” Colon drew himself up to attention again. “Not natural, in my view, sah. Not in favor of unnatural things. ” Vetinari looked perplexed. “You mean…you eat your meat raw and sleep in a tree?” “Sah?” “Oh, nothing, nothing. Someone in Uberwald seems to be taking an interest in him lately. And now he’s dead. I would not dream of telling the Watch their job, of course. ” He watched Colon carefully to see if this had sunk in. “I said that it is entirely up to you to choose what to investigate in this bustling city,” he prompted. Colon was lost in unfamiliar country without a map. “Thank you, sah!” he barked. Vetinari sighed. “And now, Acting Captain, I’m sure there’s much that needs your attention. ” “Sah! I’ve got plans to—” “I meant, do not let me detain you. ” “Oh, that’s all right, sir, I’ve got plenty of time—” “ Goodbye , Acting Captain Colon. ” Out in the anteroom, Fred Colon stood very still for a while, until his heartbeat wound down from a whine to at least a purr. It had, on the whole, gone quite well. Very well. Amazingly well, really. His Lordship had practically taken him into his confidence. He’d called him “a man to watch. ” Fred wondered why he’d been so scared of officering all these years. There was nothing to it, really, once you got the bull between your teeth. If only he’d started years ago! Of course, he wouldn’t hear a word said about Mr. Vimes, who should certainly be looking after himself in those dangerous foreign parts…but…well, Fred Colon had been a sergeant when Sam Vimes was a rookie, hadn’t he? It was only his nat’ral deference that’d held him back all these years. When Sam Vimes came back, and with the Patrician there to put in a good word for him, Fred Colon would definitely be on the promotion ladder. Only to full captain, of course, he thought as he strutted down the stairs—with great care, because strutting is usually impossible while walking downward. He wouldn’t want to outrank Captain Carrot. That would be…wrong. This fact shows that, however crazed with power someone may become, a tiny instinct for self-preservation always remains. He got the chickens first, thought Gaspode, winding his way through the legs of the crowd. Amazin’. They hadn’t stopped to eat them, though. Gaspode had been stuffed into the other saddlebag and would not like to have to go through ten miles like that again, especially so close to the smell of roast chicken. It looked as though there was a market going on, and the wolf-baiting had been saved as a sort of closing ceremony. Hurdles had been arranged on a rough circle. Men were holding the collars of dogs—big, heavy, unpleasant looking dogs, which were already wild with excitement and deranged stupidity. There was a coop by the hurdles. Gaspode made his way to it, and peered through the wooden bars at the heap of matted gray fur in the shadows. “Looks like you’re in a spot of strife, friend,” he said. Contrary to legend—and there are so many legends about wolves, although mostly they are legends about the way men think about wolves—a trapped wolf is more likely to whine and fawn than go wild with rage. But this one must have felt it had nothing to lose. Foam-flecked jaws snapped at the bars. “Where’s the rest of your pack, then?” said Gaspode. “No pack, shorty!” “Ah. A lone wolf, eh?” The worst kind, Gaspode thought. “Roast chicken isn’t worth this,” he muttered. Out loud, he growled, “You seen any other wolves around here?” “Yes!” “Good. You want to get out of here alive?” “I’ll kill them all!” “Right, right…but there’s dozens of ’em, see. You won’t stand a chance. They’ll tear you to bits. Dogs’re a lot nastier than wolves. ” In the shade, the eyes narrowed. “Why’re you telling me, dog?” “’Cos I am here to help you, see? You do what I tell you, you could be out of here in half an hour. Otherwise you’re a rug on someone’s floor tomorrow. Your choice. O’course, there might not be enough of you left to make a rug. ” The wolf listened to the baying of the dogs. There was no mistaking their intent. “What did you have in mind?” it said. A few minutes later the crowd was gently nudged aside as Carrot edged his horse toward the pen. The hubbub died. A sword on a horse always commands respect; the rider is often a mere courtesy detail, but in this case it was not so. The Watch had put the final swell and polish on Carrot’s muscles. And there was that faint smile. It was the sort you backed away from. “Good day. Who is in charge here?” he said. There was a certain amount of comparison of status, and a man cautiously raised his hand. “I’m the deputy mayor, y’honor,” he said. “And what is this event?” “We’m about to bait a wolf, y’honor. ” “Really? I myself own a wolfhound of unusual strength and prowess. May I test it against the creature?” There was more mumbling among the bystanders, the general consensus being: Why not? Anyway, there was that smile… “Go ahead, y’honor,” said the deputy mayor. Carrot stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. The townspeople watched in astonishment as Gaspode walked out from between their legs and sat down. Then the laughter started. It died away after a while, because the faint smile didn’t. “Is there a problem?” said Carrot. |
“It’ll get torn limb from limb!” “Well? Do you care what happens to a wolf?” Laughter broke out again. The deputy mayor had a feeling he was being got at. “It’s your dog, mister,” he said, shrugging. The little dog barked. “And to make it interesting, we’ll wager a pound of steak,” said Carrot. The dog barked again. “Two pounds of steak,” Carrot corrected himself. “Oh, I reckon it’s going to be interesting enough as it is,” said the deputy mayor. The smile was beginning to prey on his nerves. “All right, boys—fetch the wolf!” The creature was dragged into the ring of hurdles, slavering and snarling. “No, don’t tie it up,” said Carrot, as a man went to wrap the halter around a post. “It’ll get away if we don’t. ” “It won’t have a chance, believe me. ” They looked at the smile, dragged the muzzle from the wolf, and leapt to safety. “Now, just in case you were havin’ second thoughts about our agreement,” said Gaspode to the wolf, “I suggest you look at the face of the bloke on the horse, right?” The wolf glanced up. It saw the wolverine smile of the face of the rider. Gaspode barked. The wolf yelped and rolled over. The crowd waited. And then— “Is that it ?” “Yes, that’s how it normally goes,” said Carrot. “It’s a special bark, you see. All the blood in the victim congeals in an instant, out of sheer terror. ” “It hasn’t even worried the body!” “What,” said Carrot, “would be the point of that?” He got down from the horse, pushed his way into the ring, picked up the body of the wolf and flung it across the saddle. “It grunted! I heard it—” someone began. “That was probably air being expressed from the corpse,” said Carrot. The smile still hadn’t gone, and at that point it suggested very subtly that Carrot had heard the last gasp of hundreds of corpses. “Yeah, that’s right,” said a voice in the crowd. “Everyone knows that. And now what about the steak for the brave little doggie?” The people looked around to see who had said this. None of them looked down, because dogs can’t talk. “We can forgo the steak,” said Carrot, mounting up. “No, w—No you can’t,” said the voice, “A deal’s a deal. Who was risking their life here, that’s what I’d like to know?” “Come, Gaspode,” said Carrot. Whining and grumbling, the little dog emerged from the crowd and trailed after the horse. It wasn’t until they were at the edge of the town square that one of the people said “Oi, what the hell happened there?” and the spell broke. But by then both horse and dog were traveling really, really fast. Vimes hated and despised the privileges of rank, but they had this to be said for them: At least they meant that you could hate and despise them in comfort. Willikins would arrive at an inn an hour before Vimes’s coach and, with an arrogance that Vimes would never dare employ, take over several rooms and install Vimes’s own cook in the kitchen. Vimes complained about this to Inigo. “But you see, Your Grace, you’re not here as an individual but as Ankh-Morpork. When people look at you, they see the city, mhm, mhm. ” “They do? Should I stop washing?” “That is very droll, sir. But you see, sir, you and the city are one. Mhm, mhm. If you are insulted, Ankh-Morpork is insulted. If you befriend, Ankh-Morpork befriends. ” “Really? What happens when I go to the lavatory?” “That’s up to you, sir. Mhm, mph. ” At breakfast next morning Vimes sliced the top off a boiled egg, thinking: This is Ankh-Morpork slicing the top off a boiled egg. If I cut my toast into soldiers, we’re probably at war. Constable Littlebottom entered, carefully, and saluted. “Your message came back, sir,” she said, handing him a scrap of paper. “From Sergeant Stronginthearm. I’ve deciphered it for you. Er…the Scone from the museum’s been found, sir. ” “Well, that’s the other shoe dropped,” said Vimes. “I was worried there for a moment. ” “Er, in fact Constable Shoe is bothered about it,” said Cheery. “It’s a bit hard to follow what he says, but he seems to think someone made a copy of it. ” “What, a fake of a fake? What good’s that?” “I really couldn’t say, sir. Your other…surmise was correct. ” Vimes glanced at the paper. “Hah. Thanks, Cheery. We’ll be down shortly. ” “You’re humming, Sam,” said Sybil, after a while. “That means that something awful is going to happen to somebody. ” “Wonderful thing, technology,” said Vimes, buttering a slice of toast. “I can see it has its uses. ” “And when you grin in that shiny sort of way it means that someone’s playing silly buggers and doesn’t know you’ve just thrown a six. ” “I don’t know what you mean, dear. It’s probably the country air agreeing with me. ” Lady Sybil put down her teacup. “Sam?” “Yes, dear?” “This is probably not the best time to mention it, but you know I told you I went to see old Mrs. Content? Well, she says—” There was another knock at the door. Lady Sybil sighed. This time it was Inigo who entered. “We should be leaving, Your Grace, if you don’t mind. I would like us to be at Slake by lunchtime and through the pass at Wilinus before dark, mhm, mhm. ” “Do we have to rush so?” sighed Sybil. “The pass is…slightly dangerous,” said Inigo. “Somewhat lawless. Mhm, mhm. ” “Only somewhat?” said Vimes. “I will just feel happier when it is behind us,” said Inigo. “It would be a good idea if the second coach follows us closely and your men stay alert, Your Grace. ” “They teach you tactics in Lord Vetinari’s political office, do they, Inigo?” said Vimes. “Just common sense, mhm, mhm, sir. ” “Why don’t we wait until tomorrow before attempting the pass?” “With respect, Your Grace, I suggest not. For one thing, the weather is worsening. And I’m sure we are being watched. We must demonstrate that there is no yellow in the Ankh-Morpork flag, mhm, mhm. ” “There is,” said Vimes. “It’s on the owl and the collars of the hippos. ” “I mean,” said Inigo, “that the colors of Ankh-Morpork do not run. ” “Only since we got the new dyes,” said Vimes. “All right, all right. I know what you mean. But, look, I’m not risking the servants if there’s any danger. And there’s to be no arguing, understand? They can stay here and take the mail coach tomorrow. No one attacks the mail coaches anymore. ” “I suggest Lady Sybil remains here, too, sir. Mhm. ” “Absolutely not ,” said Sybil. “I wouldn’t hear of it! If it’s not too dangerous for Sam, it’s not too dangerous for me. ” “I wouldn’t argue with her, if I were you,” said Vimes to Inigo. “I really wouldn’t. ” The wolf was not very happy about being tethered to a tree but, as Gaspode said, never trust nobody. They’d paused awhile in a wood about five miles from the town. It’d be a brief stop, Carrot had said. Some of the people in the square looked the sort who treasured their lack of a sense of humor. After some barking and growling, Gaspode said: “You got to understand that matey here is pers’naly non gratis in local wolf society, being a bit of, ahaha, lone wolf…” “Yes?” Carrot was taking the roast chickens out of their sack. Gaspode’s eyes fixed on them. “But he hears the howlin’ at night. ” “Ah…wolves communicate?” “Basic’ly your wolf howl is just another way of pissin’ against a tree to say it’s your damn tree, but there’s always bit of news, too. Something nasty’s happenin’ in Uberwald. He doesn’t know what. ” Gaspode lowered his voice. “Between you and me, our friend here was well behind the door when the brains was handed out. If wolves was people, he’d be like Foul Ole Ron. ” “What is his name?” said Carrot, thoughtfully. Gaspode gave Carrot a Look. Who cared what a wolf was called? “Wolf names is difficult,” he said. “much prefer vampires. Vamtion, see? It’s not like callin’ yourself Mister Snuggles or Bonzo, you understand…” “Yes, I know. So what is his name?” “You want to know what his name is, then?” “Yes, Gaspode. ” “So, in fact, it’s the name of this wolf you want to know?” “That is correct. ” Gaspode shifted uneasily. “Asshole,” he said. “Oh. ” To the dog’s frank astonishment, Carrot blushed. “That’s basic’ly a summary , but it’s a pretty good translation,” he said. |
“I wouldn’t have mentioned it, but you did ask…” Gaspode stopped and whined for a moment, trying to convey the message that he was losing his voice due to lack of chicken. “Er…there’s been a lot on the howl about Angua,” he went on, when Carrot seemed unable to take the hint. “Er…they think she’s bad news. ” “Why? She’s traveling as a wolf, after all. ” “Wolves hate werewolves. ” “What? That can’t be right! When she’s wolf-shaped she’s just like a wolf!” “So? When she’s human-shaped she’s just like a human. And what’s that got to do with anything? Humans don’t like werewolves. Wolves don’t like werewolves. People don’t like wolves that can think like people, an’ people don’t like people who can act like wolves. Which just shows you that people are the same everywhere,” said Gaspode. He assessed this sentence and added, “Even when they’re wolves. ” “I never thought of it like that. ” “And she smells wrong. Wolves are very sensitive to that sort of thing. ” “Tell me more about the howl. ” “Oh, it’s like the clacky thing. News gets spread for hundreds of miles. ” “Do the howls…mention her…companion?” “No. If you like, I’d ask Ass—” “I’d prefer a different name, if it’s all the same to you,” said Carrot. “Words like that aren’t clever. ” Gaspode rolled his eyes. “There nothing wrong with the word among us pedestically gifted species,” he said. “We’re very smell-orientated. ” He sighed. “How about ‘bum’? In the sense of, er, migratory worker? He’s a freelance chicken-throttler, style of fing?” He turned to the wolf, and spoke in canine. “Now then, Bum, this human is insane and believe me, I know a mad human when I see one. He’s frothing at the mouth inside and he’ll rip your hide off and nail it to a tree if you aren’t straight with us, understand?” “What was that you just told him?” said Carrot. “Just explainin’ we’re friends,” said Gaspode. To the cowering wolf he barked: “Okay, he’s prob’ly going to do that anyway, but I can talk to him, so your only chance is to tell us everything—” “Know nothing!” the wolf whined. “She was with a big he-wolf from Uberwald! From the Clan That Smells Like This!” Gaspode sniffed. “He’s a long way from home, then. ” “He’s a bad news wolf!” “Tell it there’ll be roast chicken for its trouble,” said Carrot. Gaspode sighed. It was a hard life, being an interpreter. “All right,” he growled. “I’ll persuade him to untie you. It’ll take some doing, mark you. If he offers you a chicken, don’t take it ’cos it’ll be poisoned. Humans, eh?” Carrot watched the wolf flee. “Odd,” he said. “You’ve have thought it’d be hungry, wouldn’t you?” Gaspode looked up from the roast chicken. “Wolves, eh?” he said, indistinctly. That night, when they heard the wolves howling in the distant mountains, Gaspode picked up one solitary, lonely howl behind them. The towers followed them up into the mountains although, Vimes noticed, there were some differences in construction. Down on the plains they were more or less just a high wooden gantry with a shed at the bottom but here, although the design was the same, it was clearly temporary. Next to it men were at work on a heavy stone base—fortifications, he realized, which meant that he really was beyond the law. Of course, technically he’d been beyond his law since leaving Ankh-Morpork, but laws were where you could make it stick and these days a City Watch badge would at least earn respect, if not actual cooperation, everywhere on the plains. Up here, it was just an ugly brooch. Slake turned out to be a stone-walled coaching inn and not much else. It had, Vimes noticed, very heavy shutters on the window. It also had what he thought was a strange iron griddle over the fireplace until he recognized it for what it was, a sort of portcullis that could block off the chimney. This place expected to withstand the occasional siege that might include enemies who could fly. It was sleeting when they went out to the coaches. “A storm’s closing in, mmm, mhm,” said Inigo. “We shall have to hurry. ” “Why?” said Sybil. “The pass will probably be closed for several days, Your Ladyship. If we wait, we may even miss the coronation. And…er…there may be slight bandit activity…” “ Slight bandit activity?” said Vimes. “Yes, sir. ” “You mean they wake up and decide to go back to bed? Or they just steal enough for a cup of coffee?” “Very droll, sir. They do, notoriously, take hostages—” “Bandits don’t frighten me,” said Sybil. “If I may—” Inigo began. “Mister Skimmer,” said Lady Sybil, drawing herself up to her full width, “I did in fact just tell you what we are going to do. See to it, please. There are servants at the consulate, aren’t there?” “There is one, I believe—” “Then we shall happily make do as best we can. Won’t we, Sam?” “Certainly, dear. ” It was seriously snowing by the time they left, in great feather lumps which fell with a faint damp hiss, muffling all other sound. Vimes wouldn’t have known that they’d reached the pass if the coaches hadn’t stopped. “The coach with your…men on it should go in front,” said Inigo, as they stood in the snow beside the steaming horses. “We should follow close behind. I’ll ride with our driver, just in case. ” “So that if we are attacked by anyone you can give them a potted summary of the political situation?” said Vimes. “No, you will ride inside with Lady Sybil, and I’ll ride on the box. Got to protect the civilians, eh?” “Your Grace, I—” “However, your suggestion is appreciated,” Vimes went on. “You get inside, Mister Skimmer. ” The man opened his mouth. Vimes raised an eyebrow. “Very well, Your Grace, but it is extremely—” “Good man. ” “I should like my leather case down from the roof, though. ” “Certainly. A bit of fact-finding will take your mind of things. ” Vimes walked forward to the other carriage, poked his head inside and said, “We’re going to be ambushed, lads. ” “Dat’s interestin’,” said Detritus. He grunted slightly as he wound the windlass of his crossbow. “Oh,” said Cheery. “I don’t think they’ll try to kill us,” Vimes went on. “Does dat mean we don’t try to kill dem?” “Use your own judgment. ” Detritus sighted along a thick bundle of arrows. They were his idea. Since his giant crossbow was capable of sending an iron bolt through the gates of a city under siege, he had felt it rather a waste to use it on just one person, so he had adapted it to fire a sheaf of several dozen arrows all at once. The threads holding them together were supposed to snap under acceleration. They did so. Quite often the arrows also shattered in midair as they failed to withstand the enormous pressure. He called it the Piecemaker. He’d only tried it once, down at the butts; Vimes had seen a target vanish. So had the targets on either side of it, the earth bank behind it, and a spiraling cloud of feathers floating down had been all that remained of a couple of seagulls who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. In this instance, the wrong place had been vertically above Detritus. Now no other watchmen would go on patrol with the troll unless they could stay at least a hundred yards directly behind him. But the test had the desired effect, because someone saw everything in Ankh-Morpork and news about the targets had got around. Now just the knowledge that Detritus was on his way cleared a street much faster than any weapon. “I got lots of judgment,” he said. “You be careful with that thing,” said Vimes. “You could hurt someone. ” The party started out again, through the swirls of snow. Vimes made himself comfortable among the luggage, lit a cigar and then, when he was sure that the rattling of the coach would mask the sounds, rummaged farther under the tarpaulin and drew out Inigo’s cheap, scarred leather case. From his pocket he took a small roll of black cloth, and unrolled it on his knee. Intricate little lockpicks glinted for a moment in the light of the coach lamps. A good copper has to be able to think like a criminal. Vimes was a very good copper. He was also a very alive copper and intended to remain that way. |
That was why, when the case’s lock went click , he laid it down on the shaking roof with its lid opening away from him and, leaning back, carefully lifted the lid with his boot. A long blade flicked out. It would have terminally ruined the digestion of a casual thief. Someone obviously expected very bad hotel security on this journey. Vimes carefully eased it back into its spring-loaded sheath, looked upon the contents of the case, smiled in a not very happy way, and carefully lifted out something that gleamed with the silvery light of carefully designed, beautifully engineered and very compact evil. He thought: Sometimes it would be nice to be wrong about people. Gaspode knew they were in the high foothills now. Places to buy food were getting scarce. However carefully Carrot knocked at the door of some isolated farmstead, he’d end up having to talk to people who were hiding under the bed. People here were not used to the idea of muscular men with swords who were actually anxious to buy things. In the end it generally worked out quicker to walk in, go through the contents of the pantry, and leave some money on the table for when the people came up out of the cellar. It had been two days since the last cottage, and there was so little there that Carrot, to Gaspode’s disgust, had just left some money. The forest thickened. Alder became pine. There were snow showers every night. The stars were pinpoints of frost. And, colder and harder, rising with the sunset, was the howl. It went up on every side, a great mournful ululation across the freezing forests. “They’re so close I can smell ’em,” said Gaspode. “They’ve been shadowing us for days. ” “There has never been an authenticated case of an unprovoked wolf attacking an adult human being,” said Carrot. They were both huddling under his cloak. After a while Gaspode said, “An’ that’s good, is it?” “What do you mean?” “We-ell, o’course us dogs only has little brains, but it seems to me that what you just said was pretty much the same as sayin’ ‘no unprovokin’ adult human bein’ has ever returned to tell the tale,’ right? I mean, your wolf has just got to make sure they kill people in quiet places where no one’ll ever know, yes?” More snow settled on the cloak. It was large, and heavy, and a relic of many a long night in the Ankh-Morpork rain. In front of it, a fire flickered and hissed. “I wish you hadn’t said that, Gaspode. ” These were big, serious flakes of snow. Winter was moving fast down the mountains. “ You wish I hadn’t said it?” “But…no, I’m sure there’s nothing to be afraid of. ” A drift had nearly covered the cloak. “You shouldn’t’ve traded the horse for those snowshoes back at the last place,” said Gaspode. “The poor thing was done in. Anyway, it wasn’t exactly a trade. The people wouldn’t come down out of the chimney. They did say to take anything we wanted. ” “They said to take everything, only spare their lives. ” “Yes. I don’t know why. I smiled at them. ” There was a doggy sigh. “Trouble is, see, you could carry me on the horse, but this is deep snow and I am a little doggie. My problems are closer to the ground. I hope I don’t have to draw you a picture. ” “I’ve got some spare clothes in my pack. I might be able to make you a…coat—” “A coat wouldn’t do the trick. ” Another howl began, quite close this time. The snow was falling a lot faster. The hissing of the fire turned into a sizzle. Then it went out. Gaspode was not good at snow. It was not a precipitation he normally had to face. In the city, there was always somewhere warm if you knew where to look. Anyway, snow only stayed snow for an hour or two, and then it became brown slush and was trodden into the general slurry of the streets. Streets. Gaspode really missed streets. He could be wise on streets. Out here, he was dumb on mud. “Fire’s gone out,” he said. There was no answer from Carrot. “ Fire’s gone out , I said…” This time there was a snore. “Hey, you can’t go to sleep!” Gaspode whined. “Not now. We’ll freeze to death. ” The next voice in the howl seemed only a few trees away. Gaspode thought he could see dark shapes in the endless curtain of snow. “…if we’re lucky,” he mumbled. He licked Carrot’s face, a move that usually resulted in the lickee chasing Gaspode down the street with a broom. There was merely another snore. Gaspode’s mind raced. Of course, he was a dog, and dogs and wolves…well, they were the same, right? Everyone knew that. So-oo, said a treacherous inner voice…maybe it wasn’t exactly Gaspode and Carrot in trouble. Maybe it was only Carrot. Yeah, right on, brothers! Let us join together in wild runs in the moonlight! But first, let us eat this monkey! On the other paw… He’d got hard pad, soft pad, the swinge, licky end, scroff, mange and something rather strange on the back of his neck that he couldn’t quite reach. Gaspode somehow couldn’t imagine the wolves saying Hey, he’s one of us! Besides…while he’d begged, fought, tricked and stolen, he’d never actually been a Bad Dog. You needed to be a moderate good theological disputant to accept this, especially since a fair number of sausages and prime cuts had disappeared from butchers’ slabs in a blur of gray and a lingering odor of lavatory carpet, but nevertheless Gaspode was clear in his own mind that he’d never crossed the boundary from merely being a Naughty Boy. He’d never bitten a hand that fed him. * He’d never done It on the carpet. He’d never shirked a Duty. It was a bugger, but there you were. It was a dog thing. He whined when the ring of dark shapes closed in. Eyes gleamed. He whined again, and then growled as unseen fanged death surrounded him. This was clearly impressing no one, not even Gaspode. He wagged his tail nervously. “Just passin’ through!” he said, in a strangulatedly cheerful voice. “No trouble to anyone!” There was a definite feeling that the shadows beyond the snowflakes were getting more crowded. “So…have you had your holidays yet?” he squeaked. This also did not appear to be well received. Well, this was it, then. Famous Last Stand. Plucky Dog Defends His Master. What a Good Dog. Shame there’d be no one left to tell anyone… He barked “Mine! Mine!” and leapt snarling toward the nearest shape. A huge paw swatted him out of the air and then pinned him down, spread-eagled, in the snow. He looked up past white fangs and a long muzzle into eyes that seemed familiar… “Hmine,” growled the wolf. It was Angua. The coaches slowed to a walk on a road that was rough with potholes under the unbroken snow, every one a wheel-breaking trap in the dark. Vimes nodded to himself when he saw lights flickering beside the road a few miles into the pass. On either side, old landslides had formed banks of scree, down which the forests had spilled. He dropped quietly off the back of the coach and vanished into the shadows. The leading coach stopped at a log which had been dropped across the road. There was some movement, and then the driver swung himself down into the mud and set off at a dead run back down the pass. Figures moved out of the trees. One of them stopped at the door of the first coach and tried the handle. There was a moment when the world held its breath. The figure must have sensed it, because he was already leaping aside when there was a click and the whole door and its surrounding frame blew outward in a cloud of splinters. The thing about fires, Vimes had once observed, was that only an idiot got between them and a troll holding a two-thousand-pound crossbow. All hell hadn’t been let loose. It was merely Detritus. But from a few feet away you couldn’t tell the difference. Another figure reached for the door of the second coach just before Vimes fired out of the darkness and hit his shoulder with a butcher’s sound. Then Inigo dived through the window, rolled with unclerklike grace as he hit the ground, rose in front of one of the bandits and brought his hand around, edge first, on the man’s neck. Vimes had seen this trick done before. Usually, it just made people angry. Occasionally, it managed an incapacitating blow. |
He’d never seen it remove a head. “Everybody stop!” Sybil was pushed out of the coach. Behind her, a man stepped out. He was holding a crossbow. “Your Grace Vimes!” he shouted. The word bounced back and forth between the cliffs. “I know you’re here, Your Grace Vimes! And here is your lady! And there are many of us! Come out , Your Grace Vimes!” Flakes of snow hissed over the fires. Then there was a whisper in the air followed by a second smack of steel into muscle. One of the hooded figures collapsed into the mud, clutching at its leg. Inigo slowly got to his feet. The man holding the crossbow appeared not to notice. “It is like chess, Your Grace Vimes! We have disarmed the troll and the dwarf! And I have the queen! And if you shoot at me, can you be sure I won’t have time to fire?” Firelight glowed on the twisted trees bordering the road. Several seconds passed. Then the sound of Vimes’s crossbow landing in the circle of light was very loud. “Well done, Your Grace Vimes! And now yourself, if you please!” Inigo made out the shape that appeared at the very edge of the light, with both hands up. “Are you all right, Sybil?” said Vimes. “A bit cold, Sam. ” “You’re not hurt?” “No, Sam. ” “Keep your hands where I can see them, Your Grace Vimes!” “And are you going to promise me you’ll let her go?” said Vimes. A flame flickered near Vimes’s face, a bright pool in the darkness, as he lit a cigar. “Now, Your Grace Vimes, why ever should I do that? But I am sure Ankh-Morpork will pay a lot for you!” “Ah. I thought so,” said Vimes. He shook the match out, and the cigar end glowed for a moment. “Sybil?” “Yes, Sam?” “Duck. ” There was a second filled only with the indrawing of breath, and then, as Lady Sybil dived forward, Vimes’s hand came around from behind him in an arc, there was a silken sound, and the man’s head was flung back. Inigo leapt and caught his crossbow as it was dropped, then rolled and came up firing. Another figure staggered. Vimes was aware of a commotion elsewhere as he grabbed Sybil and helped her back into the coach. Inigo had vanished, but a scream in the dark didn’t sound like anyone that Vimes knew. And then…only the hiss of snow in the fire. “I…think they’re gone, sir,” said Cheery’s voice. “Not as fast as us! Detritus?” “Sir?” “Are you okay?” “Feelin’ very tactful, sir. ” “You two take that coach, I’ll take this, and let’s get the hell out of here, shall we?” “Where’s Mister Skimmer?” said Sybil. There was another scream from the woods. “Forget him!” “But he’s—” “Forget him!” The snow was falling thicker as they climbed the pass. The deep snow dragged at the wheels, and all Vimes could see were the darker shapes of the horses against the whiteness. Then the clouds parted briefly, and he wished they hadn’t, because here they revealed that the darkness on the left of his wasn’t rock any more but a sheer drop. At the top of the pass the lights of an inn glowed out onto the thickening snow. Vimes drove the carriage into the yard. “Detritus?” “Sir?” “I’ll watch our backs. Make sure this place is okay, will you?” “Yessir. ” The troll jumped down, slotting a fresh bundle of arrows into the Piecemaker. Vimes spotted his intention just in time. “Just knock , Sergeant. ” “Right you are, sir. ” The troll knocked and entered. The buzz of sound from inside suddenly ceased. Vimes heard, muffled by the door, “Der Duke of Ankh-Morpork is coming in. Anyone have a problem with dis? Just say der word. ” And in the background, the little humming, singing noise the Piecemaker made under tension. Vimes helped Sybil down from the coach. “How do you feel now?” he said. She smiled faintly. “I think this dress will have to go for dusters,” she said. She smiled a little more when she saw his expression. “I knew you’d come up with something, Sam. You go all slow and cold and that means something really dreadful’s going to happen. I wasn’t frightened. ” “Really? I was scared shi—stiff,” said Vimes. “What happened to Mister Skimmer? I remember him rummaging in his case and cursing—” “I suspect Inigo Skimmer is alive and well,” said Vimes grimly. “Which is more than can be said for those around him. ” There was silence in the main room of the inn. A man and a woman, presumably the landlord and his wife, were standing flat against the back of the bar. The dozen or so other occupants lined the walls, hands in the air. Beer dribbled from a couple of spilled mugs. “Everyt’ing normal an’ peaceful,” said Detritus, turning around. Vimes realized that everyone was staring at him. He looked down. His shirt was torn. Mud and blood caked his clothes. Melted snow dripped off him. In his right hand, un-regarded, he was still holding his crossbow. “Bit of trouble on the road,” he said. “Er…you know how it is. ” No one moved. “Oh, good gods…Detritus, put that damn thing down , will you?” “Right, sir. ” The troll lowered his crossbow. Two dozen people all began to breathe again. Then the skinny woman stepped around from behind the bar, nodded at Vimes, carefully took Lady Sybil’s hand from his, and pointed toward the wide wooden stairs. The black look she gave Vimes puzzled him. Only then did he realize that Lady Sybil was shaking. Tears were running down her face. “And…er…my wife is a bit shaken up,” he said weakly. “Corporal Littlebottom!” he yelled, to cover his confusion. Cheery stepped through the doorway. “Go with Lady Syb—” He stopped because of the rising hubbub. One or two people pointed. Someone laughed. Cheery stopped, looking down. “What’s up?” Vimes hissed. “Er…It’s me, sir. Ankh-Morpork dwarf fashions haven’t really caught on here, sir,” said Cheery. “The skirt?” said Vimes. “Yes, sir. ” Vimes looked around at the faces. They seemed more shocked than angry, although he spotted a couple of dwarfs in one corner who were definitely unhappy. “Go with Lady Sybil,” he repeated. “It might not be a very good id—” Cheery began. “Godsdammit!” shouted Vimes, unable to stop himself. The crowd went silent. A ragged bloodstained madman holding a crossbow can command a rapt audience. Then he shuddered. What he wanted now was a bed, but what he wanted, before bed, more than anything, was a drink. And he couldn’t have one. He’d learned that long ago. One drink was one too many. “All right, tell me,” he said. “All dwarfs are men, sir,” said Cheery. “I mean…traditionally. That’s how everyone thinks of it up here. ” “Well…stand outside the door, or…or shut your eyes or something, okay?” Vimes lifted Lady Sybil’s chin. “Are you all right, dear?” he said. “Sorry to let you down, Sam,” she whispered. “It was just so awful. ” Vimes, designed by Nature to be one of those men unable to kiss their own wives in public, patted her helplessly on the shoulder. She thought she’d let him down. It was unbearable. “You just…I mean, Cheery will…and I’ll…sort things out and be along right away,” he said. “We’ll get a good bedroom, I suspect. ” She nodded, still looking down. “And…I’m just going out for some fresh air. ” Vimes stepped outside. The snow had stopped for now. The moon was half hidden by clouds, and the air smelled of frost. When the figure dropped down from the eaves it was amazed at the way Vimes spun and rushed it bodily against the wall. Vimes looked through a red mist at the moonlit face of Inigo Skimmer. “I’ll damn well—” he began. “Look down, Your Grace,” said Skimmer. “Mhm, mhm. ” Vimes realized he could feel the faintest prick of the knife blade on his stomach. “Look down farther,” he said. Inigo looked down. He swallowed. Vimes had a knife, too. “You really are no gentleman, then,” he said. “Make a sudden move and neither are you,” said Vimes. “And now it appears that we have reached what Sergeant Colon persists in referring to as an imp arse. ” “I assure you I will not kill you,” said Inigo. “I know that,” said Vimes. “But will you try ?” “No. I am here for your protection, mhm, mhm. ” “Vetinari sent you, did he?” “You know we never divulge the name of—” “That’s true. You people are very honorable ,” Vimes spat the word, “in that respect. ” Both men relaxed a little. |
“You left me alone surrounded by enemies,” said Inigo, but without much accusation in his tone. “Why should I care what happens to a bunch of bandits?” said Vimes. “You are an Assassin. ” “How did you find out? Mmm?” “A copper watches the way people walk. The Klatchians say a man’s leg is his second face, did you know that? And that little clerky, I’m-so-harmless walk of yours is too good to be true. ” “You mean that just from my walk you—” “No. You didn’t catch the orange,” said Vimes. “Come now—” “No, people either catch or flinch. You saw it wasn’t a danger. And when I took your arm I felt metal under your clothes. Then I just sent a clacks back with your description. ” He let go of Inigo and walked over to the coach, leaving his back exposed. He took something down from the box and came back and waved it at the man. “I know this is yours,” he said. “I pinched it out of your luggage. If I ever catch anyone with one of these in Ankh-Morpork, I will make their life a complete misery as only a copper knows how. Is that understood?” “If you ever catch anyone with one of these in Ankh-Morpork, Your Grace, mhm, they will still be lucky that the Assassins’ Guild didn’t find them first, mmm. They are on our forbidden list, within the city. But we are a long way from Ankh-Morpork now. Mmm, mmm. ” Vimes turned the thing over and over in his hands. It looked vaguely like a long-handled hammer, or perhaps a strangely made telescope. What it was, basically, was a spring. That’s all a crossbow was, after all. “It’s a devil to load,” he said. “I nearly ruptured myself cocking it against a rock. You’d only get one shot. ” “But it’s the shot no one expects, mhm, mhm. ” Vimes nodded. You could even conceal this thing down your pants, although the thought of all that coiled power that close would require nerves of steel and other parts of steel, too, if it came to it. “This is not a weapon. This is for killing people,” he said. “Uh…most weapons are,” said Inigo. “No, they’re not. They’re so you don’t have to kill people. They’re for…for having. For being seen. For warning. This isn’t one of those. It’s for hiding away until you bring it out and kill people in the dark. And where’s that other thing?” “Your Grace?” “The palm dagger. Don’t try to lie to me. ” Inigo shrugged. The movement shot something silver out of his sleeve; it was a carefully shaped blade, padded on one side, that slid along the edge of his hand. There was a click from somewhere inside his jacket. “Good gods,” breathed Vimes. “Do you know how often people have tried to assassinate me, man?” “Yes, Your Grace. Nine times. The Guild has set your fee at six-hundred-thousand dollars. The last time an approach was made, no Guild member volunteered. Mhm, mhm. ” “Hah!” “Incidentally, and very informally of course, we would appreciate knowing the whereabouts of the body of the Honorable Eustace Bassingly-Gore, mhm, mhm. ” Vimes scratched his nose. “Was he the one who tried poisoning my shaving cream?” “Yes, Your Grace. ” “Well, unless his body is an extremely strong swimmer, it’s still on a ship bound for Ghat via Cape Terror,” said Vimes. “I paid the captain a thousand dollars not to take the chains off before Zambingo, too. That’ll give it a nice long walk home through the jungles of Klatch where I’m sure its knowledge of rare poisons will come in very handy, although not as handy perhaps as a knowledge of antidotes. ” “A thousand dollars!” “Well, he had twelve hundred dollars on him. I donated the rest to the Sunshine Sanctuary for Sick Dragons. I got a receipt, by the way. You chaps are keen on receipts, I think. ” “You stole his money? Mhm, mhm. ” Vimes took a deep breath. His voice, when it emerged, was flat calm. “I wasn’t going to waste any of my own. And he had just tried to kill me. Think of it as an investment, for the good of his health. Of course, if in due course he cares to come and see me, I shall make sure he gets what’s coming to him. ” “I’m…astounded, Your Grace. Mhm, mhm. Bassingly-Gore was an extremely competent swordsman. ” “Really? I generally never wait to find out about that sort of thing. ” Inigo smiled his thin little smile. “And two months ago Sir Richard Liddleley was found tied to a fountain in Sator Square, painted pink and with a flag stuck—” “I was feeling generous,” said Vimes. “I’m sorry, I don’t play your games. ” “Assassination is not a game, Your Grace. ” “It is the way you people play it. ” “There have to be rules. Otherwise there would just be anarchy. Mhm, mhm. You have your code, and we have ours. ” “And you’ve been sent here to protect me?” “I have other skills, but…yes. ” “What makes you think I’ll need you?” “Well, Your Grace…here they don’t have rules. Mhm, mhm. ” “I’ve spent most of my life dealing with people who don’t have rules!” “Yes, of course. But when you kill them , they don’t get up again. ” “I’ve never killed anyone!” said Vimes. “You shot that bandit in the throat. ” “I was aiming for the shoulder. ” “Yes, the thing does pull to the left,” said Inigo. “You mean that you have never tried to kill anyone. I have, on the other hand. And here, hesitation may not be an option. Mmm. ” “I didn’t hesitate!” Inigo sighed. “In the guild, Your Grace, we don’t…grandstand. ” “Grandstand?” “That business with the cigar…” “You mean, when I shut my eyes and they had to look at a flame in the darkness?” “Ah…” Inigo hesitated. “But they might have shot you there and then. ” “No. I wasn’t a threat. And you heard his voice. I hear that sort of voice a lot. He’s not going to shoot people too soon and spoil the fun. I can assume that you have not got a contract on me?” “That is correct. ” “And you’d still swear to that?” “On my honor as an Assassin. ” “Yes,” said Vimes. “That’s where I hit a difficulty, of course. And…I don’t know how to put this, Inigo, but you don’t act like a typical assassin. Lord this, Sir that…the Guild is the school for gentlemen but you…and gods know I don’t mean any offense here—are not exactly—” Inigo touched his forelock. “Scholarship boy, sir,” he said. My gods yes , thought Vimes. You can find your average, amateur killers on every street. They’re mostly deranged or drunk or some poor woman who’s had a hard day and the husband has raised his hand once too often and suddenly twenty years of frustration takes over. Killing a stranger without malice or satisfaction, other than the craftsman’s pride in a job well done, is such a rare talent that armies spend months trying to instill it into their young soldiers. Most people will shy away from killing people they haven’t been introduced to. The Guild had to have one or two people like Inigo. Didn’t some philosophical bastard once say that a government needed butchers as well as shepherds? He indicated the little crossbow. “All right, take it,” he said. “But you can put the word about that if I ever, ever see one on the street the owner will find it put where the sun does not shine. ” “Ah,” said Inigo, “that’s the rather amusingly named place in Lancre, isn’t it? Only about fifty miles from here, I believe. Mhm, mhm. ” “Rest assured that I can find a shortcut. ” Gaspode tried blowing in Carrot’s ear again. “Time to wake up ,” he growled. Carrot opened his eyes, blinked the snow out of them, and then tried to move. “You just lie still, right?” said Gaspode. “If it helps, just try to think of them as a very heavy eiderdown. ” Carrot struggled feebly. The wolves piled on top of his shifted position. “Warming you up a treat,” said Gaspode, grinning nervously. “A wolf blanket, see? O’course, you’re going to be a bit whiffy on the nose for a while, but better to be itchy than dead, eh?” He scratched an ear industriously with a hind leg. One of the wolves growled at him. “Sorry. Grub’ll be up in a moment. ” “Food?” muttered Carrot. Angua appeared in Carrot’s vision, dressed in a leather shirt and leggings. She stood looking down at him, hands on her hips. To Gaspode’s amazement, Carrot actually managed to push himself up on his elbows, dislodging several wolves. “ You were tracking us?” he said. |
“No, they were,” said Angua. “They thought you were a bloody fool. I heard it on the howl. And they were right! You haven’t eaten anything for three days! And up here, winter doesn’t drop a few hints over a month or so. It turns up in one night! Why were you so stupid ?” Gaspode looked around the clearing, Angua had rekindled the fire; Gaspode wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it, but actual wolves had dragged in actual fallen wood for her. And then another had turned up with a small deer, still fat after the autumn. He dribbled at the smell of it roasting. Something human and complicated was going on between Carrot and Angua. It sounded like an argument but it didn’t smell like one. Anyway, recent events all made perfect sense to Gaspode. The female ran away and the male chased her. That’s how it went. Actually, it was usually about twenty males of all sizes, but obviously, Gaspode conceded, things were a bit different for humans. Pretty soon, he reckoned, Carrot would notice the big male wolf sitting by the fire, And then the fur would fly. Humans, eh? Gaspode wasn’t sure of his own ancestry. There was some terrier, and a touch of spaniel, and probably someone’s leg, and an awful lot of mongrel. But he took it as an article of faith that there was in all dogs a tiny bit of wolf, and his was urgently sending messages that the wolf by the fire was one you didn’t even stare directly at. It wasn’t that the wolf was obviously vicious. He didn’t need to be. Even sitting still, he radiated the assurance of competent power. Gaspode was, if not the victor, then at least the survivor of many a street fight, and as such would not have gone up against this animal even if backed up by a couple of lions and a man with an ax. Instead, he sidled over to a female wolf who was watching the fire haughtily. “Yo, bitch,” he said. “ Vot vas that?” Gaspode reconsidered his strategy. “Hi, foxy…er…wolf lady,” he tried. A certain lowering of the temperature suggested that this one hadn’t worked either. “’Ullo, miss,” he said, hopefully. Her muzzle turned to point at him. Her eyes narrowed. “Vot har you?” Ice slithered off every syllable. “Gaspode’s the name,” barked Gaspode, with insane cheerfulness. “’M a dog. That’s a kind of wolf, sort of thing. So…what’s your name, then?” “Go avay. ” “No offense meant. ’Ere, I heard tell wolves mate for life, right?” “Vell?” “Wish I could. ” Gaspode froze as the she-wolf’s muzzle snapped an inch from his nose. “Vere I come from, ve eat things like you,” she said. “Fair enough, fair enough,” muttered Gaspode, backing away. “I don’t know, you try to be friendly and this is what you get…” Nearer the fire, the humans were getting complicated. Gaspode slunk back and lay down. “You could have told me,” Carrot was saying. “It would’ve taken too long. You always want to understand things. Anyway, it’s none of your business. This is family. ” Carrot waved a hand toward the wolf. “He’s a relative?” he said. “No. He’s a…friend. ” Gaspode’s ears waggled. He thought: Whoops… “He’s very big for a wolf,” said Carrot slowly, as if filing new information. “He’s a very big wolf,” said Angua, shrugging. “Another werewolf?” “No. ” “Just a wolf?” “Yes,” said Angua sarcastically, “ just a wolf. ” “And his name is…?” “He would not object to being called Gavin. ” “Gavin?” “He once ate someone called Gavin. ” “What, all of him?” “Of course not. Just enough to make certain that the man set no more wolf traps. ” Angua smiled. “Gavin is…quite unusual. ” Carrot looked at the wolf and smiled. He picked up a piece of wood and tossed it gently toward him. The wolf snapped it, doglike, out of the air. “I’m sure we will be friends,” he said. Angua sighed. “Wait. ” Gaspode, the unheeded spectator, watched as Gavin, without taking his eyes off Carrot, very slowly bit the wood in two. “Carrot?” said Angua, sweetly. “Don’t do that again. Gavin isn’t even in the same clan as these wolves, and he took over the pack without anyone even whining. He’s not a dog. And he’s a killer, Carrot. Oh, don’t look like that. I don’t mean he pounces on wandering kids or eats up the odd grandmother. I mean that if he thinks a human ought to die, that human is dead. He will always, always fight. He’s very uncomplicated like that. ” “He’s an old friend?” said Carrot. “Yes. ” “A…friend. ” “Yes. ” Angua rolled her eyes and said, in a voice of singsong sarcasm, “I was out in the woods one day and I fell into some old pit trap under the snow and some wolves found me and would have killed me but Gavin turned up and faced them down. Don’t ask me why. People do things sometimes. So do wolves. End of story. ” “Gaspode said wolves and werewolves didn’t get on,” said Carrot patiently. “He’s right. If Gavin wasn’t here they’d have torn me to pieces. I can look like a wolf, but I’m not a wolf. I’m a werewolf! I’m not a human, either. I’m a werewolf! Get it? You know some of the remarks people make? Well, wolves don’t make remarks. They go for the throat. Wolves have got a very good sense of smell. You can’t fool it. I can pass for human, but I can’t pass for wolf. ” “I never thought of it like that…I mean, you would just think that wolves and werewolves—” “That’s how it is,” sighed Angua. “You said this was family,” said Carrot, as if working down a mental checklist. “I meant it’s personal. Gavin came all the way into Ankh-Morpork to warn me. He even slept on the timber wagons during the day so that he’d keep moving. Can you imagine how much nerve that took? It’s got nothing to do with the Watch. It’s got nothing to do with you. ” Carrot looked around. The snow was falling again, turning into rain above the fire. “I’m here now. ” “Go away. Please. I can sort this out. ” “And then you’ll come back to Ankh-Morpork? Afterward?” “I…” Angua hesitated. “I think I should stay,” said Carrot. “Look, the city needs you,” said Angua. “You know Vimes relies on—” “I’ve resigned. ” For a moment, Gaspode thought he could hear the sound of every settling snowflake. “Not really?” “Yes. ” “And what did old Stoneface say?” “Er, nothing. He’d already left for Uberwald. ” “ Vimes is coming to Uberwald?” “Yes. For the coronation. ” “He’s got mixed up in this?” said Angua. “Mixed up in what?” “Oh…my family’s been…stupid. I’m not quite sure I know everything, but the wolves are worried. When werewolves make trouble, it’s the real wolves that always suffer. People’ll kill anything with fur. ” Angua stared at the fire for a moment and then said, with forced brightness, “So who’s been left in charge?” “I don’t know. Fred Colon’s got seniority. ” “Ha, yes. In his nightmares. ” Angua hesitated. “You really left?” “Yes. ” “Oh. ” Gaspode listened to some more snowflakes. “Well, you won’t get far by yourselves now,” said Angua, standing up. “Rest for another hour. And then we’ll be going through the deep forest. Not too much snow there yet. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. I hope you can keep up. ” At breakfast early next morning Vimes noticed that the other guests were keeping so far away from him that they were holding on to the walls. “The men who went out came back around midnight, sir,” said Cheery quietly. “Did they catch anyone?” “Um…sort of, sir. They found seven dead bodies. ” “Seven?” “They think some others might have got away where there’s a path up the rocks. ” “But…seven? Detritus got one, and…I got one, and a couple were wounded, and Inigo got…one…” Vimes’s voice tailed off. He stared at Inigo Skimmer, who was sitting on the other side of the room at a crowded public table. The ones around Vimes and Lady Sybil were deserted; Sybil had put it down to deference. The little man was eating soup in a little neat self-contained world among the waving arms and intrusive elbows. He’d even tucked a napkin under his chin. “They were… very dead, sir,” Cheery whispered. “Well, that was…interesting,” said Sybil, wiping her mouth delicately. “I’ve never had soup with sausages in it for breakfast before. What is it called, Cheery?” “Fatsup, Your Ladyship,” said Cheery. “It means ‘fat soup. |
’ We’re close to the Shmaltzberg fat layers now, and…well, it’s nourishing and keeps out the cold. ” “How very…interesting. ” Lady Sybil looked at her husband. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Inigo. The door opened and Detritus ducked inside, banging snow off his knuckles. “It’s not too bad,” he said. “Dey say it’d be a good idea to make an early start, sir. ” “I bet they do,” said Vimes, and thought: They don’t want someone like me hanging around, there’s no knowing who’ll die next. Several faces he vaguely recalled from last night were missing now. Presumably some travelers had started off even earlier, which meant that the news was probably running ahead of him. He’d staggered in, covered in blood and mud, carrying a crossbow and, d’you know, when they went back to look there were seven dead men. By the time that sort of story had gone ten miles he’d be carrying an ax as well, and make that thirty dead men and a dog. The diplomatic career had certainly got off to a good start, eh? As they got into the coach he saw the little dart stuck in the door jamb. It was metallic, with metal fins, and had overall a look of speed, as if, when you touched it, you’d burn your fingers. He walked around to the back of the coach. There was another, much larger arrow high in the woodwork. “They tried to catch up with you on the upgrade,” said Inigo, behind him. “You killed them. ” “Some got away. ” “I’m surprised. ” “I’ve only got one pair of hands, Your Grace. ” Vimes glanced up at the inn sign. Crudely painted on the boards was a large red head, complete with trunk and tusks. “This is the Inn of the Fifth Elephant,” said Inigo. “You left the law behind when we passed Lancre, Your Grace. Here it’s the lore. What you keep is what you can. What’s yours is what you fight for. The fittest survive. ” “Ankh-Morpork is pretty lawless, too, Mister Skimmer. ” “Ankh-Morpork has many laws. It’s just that people don’t obey them. And that, Your Grace, is quite a different bowl of fat, mhm, mmm. ” They set off in convoy. Detritus sat on the roof on the leading coach, which lacked a door and most of one side. The view was flat and white, a featureless expanse of snow. After a while they passed a clacks tower. Burn marks on one side of the stone base suggested that someone had thought that no news was good news, but the semaphore shutters were clacking and twinkling in the light. “The whole world is watching,” said Vimes. “But it’s never cared,” said Skimmer. “Up until now. And now it wants to rip the top off the country and take what’s underneath, mph, mhm. ” Ah, thought Vimes, our killer clerk does have more than one emotion. “Ankh-Morpork has always tried to get on well with other nations,” said Sybil. “Well…these days, at least. ” “I don’t think we exactly try , dear,” said Vimes. “It’s just that we found that—Why’re we stopping?” He pulled down the window. “What happening, Sergeant?” “Waiting for dese dwarfs, sir,” the troll called down. Several hundred dwarfs, four abreast, were trotting across the white plain toward them. There was, Vimes thought, something very determined about them. “Detritus?” “Yessir?” “Try not to look too troll-like, will you? “Tryin’ like hell, sir. ” The column was abreast of them before someone barked the command to halt. A dwarf detached himself from the rest and walked over to the coach. “Ta’grdzk?” he bellowed. “Would you like me to take care of this, Your Grace?” said Inigo. “I’m the damn ambassador,” said Vimes. He stepped down. “Good morning, dwarf (indicating miscreant), I am Overseer Vimes of the Look. ” Lady Sybil heard Inigo give a little groan. “Krz? Gr’dazak yad?” “Hang on, hang on, I know this one… I am sure you are a dwarf of no convictions. Let us shake our business, dwarf (indicating miscreant). ” “Yes, that will just about do it, I think,” said Inigo. “Mmm, mhm. ” The senior dwarf had gone red in those areas of his face that could be seen behind the hair. The rest of the squad were taking a renewed interest in the coach. The leader took a deep breath. “D’kraha?” Cheery dropped down from the coach. Her leather skirt flapped in the wind. As one dwarf, the column swiveled to stare at her. Their leader went pop-eyed. “B’dan? K’raa! D’kraga ‘ha’ak’!” Vimes saw the expression that appeared on Cheery’s small round face. Above him there was a clunk as Detritus rested the loaded Piecemaker on the edge of the coach. “I know dat word he said to her,” he announced to the world. “It is not a good word. I do not want to hear dat word again. ” “Well, this is all very jolly, mph, mhm,” said Inigo, getting down. “And now if everyone will just relax for a moment we might get out of here alive, mmm. ” Vimes reached up and carefully pushed the end of Detritus’s crossbow toward a less threatening direction. Inigo talked very fast in what seemed to Vimes to be a torrent of perfect Dwarfish, although he was sure he heard the occasional “mmm. ” He opened his leather case and produced a couple of documents affixed with big waxy seals. These were inspected with considerable suspicion. The dwarf pointed at Cheery and Detritus. Inigo flapped a hand impatiently, the universal symbol for dismissing that which was not important. More papers were examined. Eventually, with more universal body language meaning “I could do something bad to you but right now it’s just too much bother” the dwarf waved Inigo away, gave Vimes a look that suggested that, against all physical evidence, Vimes was beneath him, and strode back to his troops. An order was barked. The dwarfs set off again, leaving the road and heading off toward the forest. “Well, that all seems sorted out,” said Inigo, getting back into the coach. “Miss Littlebottom was a bit of a sticking point, but a dwarf does respect very complicated documents. Something’s up. He wouldn’t say what it was. He wanted to search the coach. ” “The hell with that. What for?” “Who knows? I persuaded him that we have diplomatic immunity. ” “And what did you tell him about me?” “I tried to convince him that you were a bloody idiot, Your Grace. Mph, mhm. ” “Oh really?” Vimes heard Lady Sybil repress a laugh. “It was necessary, believe me. Street Dwarfish wasn’t a good idea, Your Grace. But when I pointed out that you were an aristocrat, he—” “I am not an—well, I’m not really a—” “Yes, Your Grace. But if you’ll be advised by me, a lot of diplomacy lies in appearing to be a lot more stupid than you are. You’ve made a good start, Your Grace. And now, I think we’d better be moving, mhm. ” “I’m glad to see you’re being less deferential, Inigo,” said Vimes, as they got under way again. “Oh well, Your Grace, I’ve gotten to know you better now. ” Gaspode had confused recollections of the rest of that night. The pack moved fast, and he realized that most of them were running ahead of Carrot, to flatten down the snow. It wasn’t flat enough for Gaspode. Eventually a wolf picked him up by the scruff of the neck and carried him bodily, while making muffled comments about the foul taste. The snow stopped after a while and there was a slip of moonlight behind the clouds. And all around, near and far, was the howl. Occasionally the pack would stop, in a clearing or on the crisp white brow of a hill, and join in. Gaspode limped to Angua while the cries went up around them. “What’s this for?” he said. “Politics,” said Angua. “Negotiation. We’re crossing territories. ” Gaspode glanced at Gavin. He hadn’t joined in the howl but sat a little way off, regally dividing his attention between Carrot and the pack. “ He has to ask permission?” he said. “He has to make sure they’ll let me through. ” “Oh. That’s giving him problems?” “None that he can’t bite through. ” “Oh. Er…is the howl saying anything about me ?” “‘Small, horrible, smelly dog. ’” “Ah, right. ” They set off again a few minutes later, down a long snow-crusted slope in the moonlight toward the forest again, and Gaspode saw shadows angling fast across the snowfield toward them. For a moment he was flanked by two packs, the old and the new, and then their original escort dropped away. |
So we’ve got a new honor guard, he thought, as he ran in the center of a wall of blurred gray legs. Wolves we haven’t met before. I just hope the howl added “doesn’t taste nice. ” Then Carrot fell over in the snow. It was a moment before he pushed himself up again. The wolves circled uncertainly, occasionally glancing at Gavin. Gaspode caught up with Carrot, jumping awkwardly through the snow. “You all right?” “Hard…to…run…” “I don’t want to, you know, worry you or anything,” whined Gaspode, “but we’re not exactly among friends here, know what I mean? Our Gavin isn’t going to win the prize of the wolf with the waggiest tail anywhere. ” “When did he last sleep?” Angua demanded, pushing her way through the wolves. “Dunno, really,” said Gaspode. “We’ve been moving pretty fast the last few days…” “No sleep, no food and no proper clothing,” snarled Angua. “Idiot!” There was growling and whining from some of the wolves around Gavin. Gaspode sat down by Carrot’s head and watched as Angua…argued. He couldn’t speak pure wolf and, besides, gesture and body language played a far greater part than it did in canine. But you didn’t have to be bright to see that things weren’t going well. There was def’nitly a lot of Atmosphere in the atmosphere. And Gaspode had a feeling that, if things went all pear-shaped in a hurry, one small dog had all the survival chances of a chocolate kettle on a very hot stove. There was a lot of whining and growling. One wolf—Gaspode mentally named him Awkward—was not happy. It looked as though a number of wolves were agreeing with him. One of them bared its teeth at Angua. Then Gavin stood up. He shook some snowflakes off his coat, looked around in an offhand fashion, and padded toward Awkward. Gaspode felt every hair on his body stand on end. The other wolves crouched back. Gavin ignored them. When he was a few feet away from Awkward, he put his head on one side and said “Hrurrrm?” It was almost a pleasant noise. But right down inside Gaspode’s bones it bounced a harmonic which said: At this point, we could go two ways. There is the easy way, and that is very easy. You’ll never know about the hard way. Awkward held eye contact for a while, and then looked down. Gavin snarled something. Half a dozen of the wolves, led by Angua, loped off toward the forest. They returned twenty minutes later. Angua was human again—at least, Gaspode corrected himself, human shaped —and the wolves were harnessed to a big dog sled. “Borrowed it from a man in the village over the hill,” she said, as it slid to a halt by Carrot. “Nice of him,” said Gaspode, and decided not to pursue the subject. “I’m surprised to see wolves in harness, though. ” “Well, this was the easy way,” said Angua. It’s odd, Gaspode mused, as he lay in the sled alongside the slumbering Carrot. He was so int’rested when Bum talked about the howl and how it could send messages right up into the mountains. If I was a suspicious dog, I’d wonder if he knew that she’d come back for him if he was really in trouble, if he decided to gamble everything on it… He poked his head out from under the blanket. Snow stung his eyes. Running alongside the sled, only a few feet away from Carrot, and glowing silver in the moonlight, was Gavin. This is me, thought Gaspode, stuck between the humans and the wolves. It’s a dog’s life. This is the life, thought Acting Captain Colon. Hardly any paperwork was coming up here now, and by dint of much effort he’d entirely cleared the backlog. It was a lot quieter, too. When Vimes was here—and Fred Colon suddenly found himself thinking the word “Vimes” without prefixing it with the word “Mister”—the main office was full of so much noise and bustle you could hardly hear yourself speak. Completely inefficient, that was. How could anyone hope to get anything done? He counted the sugar again. Twenty-nine. But he’d had two in his tea, so that was all right. Toughness was paying off. Colon went and opened his door a fraction so that he could just see down into the office. It was amazing how you could catch them out that way. Quiet. And neat, too. Every desk was clear. Much better than the mess you used to get. He went back to the desk and counted the sugar lumps. There were twenty-seven. Ah-ha! Someone was trying to drive him mad. Well, two could play at that game. He counted the lumps again. There were twenty-six, and there was a knock at the door. This caused it to swing inward, and Colon to jump up in evil triumph. “Ah-ha! Burst in on me, eh?…oh…” The “oh” was because the knocker was Constable Dorfl, the golem. He was taller than the doorway and strong enough to tear a troll in half; he’d never done this, since he was an intensely moral being, but not even Colon was going to pick an argument with someone who had glowing red holes where his eyes should be. Ordinary golems would not harm a human because they had magic words in their head that ordered them not to. Dorfl had no magic words, but he didn’t harm people because he’d decided that it wasn’t moral. This left the worrying possibility that, given enough provocation, he might think again. Beside the golem was Constable Shoe, saluting smartly. “We’ve come to pick up the wages chitty, sir,” he said. “The what?” “The wages chitty, sir. The monthly chitty, sir. And then we take it to the palace and bring back the wages, sir. ” “I don’t know anything about that!” “I put it on your desk yesterday, sir. Signed by Lord Vetinari, sir. ” Colon couldn’t hide the flicker in his eyes. The black ash in the fireplace was, by now, overflowing. Shoe followed his gaze. “I haven’t seen any such thing,” said Colon, while the color drained from his face like a sucked popsicle. “I’m sure I did, sir,” said Constable Shoe. “I wouldn’t forget a thing like that, sir. In fact, I distinctly remember saying to Constable Visit, ‘Washpot, I’m just going to take this—’” “Look, you can see I’m a busy man!” snapped Colon. “Get one of the sergeants to sort it out!” “There’s no sergeants left except Sergeant Flint, sir, and he spends all his time going around asking people what he should be doing,” said Constable Shoe. “Anyway, sir , it’s the senior officer who must sign the chitty—” Colon stood up, leaning on his knuckles, and shouted, “Oh, I ‘must,’ must I? That’s a nerve and no mistake! ‘Must,’ eh? Most of you lot are lucky anyone even gives you a job! Bunch of zombies and loonies and lawn ornaments and rocks! I’ve had it up to here with you!” Shoe leaned back out of range of the spittle. “Then I am afraid I must take this up with the Guild of Watchmen, sir,” he said. “Guild of Watchmen? Hah! And since when has there been a Guild of Watchmen?” “Dunno. What’s the time now?” said Corporal Nobbs, ambling into the room. “Got to be a couple of hours, at least. Morning, Captain. ” “What are you doing here, Nobby?” “That’s Mister Nobbs to you, Captain. And I’m president of the Guild of Watchmen, since you ask. ” “There’s no such bloody thing!” “All legit, Captain. Registered at the Palace and everything. Amazin’ how people rushed to join, too. ” He pulled his grubby notebook. “Got a few matters to take up with you, if you have a moment. Well, I say a few—” “I’m not putting up with this!” bellowed Colon, his face crimson. “This is high treason! You’re all sacked! You’re all—” “We’re all on strike,” said Nobby, calm in the face. “You can’t go on strike while I’m sacking you!” “Our strike headquarters are in the back room of the Bucket, on Gleam Street,” said Nobby. “Here, that’s my boozer! I forbid you to go on strike in my own pub!” “We shall be there when you wish to talk terms. Come, brothers. We are now officially in a dispute situation. ” They marched out. “Don’t bother to come back!” Colon shouted after them. Bonk wasn’t what Vimes had expected. In fact he’d find it hard to say what he had expected, except that this wasn’t it. It occupied a narrow valley with a white-water river winding through it. There were city walls. |
They were not like those of Ankh-Morpork, which had become at first a barrier to expansion and then a source of masonry for it. These had an inside and an outside. There were castles on the hills. There were castles on most hills in these parts. And there were high gates across the road. Detritus thumped on the side of the coach. Vimes stuck his head out. “Dere’s guys in der road,” said the troll. “Dey got halibuts. ” Vimes looked out of the windows. There were half a dozen guards, and they did indeed have halberds. “What are they after?” he said. “I expect they’ll also want to see our papers and make a search of the coaches,” said Inigo. “Papers are one thing,” said Vimes, getting out of the coach, “but no one is rummaging in our stuff. I know that trick. They’re not looking for anything, they just want to show us who’s boss. You come along and do the translating. ” He added, “Don’t worry, I’ll be diplomatic. ” The two men barring the way did have helmets and they were holding weapons, but their uniforms did not conform to normal uniformity. No guards, Vimes thought, should be dressed in red, blue and yellow. People would be able to see them coming. Vimes liked a uniform you could lurk in. He pulled out his badge and held it up, advancing with an ingratiating smile. “Just repeat this, Mister Skimmer,” Vimes raised his voice. “Hello, fellow officer, as you can see I am Commander V—” A blade swung around. If Vimes hadn’t stopped, he’d have walked into it. Inigo stepped forward, leather case already open, one hand holding several impressive pieces of paper, mouth already framing some suitable sentences. A guard took one of the pieces of paper and stared at it. “This is a studied insult,” said Inigo, contriving to speak out of the corner of his mouth while maintaining a smile. “Someone wishes to see how you react, mmm, mhm. ” “Them?” “No. We are being watched. ” The paper was handed back. There was a terse conversation. “The captain of the guard says there are special circumstances and he will search the coaches,” said Inigo. “No,” said Vimes, taking in the expression on the captain’s white face. “I know when people are playing silly buggers, ’cos I’ve done it myself. ” He pointed to the door of his coach. “See this?” he said. “Tell him this is an Ankh-Morpork crest. And this is an Ankh-Morpork coach, property of Ankh-Morpork. If they lay hands on it, that will constitute an act of war against Ankh-Morpork. Tell him that. ” He saw the man lick his lips nervously as Inigo translated. Poor sod, he thought. He didn’t ask for this. He was probably expecting a quiet day on the gate. But someone gave him some orders. Inigo said, “He says he’s very sorry, but those are his instructions, and he quite understands if His Grace wishes to make a complaint at the highest level, mmm, mhm. ” A guard turned the handle of the coach door. Vimes slammed it shut. “Tell him the war will start right now,” he said. “And then it’ll work its way up. ” “Your Grace!” The guards looked at Detritus. It was quite hard to hold the Piecemaker nonchalantly, and he wasn’t even making the attempt. Vimes maintained eye contact with the captain of the guard. If the man had any sense, he’d realize that if Detritus fired the thing it’d kill them all, besides sending the coach backward at high speed. Please just let him have the sense to know when to fold, he prayed. Out of the corner of his ear, he could hear the guards whispering to one another. He caught the word “Wilinus. ” The captain stepped back and saluted. “He apologizes for any inconvenience and hopes you will enjoy your stay in his beautiful city,” said Inigo. “He particularly hopes you will visit the Chocolate Museum in Prince Vodorny Square, where his sister works. ” Vimes saluted. “Tell him I think he is an officer with a great future,” said Vimes. “A future which, I trust, is going to very soon include opening the damn gates. ” The captain had nodded to the men before Inigo was halfway through the translation. Aha… “And ask him his name,” he said. The man was bright enough not to respond until this had been translated. “Captain Tantony,” Inigo said. “I shall remember it,” said Vimes. “Oh…and tell him he has a fly on his nose. ” Tantony won a prize. His eyes barely flickered. Vimes grinned. As for the town itself…it was just a town. Roofs were steeper than in Ankh-Morpork, some maniac with a fretsaw had been allowed to amuse himself on the wooden architecture, and there was more paint than you saw back home. Not that this told you anything; many a rich man had become rich by, metaphorically, not painting his house. The coaches bowled over the cobbles. Not the right sort of cobbles, of course. Vimes knew that. The coach stopped again. Vimes stuck his head out of the window. Two rather scruffier guards had barred the road this time. “Ah, I recognize this one,” said Vimes grimly. “I reckon that this time we’ve just met Colonesque and Nobbski. ” He stepped out and walked up to them. “Well?” The fatter of the two hesitated, and then held out his hand. “Pisspot,” he said. “Inigo?” said Vimes quietly, without turning his head. “Ah,” said Inigo, after some muttered exchanges. “Now the problem seems to be Sergeant Detritus. No trolls are allowed in this part of town during the hours of daylight, apparently, without a passport signed by their…owner. Uh…in Bonk the only trolls allowed are prisoners of war. They have to carry identification. ” “Detritus is a citizen of Ankh-Morpork and my sergeant,” said Vimes. “However, he is a troll. Perhaps in the interests of diplomacy you could write a short—” “Do I need a pisspot?” “A passport…no, Your Grace. ” “Then he doesn’t, either. ” “Nevertheless, Your Grace—” “There is no nevertheless. ” “But it may be advisable to—” “There’s no advisable, either. ” A few other guards had drifted over. Vimes was aware of watching eyes. “He could be ejected by force,” said Inigo. “Now there’s an experiment I wouldn’t want to miss,” said Vimes. Detritus made a rumbling noise. “I don’t mind goin’ back if—” “Shut up, Sergeant. You’re a free troll. That’s an order. ” Vimes permitted himself another brief scan of the growing, silent crowd. And he saw the fear in the eyes of the men with the halberds. They did not want to be doing this, any more than the captain had. “I’ll tell you what, Inigo,” he said, “tell the…guards that the Ambassador from Ankh-Morpork commends them for their diligence, congratulates them on their dress sense, and will see that their instruction is obeyed forthwith. That should do it, shouldn’t it?” “Certainly, Your Grace. ” “And now turn the coach around, Detritus. Coming, Inigo?” Inigo’s expression changed rapidly. “We passed an inn about ten miles back,” Vimes went on. “Ought to make it by dark, do you think?” “But you can’t go, Your Grace!” Vimes turned, very slowly. “Would you repeat that, Mister Skimmer?” “I mean—” “We are leaving , Mister Skimmer. What you do, of course, is up to you. ” He sat down inside the coach. Opposite him, Sybil made a fist and said “Well done!” “Sorry, dear,” said Vimes, as the coach turned. “It didn’t look like a very good inn. ” “Serves them right, the little bullies,” said Sybil. “You showed them. ” Vimes glanced out and saw, at the edge of the crowd, a black coach with dark windows. He could make out a figure in the gloom within. The luckless guards were looking at it, as if for instructions. It waved a gloved hand languidly. He started counting under his breath. After eleven seconds Inigo trotted alongside the coach and jumped onto the running board. “Your Grace, apparently the guards acted quite without authority and will be punished—” “No they didn’t. I was looking at ’em. They’d been given an order ,” said Vimes. “Nevertheless, diplomatically it would be a good idea to accept the explan—” “So that the poor buggers can be hung up by their thumbs?” said Vimes. “No. Just you go back and tell whoever’s giving the orders that all our people can go anywhere they like in this city, d’you see, whatever shape they are. |
” “I don’t think you can actually demand that , sir—” “Those lads had old Burleigh and Stronginthearm weapons, Mister Skimmer. Made in Ankh-Morpork. So did the men on the gate. Trade, Mister Skimmer. Isn’t that part of what diplomacy is all about? You go back and talk to whoever’s in the black carriage, and then you’d better get them to lend you a horse, because I reckon we’ll have gone a little way by then. ” “You could perhaps wait—” “Wouldn’t dream of it. ” In fact the coach was outside the gates of the town before Skimmer caught it up again. “There will not be a problem with either of your requests,” he panted, and for a moment there appeared to be a touch of admiration in his expression. “Good man. Tell Detritus to turn around again, will you?” “You’re grinning, Sam,” said Sybil, as Vimes sat back. “I was just thinking that I could take to the diplomatic life,” said Vimes. “There is something else,” said Inigo, getting into the coach. “There’s some…historical artifact owned by the dwarfs, and there’s a rumor—” “How long ago was the Scone of Stone stolen?” Inigo’s mouth stayed open. Then he shut his mouth and his eyes narrowed. “How in the world did you know that, Your Grace? Mmm?” “By the pricking of my thumbs,” said Vimes, his face carefully blank. “I’ve got very odd thumbs, when it comes to pricking. ” “Really?” “Oh yes. ” Dogs had a much easier sex life than humans, Gaspode decided. That was something to look forward to, if he ever managed to have one. It wasn’t going to start here, that was definite. The female wolves snapped at him if he came too close, and they weren’t just warnings, either. He was having to be very careful where he trod. The really odd thing about human sex, though, was the way it went on even when people were fully clothed and sitting on opposite sides of a fire. It was in the things they said and did not say, the way they looked at one another and looked away. The packs had changed again, overnight. The mountains were higher, the snow was crisper. Most of the wolves were sitting at some distance from the fire that Carrot had made—just enough distance, in fact, to establish that they were proud wild creatures that didn’t have to rely on this sort of thing but close enough to get the benefit. And then there was Gavin, sitting a little way off, turning to look from one to the other. “Gavin’s people hate my family,” Angua was saying. “I told you, it’s always wolves who suffer when werewolves get too powerful. Werewolves are smarter at escaping hunters. That’s why wolves much prefer vampires. Vampires leave them alone. Werewolves sometimes hunt wolves. ” “I’m surprised,” said Carrot. Angua shrugged. “Why? They hunt humans, don’t they? We’re not nice people, Carrot. We’re all pretty dreadful. But my brother Wolfgang is something special. Father’s frightened of him and so’s Mother if she’d only admit it, but she thinks he’ll make the clan powerful, so she indulges him. He drove my other brother away and he killed my sister. ” “How—?” “He said it was an accident. Poor little Elsa. She was a yennork, just like Andrei. That’s a werewolf that doesn’t Change, you know? I’m sure I’ve mentioned it. Our family throws them up from time to time. Wolfgang and I were the only classic bi-morphs in the litter. Elsa looked human all the time, even at full moon. Andrei was always a wolf. ” “You mean you had a human sister and a wolf brother?” “ No , Carrot. They were both werewolves. But the, well, the little…switch…inside them didn’t work. Do you understand? They always stayed the same shape. In the old days, the clan would kill off a yennork quickly, and Wolfgang is a traditionalist when it comes to nastiness. He says they made the blood impure. You see, a yennork would go off and be a human or be a wolf but they’d still be carrying the werewolf…blood, and then they’d marry and have children…or pups…and, well, that’s where the fairytale monsters come from. People with a bit of wolf and wolves with that extra capacity for violence that is so very human. ” She sighed, and glanced momentarily at Gavin. “But Elsa was harmless. After that, Andrei didn’t wait for it to happen to him. He’s a sheepdog over in Borogravia now. Doing well, I hear. Wins championships,” she added sourly. She poked the fire aimlessly. “Wolfgang’s got to be stopped. He’s plotting something with some of the dwarfs. They meet in the forest, Gavin says. ” “He sounds very well informed for a wolf,” said Carrot. Angua almost snarled at him. “He’s not stupid, you know. He can understand more than eight hundred words. A lot of humans get by on less! And he’s got a sense of smell that’s almost as good as mine! The wolves see everything. The werewolves are out all the time now. They’re chasing people down…the Game, we call it. The wolves get the blame. It looks like they’re breaking the Arrangement. And there’s been these meetings, right out in the forest where they think no one will see them. Some dwarfs have got some sort of nasty scheme, by the sound of it. They asked Wolfgang for help! That’s like asking a vulture to pick your teeth. ” “What can you do?” said Carrot. “If even your parents can’t control him—” “We used to fight when we were younger. ‘Rough and tumble,’ he’d call it. But I could send him off howling. Wolfgang hates to think there’s anyone who can beat him, so I don’t think he’ll relish the thought of me turning up. He’s got plans. This part of Uberwald has always, well, worked because no one was too powerful, but if the dwarfs start squabbling among themselves then Wolfgang’s the lad to take advantage, with his stupid uniforms and his stupid flag. ” “I don’t think I want to see you fighting, though. ” “Then you can look the other way! I didn’t ask you to follow me! Do you think I’m proud of this? I’ve got a brother who’s a sheepdog!” “A champion sheepdog,” said Carrot earnestly. Gaspode watched Angua’s expression. It was one you’d never get on a dog. “You mean that,” she said at last. “You actually mean that, don’t you…you really do. And if you’d met him it wouldn’t worry you, would it? To you everyone’s a person. I have to sleep in a dog basket seven nights a month and that doesn’t worry you either, does it?” “No. You know it doesn’t. ” “It should! Don’t ask me why, but it should! You’re so…unthinkingly nice about it! And sooner or later a girl can have too much nice!” “I don’t try to be nice…” “I know. I know. I just wish you’d…oh, I don’t know… complain a bit. Well, not exactly complain. Just sigh, or something. ” “Why?” “Because…oh, because it’d make me feel better! Oh, it’s too hard to explain. It’s probably a werewolf thing. ” “I’m sorry—” “And don’t be sorry all the time, either!” Gaspode curled up so close to the fire that he steamed. Dogs had it down a lot better, he decided. The building that was to be the embassy was set back from the road on a quiet side street. They rattled under an arch into a small rear courtyard containing some stables. It reminded Vimes of a large coaching inn. “It’s really only a consulate at the moment,” said Inigo, leafing through his papers. “We should be met by…ah, yes, Wando Sleeps. Been here for several years, mhm. ” Behind the coaches a pair of gates were swung shut. There was the sound of heavy bolts shooting home. Vimes stared at the apparition that came limping back toward the coach door. “He looks it,” he said. “Oh, I don’t think this is—” “Good evening, marthterth, mithtreth…” said the figure. “Welcome to Ankh-Morpork. I’m Igor. ” “Igor who?” said Inigo. “Jutht Igor, thir. Alwayth …jutht Igor,” said Igor calmly, unfolding the step. “I’m the odd-job man. ” “You don’t say?” said Vimes, mesmerized. “Have you had a terrible accident?” said Lady Sybil. “I did thpill tea down my thirt thith morning,” said Igor. “Kind of you to notice. ” “Where’s Mister Sleeps?” said Inigo. “I’m afraid Marthter Thleeps ith nowhere to be found. I wath rather hoping you would know what’d happened to him. ” “Us?” said Inigo. “Mhm, mmm! We assumed he was here!” “He left rather urgently two weeks ago,” said Igor. |
“He did not vouchthafe to me where he wath going. Do go inthide, and I will thee to the baggage. ” Vimes glanced up. A little bit of snow was falling now, but there was enough light to see that, across the whole courtyard, was an iron mesh. With the bolted doors and the walls of the building all around, they were in a cage. “Jutht a little leftover from the old dayth,” said Igor cheerfully. “Nothing to worry about, thir. ” “What a fine figure of a man,” said Sybil weakly, as they stepped inside. “More than one man, by the look of him. ” “Sam!” “Sorry. I’m sure his heart’s in the right place. ” “Good. ” “Or someone’s heart, anyway. ” “Sam, really!” “All right, all right, but you must admit he does look a bit…odd. ” “None of us can help the way we’re made, Sam. ” “He looks as if he tried—good grief…” “Oh dear,” said Lady Sybil. Vimes was not against hunting, if only because Ankh-Morpork seldom offered any better game than the large rats you got along the waterfront. But the sight of the walls of the new embassy might have been enough to make the keenest hunter take a step back and cry “Oh, I say, hold on…” The previous occupant had been keen on hunting, shooting and fishing and, to have covered every single wall with the resultant trophies, he must have been doing all three at the same time. Hundreds of glass eyes, obscenely alive in the light of the fire in the huge hearth, stared down at Vimes. “It’s just like my grandfather’s study,” said Lady Sybil. “There was a stag’s head in there that used to frighten the life out of me. ” “There’s just about everything here…oh no…” “My gods…” whispered Lady Sybil. Vimes looked around desperately. Detritus was just entering, carrying some of the trunks. “Stand in front of it,” Vimes hissed. “I’m not that tall, Sam! Or that wide!” The troll looked up at them, then at the trophies, and then grinned. It’s colder up here, Vimes thought. He’s quicker on the uptake. * Even Nobby won’t play poker with him in the winter. Damn! “Something wrong?” said Detritus. Vimes sighed. What was the point? He’d spot it sooner or later. “I’m sorry about this, Detritus,” he said, standing aside. Detritus looked at the horrible trophy and nodded. “Yeah, dere used to be a lot of dat sort of fing in der old days,” he said calmly, putting down the luggage. “Dey wouldn’t be de real diamond teef, o’course. Dey’d take dem out and put bigger glass ones in. ” “You don’t mind ?” said Lady Sybil. “It’s a troll’s head! Someone actually mounted a troll’s head and put it on the wall!” “Ain’t mine,” said Detritus. “But it’s so horrible !” Detritus stood in thought for a moment, and then opened the stained wooden box that contained all he had felt it necessary to bring. “Dis is de old country, after all,” he said. “So if it’d made you feel better…” He pulled out a smaller box and rummaged among what appeared to be bits of rock and cloth until he found something yellowy-brown and round, like a shallow cup. “Should’ve bunged it away,” he said, “but it’s all I got to remember my old granny by. She kept fings in it. ” “It’s a bit of human skull, isn’t it,” said Vimes, at last. “Yep. ” “Whose?” “Anyone ask dat troll dere his name?” said Detritus, and the glint in his eye had a brittle edge to it for a moment. Then he carefully put the bowl away. “Tings were diff’rent in dem days. Now you don’t chop our heads off an’ we don’t make drums outa your skin. Everyt’ing is hunky-dory. Dat’s all we have to know. ” He picked up the boxes again and followed Lady Sybil toward the staircase. Vimes took another look at the trophy head. The teeth were longer, far longer than they’d be on a real troll. A hunter’d have to be very brave and very lucky to go up against a fighting troll and survive. It’d be so much easier to go after an old one and later replace the ground-down stumps with sparkly fangs. My gods, the things we do… “Igor?” he said, as the odd-job man lurched past under the weight of two more bags. “Yeth, Your Exthelenthy?” “I’m an Excellency?” said Vimes to Inigo. “Yes, Your Grace. ” “And still My Grace as well?” “Yes, Your Grace. You are His Grace His Excellency the Duke of Ankh-Morpork, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes, Your Grace. ” “Hang on, hang on…His Grace cancels out the Sir, I know that. It’s like having an ace in poker. ” “Strictly speaking this is true, Your Grace, but great score is set by titles here and it is best to play with a full deck, mmm. ” “I was once blackboard monitor at school,” said Vimes sharply. “For a whole term. Would that help? Dame Venting said no one could clean a blackboard like me. ” “A useful fact, Your Grace, which may possibly be helpful in the event of a tie-breaker, mmm, mhm,” said Inigo, his face carefully blank. “We Igorth have alwayth preferred ‘marthter,’” said Igor. “What wath it you were requiring?” Vimes gestured toward the heads that covered every wall. “I want them taken down as soon as possible. I can do this, can’t I, Mister Skimmer?” “You are the ambassador, sir. Mmm, mmm. ” “Well, they’re coming down. All of them. ” Igor gave the camphor-smelling multitude a worried look. “Even the thwordfith?” “Even the swordfish,” said Vimes firmly. “And the thnow leopardth?” “Both of them, yes. ” “What about the troll?” “ Especially the troll. See to it. ” Igor could have been said to have looked as if his world had fallen down around his ears were it not for the fact that he already looked as if this had happened. “What do you want to do with them, mathter?” “That’s up to you. Throw them in the river, maybe. Ask Detritus about the troll…maybe it should be buried, or something. Is there any supper?” “There’th walago, * noggi, † sclot, ‡ swinefletht and thauthageth,” said Igor, still clearly upset about the trophies. “I’ll thop tomorrow, if Her Ladythip giveth me inshtructionth. ” “Is swineflesh the same as pork?” said Vimes. People in drought-stricken areas would have paid good money to have Igor pronounce “sausages. ” “Yes,” said Inigo. “And what’s in the sausages?” “Er…meat?” said Igor, looking as though he was ready to run. “Good. We’ll give them a try. ” Vimes went upstairs and followed the sound of conversation until he reached a bedroom, where Sybil was laying clothes on a bed the size of a small country. Cheery was assisting her. The walls were carved panels of wood. The bed was carved panels of wood. The Mad Fretworker of Bonk had been hard at work here, too. Only the floors weren’t wood; they were stone, and radiated cold. “It’s a bit like the inside of a cuckoo clock, isn’t it,” said Sybil. “Cheery has volunteered to be my lady’s maid for now. ” Cheery saluted. “Why not?” said Vimes. After a day like this, a lady’s maid with a long flowing beard now seemed perfectly normal. “The floors are a bit chilly, though. Tomorrow I shall measure up for some carpets,” said Sybil firmly. “I know we won’t be here long, but we ought to leave something for the next people. ” “Yes, dear. That would be a good idea. ” “There’s a bathroom through there,” said Sybil, nodding. “There’s hot springs near here, apparently. They pipe them in. You’ll feel better for a hot bath. ” Ten minutes later Vimes was happy to agree. The water was a funny color and smelled a little of what he would politely call bad eggs, but it was good and hot and he could feel it drawing the tension out of his muscles. A distressing scent of secondhand baked beans sloshed around him as he lay back. At the other end of the huge bath, the lump of pumice stone that he’d been using to rasp the dead skin off his feet banged against the side. Vimes watched it, unseeing, while he filed the thoughts of the day. Things were starting to smell, just like the bathwater. The Scone of Stone had been stolen, had it? Now there was a coincidence. It had been a complete shot in the dark. But lately he was on the lucky side when it came to nocturnal targets. Someone had pinched the replica Scone, and now the real one had gone missing, and someone in Ankh-Morpork who was good at making rubber molds had been found dead. |
You didn’t need the brains of Detritus in a snowdrift to suspect a connection. A recollection nagged at him. Someone had said something and he’d thought it odd at the time but then something else had happened and it had gone out of his mind. Something about…a welcome to Bonk. Only… Well, he was here. No doubt about that. Absolute confirmation of the fact was brought forth half an hour later, at supper. Vimes cut into a sausage, and stared. “What is in these? All this…pink stuff?” he demanded. “Er…that’s the meat, Your Grace,” said Inigo, on the other side of the table. “Well, where’s the texture? Where’s the white bits and the yellow bits and those green bits you always hope are herbs?” “To a connoisseur here, Your Grace, an Ankh-Morpork sausage would not be considered a sausage, mph, mhm. ” “Oh really? So what would he call it?” “A loaf, Your Grace. Or possibly a log. Here, a butcher can be hanged if his sausages are not all meat, and at that it must be from a named domesticated animal, and I perhaps should add that by name I mean that it should not have been called ‘Spot’ or ‘Ginger,’ mmm, mmm. I’m sure that if Your Grace would prefer the more genuine Ankh-Morpork taste, Igor could make up some side dishes of stale bread and sawdust. ” “Thank you for that patriotic comment,” said Vimes. “However, these are…okay, I suppose. They just came as a bit of a shock, that’s all. No!” He put his hand over his mug to prevent Igor from filling it with beer. “Ith there thomething wrong, marthter?” “Just water, please,” said Vimes. “No beer. ” “The marthster doth not drink…beer?” “No. And perhaps in a mug without a face on it?” He took another look at the stein. “Why’s it got a lid, by the way? Are you afraid of the rain getting in?” “I’ve never been quite certain of that one,” said Inigo, as Igor shuffled off. “From observation, though, I believe the purpose of the stein is to stop the beer being spilled while using the mug to conduct the singing, mmm, mmm. ” “Ah, the old quaffing problem,” said Vimes. “What a clever idea. ” Sybil patted him on the knee. “You’re not in Ankh-Morpork anymore, dear,” she said. “Now we’re alone, Your Grace,” said Inigo, leaning closer, “I’m very worried about Mister Sleeps. The acting consul, you remember? He seems to have vanished, mmm, mmm. Some of his personal items have gone, too. ” “Holiday?” “Not at a time like this, sir! And—” There was a thud of wood against wood as Igor reentered, pointedly carrying a stepladder. Inigo sat back. Vimes found that he was yawning. “We’d better talk about that in the morning,” he said, as the ladder was dragged toward the horrible hunting trophies. “It’s been a long day, what with one thing and another. ” “Of course, Your Grace. ” The bed’s mattress was so soft that Vimes sank into it nervously, afraid it might close over the top of his head. That was just as well, because the pillow was…well, everyone knew a pillow was a sack full of feathers, didn’t they? Not an apprentice eiderdown like this thing. “Just fold it up, Sam,” said Sybil, from the depths of the mattress. “G’night. ” “G’night. ” “Sam…?” There was a snore from Sam Vimes. Sybil sighed, and turned over. Vimes awoke a few times, when there were two thuds from downstairs. “Snow leopards,” he muttered, and drifted away again. There was a louder crash. “Moose,” murmured Lady Sybil. “Elk?” mumbled Vimes. “Def’nitly moose. ” Some time later there was a muffled scream, a thud, and a sound very much like the sound made when a huge wooden ruler is held against a desk and twanged. “Swordfish,” said Sam and Sybil together, and went back to sleep. “You should present your credentials to the rulers of Bonk,” said Inigo in the morning. Vimes was looking out of the window. Two guards in the rainbow-colored uniforms were standing stiffly to attention outside the embassy. “What’re they doing here?” he said. “Guarding,” said Inigo. “Guarding who from what?” “Just generally guarding, mmm. I suppose it’s thought that guards give such a finished look to an important building. ” “What was that you said about credentials?” “They’re just formal letters from Lord Vetinari, confirming your appointment. Mph, mmm…the lore is a little complex, but at the moment the order of precedence is the future Low King, the Lady Margolotta and the Baron von Uberwald. Each, of course, will pretend that you are not calling on the other two. It’s called the Arrangement. It’s an awkward system but it keeps the peace. ” “If I understood your briefing,” said Vimes, still watching the guards, “in the days of Imperial Uberwald the whole bloody show was run by the werewolves and the vampires and everyone else was lunch. ” “Somewhat simplistic but broadly true, mmm,” said Inigo, brushing some dust off Vimes’s shoulder. “And then it all broke up and the dwarfs became powerful because there’s dwarfs from one end of Uberwald to the other and they all keep in touch…” “Their system certainly survives political upheaval, yes. ” “And then…what was it? A diet of beetles?” “The Diet of Bugs, mmm. Diet being an Uberwaldean word for meeting, and Bugs being an important town further up river, famous for its pastries made from flax. Everyone came to an…arrangement. No one would wage war on any of the others, and everyone could live in peace. No garlic to be grown, no silver to be mined. And the werewolves and vampires promised that those things wouldn’t be needed. Mmm, mmm. ” “Seems a bit trusting,” said Vimes. “It appears to have worked, mhm. ” “What did the humans think about it all?” “Well, humans have always been a bit of background noise in the history of Uberwald, Your Grace. ” “It must be a bit dull for the undead, though. ” “Oh, the bright ones know the old days can’t come back. ” “Ah, well…that’s always the trick, isn’t it? Finding the bright ones?” Vimes put on his helmet. “And what’re the dwarfs like?” “The future Low King is considered pretty clever, Your Grace. Mhm. ” “How does he stand on Ankh-Morpork?” “He can take Ankh-Morpork or leave it alone, Your Grace. On balance, I believe he doesn’t much like us. ” “I thought it was Albrecht that didn’t like us?” “No, Your Grace. Albrecht is the one who would be happy to see Ankh-Morpork burned to the ground. Rhys merely wishes we didn’t exist. ” “I thought he was one of the good guys!” “Your Grace, I did hear you express some negative sentiments about Ankh-Morpork on the way here, mhm, mhm. ” “Yes, but I live there! I’m allowed to! That’s patriotic !” “Across the whole of the world, Your Grace, there inexplicably appear to be definitions of, mmm, mhm, ‘good guy’ which do not automatically mean ‘likes Ankh-Morpork. ’ You will find out, I daresay. The other two are a lot easier to deal with. It may have been the Lady Margolotta who tried the little trick with the guards last night. She was the one who got me to bring you back, anyway. She has invited you for drinks. ” “Oh. ” “She’s a vampire, mmm, mmm. ” “What?” Inigo sighed. “Your Grace, I thought you understood. Vampires are simply part of Uberwald. This is where they belong. I’m afraid this is something you will have to come to terms with. I understand that now they…obtain blood by arrangement. Some people are…impressed by a title, Your Grace. ” “Good grief…” “Quite so. In any case, you will be safe. Remember your diplomatic immunity, mmm, mhm. ” “I didn’t quite see that working in the Wilinus Pass the other day. ” “Oh, they were common bandits. ” “Really? Has your man Sleeps turned up? Haven’t you taken this to the Watch here?” “There’s no Watch here, as you understand the term. You saw them. They’re…gate guards, enforcers for the city rulers, mhm, mmm, not officers of the law. But…inquiries are being made. ” “Does Sybil come with me for this bit?” said Vimes, and thought: We were guards like that, not so long ago… “It is usually done by the new ambassador and his guards. |
” “Well, Detritus is staying here to keep an eye on her, all right? She said this morning she really thinks this place would be better for some decent carpet, and there’s no stopping her when she’s in a tape-measure mood. I’ll take Cheery and one of the lads from outside, for the look of the thing. I assume you’re coming?” “I won’t be required, sir. Mmm. The new coachman knows the way, Morporkian is the diplomatic language, after all, and…I shall be making inquiries. ” “Delicate ones?” “Indeed, Your Grace. ” “If he’s been killed, won’t that be an act of war?” “Yes and no, Your Grace. ” “What? Sleeps was— is our man!” Inigo looked awkward. “It would depend on…exactly where he was and what he was doing…” Vimes gave him a blank look, and then the penny dropped and operated his brain. “Spying?” “Acquiring information. Everyone does it, mm, mmm. ” “Yes, but if you find a diplomat going too far you just sent him home with a sharp note, don’t you?” “Around the Circle Sea, Your Grace, that is the case. Here…they may have a different approach…” “Something rather sharper than a note?” “Exactly. Mmm. ” Captain Tantony was one of the guards. There was some minor difficulty, but the argument that, since he was guarding Vimes, he might as well be where Vimes was , eventually carried some weight. Tantony had the look of an agonizingly logical man. He kept giving Vimes curious looks as the coach rattled out of the town. Beside him, Cheery sat with her legs dangling. Vimes noticed, although it was not the kind of thing he generally made a habit of noticing, that the shape of her breastplate had been subtly altered, probably by the same armorer that Angua went to, to indicate that the chest underneath it was not quite the same shape of chest that you got under the armor of, say, Corporal Nobbs, although of course probably no one had a chest the same shape as that of Corporal Nobbs. She was wearing her high-heeled iron boots, too. “Look, you don’t have to come,” he said out loud. “Yes, I do. ” “I mean I could go and get Detritus instead. Although I suppose there’d be even more upshot if I took a troll into a dwarf mine…I mean, rather than a…a…” “…girl,” said Cheery helpfully. “Er…yes. ” Vimes felt the coach slow to a halt, even though they hadn’t left the town yet, and he looked out. In front of them, across a small square, was a fort of sorts, but with much larger gates than you’d expect for its size. As Vimes stared at them, they were swung open from within. Inside, there was a slope. All the fort consisted of was four walls around a large, sloping tunnel. “The dwarfs live underneath the town?” he said, as the light from outside was gradually replaced by the infrequent glow of torches. But they clearly showed the coach was rattling past a long, long line of stationary carts. The pools of light revealed horses, and drivers talking in groups. “Under quite a lot of Uberwald,” said Cheery. “This is just the nearest entrance, sir. We’ll probably have to stop in a minute, because the horses don’t like—ah. ” The coach stopped again, and the coachman banged on the side to indicate that this was the end of the line. The queue of carts wound off down another tunnel, but the coach had stopped in a small cave with a big door. A couple of dwarfs were waiting there. They had axes slung across their backs, although by dwarf standards this counted merely as “politely dressed” rather than “heavily armed. ” Their attitude, however, was in the international language of people guarding gates everywhere. “Commander Sam Vimes, Ankh-Morpork Ci—ambassador from Ankh-Morpork,” said Vimes, handing one of them his papers. At least it was not hard to assume a lofty air with dwarfs. To his surprise, the document was read thoroughly, one dwarf looking over the other one’s shoulder and pointing out interesting subclauses. The official seal was carefully examined. One guard pointed to Cheery. “Kra’k?” “My official guard,” said Vimes. “Included in ‘associated members of staff’ on page two,” he added helpfully. “Mhust searhch thy coash,” said the guard. “No. Diplomatic immunity,” said Vimes. “Tell ’em, Cheery. ” They listened to Cheery’s urgent Dwarfish. Then the other guard, whose face had indicated that there was something on his mind and it was jumping up and down, nudged his companion and pulled him aside. There was a torrent of whispers. Vimes couldn’t understand, but he caught the word “Wilinus. ” And, shortly afterward, the word “hr’grag,” Dwarfish for “thirty. ” “Oh gods,” he said. “And a dog?” “Good guess, sir,” said Cheery. The document was handed back, hurriedly. Vimes could read the body language, even written smaller than usual—there was probably an expensive problem here, so the guards were inclined to leave it to someone who earned more money than they did. One of them pulled a bellpull by the door. After some time, the door slid open, revealing a small room. “We have to go in, sir,” said Cheery. “But there’s no other doors!” “It’s all right, sir. ” Vimes stepped inside. The dwarfs slid the door back, leaving them in the room lit only by one candle. “Some kind of waiting room?” said Vimes. Somewhere far off, something went clonk. The floor trembled for a moment, and then Vimes has an uneasy sensation of movement. “The room moves ?” he said. “Yes, sir. Several hundred feet down, probably. I think it’s all done by counterweights. ” They stood silently, unsure of what to say, as walls around them creaked and groaned. Then there was a rattle, a passing sensation of weight, and the room stopped moving. “Wherever we’re headed, keep your ears open,” said Vimes. “Something’s going on, I can feel it…” The door slid back. Vimes looked out onto the night sky, underground. The stars were all around him…below him… “I think we went down…too far,” he said. And then his brain made sense of what his eyes had seen. The moving room had brought them out somewhere on the side of a huge cave. He was looking at a thousand points of candlelight, spread out on the cavern floor and in other galleries. Now that he could grasp the scale of things, he realized that many of them were moving. The air was full of one huge sound made up of thousands of voices, echoed and re-echoing. Occasionally a shout or a laugh would stand out, but mostly it was just an endless sea of sound, beating on the shores of the eardrum. “I thought you people lived in little mines,” said Vimes. “Well, I thought humans lived in little cottages, sir,” said Cheery, taking a candle from a large rack beside the door and lighting it. “And then I saw Ankh-Morpork. ” There was something recognizable about the way the lights were moving. A whole constellation of them was heading in toward one invisible wall, where reflected light now indicated, very faintly, the mouth of a large tunnel. In front of it was a row of lights. Think of it as a lot of people heading for something which one row of people was…guarding. “People down there aren’t happy,” said Vimes. “That looks like a mob to me. Look, you can tell by the way they move…” “Commander Vimes?” He turned. In the gloom he could make out several dwarfs, each with a candle fixed to his helmet. In front of them was, presumably, another dwarf. He’d seen clothes like this in Ankh-Morpork, but always scurrying away. This was…a deep-down dwarf. It was wearing some sort of robe made of overlapping leather plates. Instead of the small round iron helmet which Vimes had always thought dwarfs were born with, it had a pointed leather hat with more leather flaps all around it. The one at the front had been tied up, to allow the wearer to look out at the world, or at least that part of it that was underground. The general effect was of a mobile cone. “Er…yes, that’s me,” said Vimes. “Welcome to Shmaltzberg, Your Excellency. I am the king’s jar’ahk’haga , which in your language you would call—” But Vimes’s lips had been moving fast as he tried to translate. “Ideas…taster?” he said. “Hah! That would be a way of putting it, yes. My name…is Dee. Would you care to follow me? This should not take long. |
” The figure swept away. One of the other dwarfs prodded Vimes very gently, indicating that he should follow. The sound from far below redoubled. Someone was yelling. “Is there some problem?” said Vimes, catching up with the fast-moving Dee. “We have no problems. ” Ah, he’s already lied to me, thought Vimes. We’re being diplomatic. Vimes trailed after the dwarf through more caves. Or tunnels…it was hard to tell, because in the darkness Vimes could only rely on a sense of the space around him. Occasionally they passed the lighted entrance to another cave or tunnel. Several guards, with candles on their helmets, stood at each one. The well-honed copper’s radar was beeping at him continuously. Something bad was going on. He could smell the tension, the sense of quiet panic. The air was thick with it. Occasionally other dwarfs scuttled past, distracted, on some mission. Something very bad. People didn’t know what to do next, so they were trying to do everything. And, in the middle of this, important officials had to stop what they were doing because some idiot from some distant city had to hand over a piece of paper. Eventually a door opened in the darkness. It led into a large, roughly oblong cave that, with its book-lined walls and paper strewn tables, had the look of an office about it. “Do be seated, Commander. ” A match burst into life. One candle was lit, all lost and alone in the dark. “We try to make guests feel welcome,” said Dee, scuttling behind his desk. He pulled off his pointed hat and, to Vimes’s amazement, put on a pair of thick smoked glasses. “You had papers?” he said. Vimes handed them over. “It says here ‘His Grace,’” the dwarf said, after reading them for a while. “Yes, that’s me. ” “And there’s a sir. ” “That’s me, too. ” “And an Excellency. ” “’Fraid so. ” Vimes narrowed his eyes. “I was blackboard monitor for a while, too. ” There was the sound of angry voices from behind a door at the far end of the room. “What does a blackboard monitor do?” said Dee, raising his voice. “What? Er…I had to clean the blackboard after lessons. ” The dwarf nodded. The voices grew louder, more intense. Dwarfish was such a good language to be annoyed in. “Erasing the teachings when they were learned!” said Dee, shouting to be heard. “Er…yes!” “A task only given to the trustworthy!” “Could be, yes!” Dee folded up the letter and handed it back, glancing briefly at Cheery. “Well, these seem to be in order,” he said. “Would you care for a drink before you go?” “Sorry? I thought I had to present myself to your king. ” The swearing from the other side of the door was threatening to burn through the woodwork. “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said Dee. “At the moment he should not be bothered with—” “—trivial matters?” said Vimes. “I thought it was how the thing ought to be done. I thought dwarfs always did the thing that ought to be done. ” “At the moment it…would not be advisable,” said Dee, talking very loudly again in an effort to drown out the noise. “I’m sure you understand. ” “Let’s assume I’m very stupid,” said Vimes. “I assure you, Your Excellency, that what I see the king sees, and what I hear the king hears. ” “That’s certainly true at the moment, isn’t it?” Dee drummed his fingers on his desk. “Your Excellency, I have spent only long enough in your…city to gain a general insight into your ways, but I might feel you are making fun of me. ” “May I speak freely?” “From what I have heard of you, Your Monitorship, you usually do. ” “Have you found the Scone of Stone yet?” The expression on Dee’s face told Vimes that he had scored. And that, almost certainly, the next thing the dwarf said would be another lie. “What a strange and untruthful thing to say! There is no possibility that the Scone could have been stolen! This has been firmly declared! This is not a lie we wish to hear repeated!” “You told me I—” Vimes tried. By the sound of it, there was a fight going on behind the door now. “The Scone will be seen by all at the coronation! This is not a matter for Ankh-Morpork or anyone else! I protest this intrusion into our private affairs!” “I merely—” “Nor do we have to show the Scone to any prying troublemaker! It is a sacred trust and well-guarded!” Vimes kept quiet. Dee was better than Done It Duncan. “Every person leaving the Scone Cave is carefully watched! The Scone cannot be removed! It is perfectly safe!” Dee was shouting now. “Ah, I understand,” said Vimes quietly. “Good!” “So…you haven’t found it yet, then. ” Dee opened his mouth, shut it again, and then slumped back in his seat. “I think, Your Grace, that you had better—” The door at the other end of the room rolled back. Another dwarf, cone-shaped in his robes, stamped out, stopped, glared around him, went back to the doorway again to shout some afterthoughts to whomever was beyond, and then made to head out of the room. He was brought up short when he almost walked into Vimes. The dwarf tilted its head to look up at him. There was no real face there, just the suggestion of the glint of angry eyes between the leather flaps. “Arnak-Morporak?” “Yes. ” Vimes didn’t understand the words that followed, but the nasty tone was unmistakable. The important thing was to keep smiling. That was the diplomatic way. “Why, thank you,” he said. “And may I say it—” There was a grunt from the dwarf. He’d seen Cheery. “Ha’ak!” he shouted. Vimes heard a gasp. There were other dwarfs clustered around the doorway. Then he glanced down at Cheery. Her eyes were shut. She was trembling. “Who is this dwarf?” he said to Dee. “This is Albrecht Albrechtson,” said the Ideas-taster. “The runner-up?” “Yes,” said Dee hoarsely. “Then can you tell the creature that if he uses that word again in the presence of myself or any of my staff there will be, as we diplomats say, repercussions. Wrap that up in diplomacy and give it to him, will you?” The corners of Vimes’s ears picked up a suggestion that not every dwarf listening was ignorant of the language. A couple of dwarfs were already heading purposefully toward them. Dee babbled a stream of hysterical Dwarfish just as the other dwarfs caught up with the gaping Albrecht and led him quietly but firmly away, but not before one of them had whispered something to the Ideas-taster. “The…er…the king wishes to see you,” he mumbled. Vimes looked toward the doorway. More dwarfs were hurrying through it now. Some of them were dressed in what Vimes thought of as “normal” dwarf clothing, others in the heavy black leathers of the deep-down clans. All of them glared at him as they went past. Then there was just empty floor, all the way to the door. “Do you come too?” he said. “Not unless he asks for me,” said Dee. “I wish you luck, Your Monitorship. ” Beyond the door…was a room of bookshelves, stretching up, stretching away. Here and there a candle merely changed the density of the darkness. There were lots of them, though, punctuating the distance. Vimes wondered how big this room must be— “In here is a record of every marriage, every birth, every death, every movement of a dwarf from one mine to another, the succession of the king of each mine, every dwarf’s progress through k’zakra , mining claims, the history of famous axes…and other matters of note,” said a voice behind him. “And perhaps most importantly, every decision made under dwarf law for fifteen hundred years is written down in this room, look you. ” Vimes turned. A dwarf, short even by dwarf standards, was standing behind him. He seemed to be expecting a reply. “Er…every decision?” “Oh yes. ” “Er…were they all good?” said Vimes. “The important thing is that they were all made,” said the king. “Thank you, young…dwarf, you may straighten up. ” Cheery was bowing. “Sorry, should I be doing that?” said Vimes. “You’re…not the king, are you?” “Not yet. ” “I…I’m…I’m sorry, I was expecting someone more…er…” “Do go on. ” “…someone more…kingly. ” The Low King sighed. “I meant…I mean, you look just like an ordinary dwarf,” said Vimes weakly. This time the king smiled. |
He was slightly shorter than average for dwarfs, and dressed in the usual almost-uniform of leather and home-forged chain mail. He looked old, but dwarfs started looking old around the age of five years and were still looking old three hundred years later, and he had that musical cadence to his speech that Vimes associated with Llamedos. If he’d asked Vimes to pass the ketchup in Gimlet’s Whole Food Delicatessen, Vimes wouldn’t have given him a second look. “This diplomacy business,” said the king, “are you getting the hang of it, do you think?” “It doesn’t come easy, I must admit…er, Your Majesty. ” “I believe you have been, up until now, a watchman in Ankh-Morpork?” “Er, yes. ” “And you had a famous ancestor, I believe, who was a regicide? Took an ax, he did, and cut the head off?” Here it comes, thought Vimes. “Yes, Stoneface Vimes,” he said, as levelly as possible. “I’ve always thought that word was a bit unfair, though. It was only one king. It wasn’t as if it was a hobby. ” “You don’t like kings,” said the dwarf. “I don’t meet many, sir. Not in Ankh-Morpork,” said Vimes, hoping that this would pass for a diplomatic answer. It seemed to satisfy the king. “I went to Ankh-Morpork once, when I was a young dwarf,” he said, walking toward a long table piled high with scrolls. “Er…really?” “Lawn ornament, they called me. And…what was it…ah, yes…shortass. Some children threw stones at me. ” “I’m sorry. ” “I expect you will tell me that sort of thing doesn’t happen anymore?” “It doesn’t happen as much. But you always get idiots who don’t move with the times. ” The king gave Vimes a piercing glance. “Indeed. The times…But now they are always Ankh-Morpork’s times, see?” “I’m sorry?” “When people say ‘we must move with the times’ they really mean ‘you must do it my way. ’ That is what I’m tellin’ you. And there are some who would say that Ankh-Morpork is…a kind of vampire. It bites, and what it bites it turns into copies of itself. It sucks, too. It seems all our best go to Ankh-Morpork, where they live in squalor. You leave us dry. ” Vimes was at a loss. It was clear that the little figure now sitting at the long table was a lot brighter than he was, although right now he felt as dim as a penny candle in any case. It was also clear that the king hadn’t slept for quite some time. He decided to go for honesty. “Can’t really answer that, sir,” he said, adopting a variant on his talking-to-Vetinari approach. “But…” “Yes?” “I’d wonder…you know, if I were a king…I’d wonder why people were happier living in squalor in Ankh-Morpork than staying back home…sir. ” “Ah. You’re telling me how I should think, now?” “No, sir. Just how I think. But…there’s dwarf bars all over Ankh-Morpork, and they’ve got mining tools wired to the wall, and there’s dwarfs in ’em every night quaffing beer and singing sad songs about how they wish they were back in the mountains digging for gold. But if you said to them, fine, the gate’s open, off you go and send us a postcard, they’d say ‘Oh, well, yeah, I’d love to, but we’ve just got the new workshop finished…maybe next year we’ll go to Uberwald. ’” “They come back to the mountains to die,” said the king. “They live in Ankh-Morpork. ” “Why is this, do you think?” “I couldn’t say, sir. Because no one tells them how to, I suppose. ” “And now you want our gold and iron,” said the king. “Is there nothing we can keep?” “Don’t know about that either, sir. I wasn’t trained for this job. ” The king muttered something under his breath. Then, much louder, he said: “I can offer you no favors, Your Excellency. These are difficult times, see. ” “But my real job is finding things out,” said Vimes, a little louder. “If there is anything that I could do to—” The king thrust the papers at Vimes. “Your letters of accreditation, Your Excellency. Their contents have been noted!” And that shuts me up, Vimes thought. “I would ask you one thing, though,” the king went on. “Yes, sir?” “ Really thirty men and a dog?” “No. There were only seven men. I killed one of them because I had to. ” “How did the others die?” “Er…victims of circumstances, sir. ” “Well, then…your secret is safe with me. Good morning, Miss Littlebottom. ” Cheery looked stunned. The king gave her a brief smile. “Ah, the rights of the individual, a famous Ankh-Morpork invention, or so they say. But what rights are they, really, and whence do they come? Thank you, Dee, His Excellency was just leaving. You may send in the Copperhead delegation. ” As Vimes was ushered out he saw another party of dwarfs assembled in the anteroom. One or two of them nodded at him as they were herded in. Dee turned back to Vimes. “I hope you didn’t tire his majesty. ” “Someone else has already been doing that, by the look of it. ” “These are sleepless times,” said the Ideas-taster. “Scone turned up yet?” said Vimes, innocently. “Your Excellency, if you persist in this attitude a complaint will go to your Lord Vetinari!” “He does so look forward to them. Was it this way out?” It was the last word said until Vimes and his guards were back in the coach and the doors to daylight were opening ahead of them. Out of the corner of his eye Vimes saw that Cheery was shaking. “Certainly hits you, doesn’t it, the cold air after the warmth underground…” he ventured. Cheery grinned in relief. “Yes, it does,” she said. “Seemed quite a decent sort,” said Vimes. “What was that he muttered when I said I hadn’t been trained?” “He said ‘Who has?,’ sir. ” “It sounded like it. All that arguing…it’s not a case of sitting on the throne and saying ‘do this, do that,’ then. ” “Dwarfs are very argumentative, sir. Of course, many wouldn’t agree. But none of the big dwarf clans are happy about this. You know how it is—the Copperheads didn’t want Albrecht, and the Shmaltzburgers wouldn’t support anyone called Glodson, the Ankh-Morpork dwarfs were split both ways, and Rhys comes from a little coal-mining clan near Llamedos that isn’t important enough to be on anyone’s side…” “You mean he didn’t get to be king because everyone liked him but because no one disliked him enough?” “That’s right, sir. ” Vimes glanced at the crumpled letter that the king had thrust into his hand. By daylight he could see the faint scribble on one corner. There were just two words. MIDNIGHT, SEE ? Humming to himself, he tore the piece of paper off and rolled it into a ball. “And now for the damn vampire,” he said. “Don’t worry, sir,” said Cheery. “What’s the worst she can do? Bite your head off?” Vimes grunted. “Thank you for that, Corporal. Tell me…those robes some of the dwarfs were wearing…I know they wear them on the surface so they’re not polluted by the nasty sunlight, but why wear them down there?” “It’s traditional, sir. Er…they were worn by the…well, it’s what you’d call the knockermen, sir. ” “What did they do?” “Well, you know about firedamp? It’s a gas you get in mines sometimes. It explodes. ” Vimes saw the images in his mind as Cheery explained… The miners would clear the area, if they were lucky. And the knockerman would go in, wearing layer after layer of chain mail and leather, carrying his sack of wicker globes stuffed with rags and oil. And his long pole. And his slingshot. Down in the mines, all alone, he’d hear the knockers…Agi Hammerthief and all the other things that made noises, deep under the earth. There could be no light, because light would mean sudden, roaring death. The knockerman would feel his way through the utter dark, far below the surface. There was a type of cricket that lived in the mines. It chirruped loudly in the presence of firedamp. The knockerman would have one in a box, tied to his hat. When it sang, a knockerman who was either very confident or extremely suicidal would step back, light the torch on the end of his pole, and thrust it ahead of him. The more careful knockerman would step back rather more, and slingshot a ball of burning rags into the unseen death. Either way, he’d trust in his thick leather clothes to protect him from the worst of the blast. |
It was an honorable trade but, at least to start with, it didn’t run in families. They didn’t have families. Who’d marry a knockerman? They were dead dwarfs walking. But sometimes a young dwarf would ask to become one; his family would be proud, wave him goodbye, and then speak of him as if he were dead, because that made it easier. Sometimes, though, knockermen came back. And the ones that survived went on to survive again, because surviving is a matter of practice. And sometimes they would talk a little of what they heard, all alone in the deep mines…the tap-tapping of dead dwarfs trying to get back into the world, the distant laughter of Agi Hammerthief, the heartbeat of the turtle that carried the world. Knockermen became kings. Vimes, listening with his mouth open, wondered why the hell it was that dwarfs believed that they had no religion and no priests. Being a dwarf was a religion. People went into the dark for the good of the clan, and heard things, and were changed, and came back to tell… And then, fifty years ago, a dwarf tinkering in Ankh-Morpork had found that if you put a simple fine mesh over your lantern flame it’d burn blue in the presence of the gas but wouldn’t explode. It was a discovery of immense value to the good of dwarfkind and, as so often happens with such discoveries, almost immediately led to a war. “And afterward there were two kinds of dwarfs,” said Cheery sadly. “There’s the Copperheads, who all use the lamp and the patent gas exploder, and the Shmaltzburgers, who stick to the old ways. Of course we’re all dwarfs ,” she said, “but relations are rather…restrained. ” “I bet they are. ” “Oh, no, all dwarfs recognize the need for the Low King, it’s just that…” “…they don’t quite see why knockermen are still so powerful?” “It’s all very sad,” said Cheery. “Did I tell you my brother Snorey went off to be a knockerman?” “I don’t think so. ” “He died in an explosion somewhere under Borogravia. But he was doing what he wanted to do. ” After a moment she added, conscientiously, “Well, up to the moment when the blast hit him. After that, I don’t think so. ” Now the coach was rumbling up the mountain on one side of the town. Vimes looked down at the little round helmet beside him. Funny how you think you know about people, he thought. The wheels clattered over the wood of a drawbridge. As castles went, this one looked as though it could be taken by a small squad of not very efficient soldiers. Its builder had not been thinking about fortifications. He’d been influenced by fairy tales and possibly by some of the more ornamental sorts of cake. It was a castle for looking at. For defense, putting a blanket over your head might be marginally safer. The coach stopped in the courtyard. To Vimes’s amazement, a familiar figure in a shabby black coat came shuffling up to open the door. “Igor?” “Yeth, marthter?” “What the hell are you doing here?” “Er…I’m opening thif here door, marthter,” said Igor. “But why aren’t you—” Then it stole over Vimes that Igor was different. This Igor had both eyes the same color, and some of his scars were in different places. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I thought you were Igor. ” “Oh, you mean my couthin Igor,” said Igor. “He workth down at the embathy. How’th he getting on?” “Er…he’s looking…well,” said Vimes. “Pretty…well. Yes. ” “Did he mention how Igor’th getting on, thir?” said Igor, shambling away so fast that Vimes had to run to keep up. “Only none of uth have heard from him, not even Igor, who’th alwayth been very clothe. ” “I’m sorry? Is your whole family called Igor?” “Oh yeth, thir. It avoidth confuthion. ” “It does?” “Yeth, thir. Anyone who ith anyone in Uberwald wouldn’t dream of employing any other thervant but an Igor. Ah, here we are, thir. The mithtreth ith expecting you. ” They’d walked under an arch and Igor was opening a door with far more studs in it than was respectable. This led to a hallway. “Are you sure you want to come?” said Vimes to Cheery. “She is a vampire. ” “Vampires don’t worry me, sir. ” “Lucky for you,” said Vimes. He glanced at the silent Tantony. The man was looking as strained as Vimes felt. “Tell our friend here he won’t be needed and he’s to wait for us in the coach, the lucky devil,” he said. “But don’t translate that last bit. ” Igor opened an inner door as Tantony almost ran out of the hall. “Hith Grathe Hith Exthelenthy—” “Ah, Sir Samuel,” said Lady Margolotta. “Do come in. I know you don’t like being Your Grace. Isn’t this tiresome? But it has to be done, doesn’t it. ” It wasn’t what he’d expected. Vampires weren’t suppose to wear pearls, or sweaters in pink. In Vimes’s world they didn’t wear sensible flat shoes, either. Or have a sitting room in which every conceivable piece of furniture was upholstered in chintz. Lady Margolotta looked like someone’s mother, although possibly someone who’d had an expensive education and a pony called Fidget. She moved like someone who had grown used to her body and, in general, looked like what Vimes had heard described as “a woman of a certain age. ” He’d never been quite certain what age that was. But…things weren’t quite right. There were bats embroidered on the pink sweater, and the chintzy pattern on the furniture had a sort of… bat look. The little dog with a bow round its neck, lying curled on a cushion, looked more like a rat than a dog. Vimes was less certain about that one, though; dogs of that nature tended to look a bit ratlike in any case. The effect was as if someone had read the music but had never heard it played. He realized she was politely waiting for him, and bowed, stiffly. “Oh, don’t bother with that, please,” said Lady Margolotta. “Do take a seat. ” She walked over to the cabinet and opened it. “Do you fancy a Bull’s Blood?” “Is that the drink with the vodka? Because—” “No,” said Lady Margolotta quietly. “This, I am afraid, is the other kind. Still, ve have that in common, don’t ve? Neither of us drinks…alcohol. I believe you vere an alcoholic, Sir Samuel. ” “No,” said Vimes, completely taken aback, “I was a drunk. You have to be richer than I was to be an alcoholic. ” “Ah, vell said. I have lemonade, if you vish. And Miss Littlebottom? Ve don’t have beer, you’ll be pleased to hear. ” Cheery looked at Vimes in amazement. “Er…perhaps a sherry?” she said. “Certainly. You may leave us, Igor. Isn’t he a treasure?” she added, as Igor retired. “He certainly looks as though he’s just been dug up,” said Vimes. This was not going according to his mental script. “Oh, all Igors look like that. He’s been in the family for almost two hundred years. Most of him, anyvay. ” “Really…?” “Extremely popular with the young ladies, for some reason. All Igors are. I’ve found it best not to speculate vhy. ” Lady Margolotta gave Vimes a bright smile. “Vell, here’s to your stay, Sir Samuel. ” “You know a lot about me,” said Vimes weakly. “Most of it good, I assure you,” she said. “Although you’re inclined to forget your papervork, you get exasperated easily, you are far too sentimental, you regret your own lack of education and distrust erudition in others, you are immensely proud of your city and you vonder if you may be a class traitor. My…friends in Ankh-Morpork were unable to find out anything very bad and, believe me, they are pretty good at that sort of thing. And you loathe vampires. ” “I—” “Quite understandable. Ve’re dreadful people, by and large. ” “But you —” “I try to look on the bright side,” said Lady Margolotta. “But, anyvay—how did you like the king?” “He’s very…quiet,” said Vimes the diplomat. “Try cunning. He vill have found out a lot more about you than you did about him, I’m sure. Vould you like a biscuit? I don’t eat them myself, of course, but there’s a little man down in the town that does vonderful chocolate…Igor?” “Yes, mithtreth,” said Igor. Vimes nearly sprayed his lemonade across the room. “He was out of the room!” he said. “I saw him go! I heard the door shut!” “Igor has strange vays. Do give Sir Samuel a napkin, Igor. ” “You said the king was cunning,” said Vimes, mopping lemonade off his breeches. |
Igor put down a plate of biscuits and shuffled out of the room. “Did I? No, I don’t think I could possibly have said that. It’s not the diplomatic thing to say,” said Lady Margolotta smoothly. “I’m sure ve all support the new Low King, the choice of dvarfdom in general, even if they thought they vere getting a traditionalist and got an unknown quantity. ” “Did you just say that last bit?” said Vimes, awash on a sea of diplomacy and damp trousers. “Absolutely not. You know their Scone of Stone has been stolen?” “They say it hasn’t,” said Vimes. “Do you believe them?” “No. ” “The coronation cannot go ahead without it, did you know that?” “We’ll have to wait until they bake another one?” said Vimes. “No. There will be no more Low Kings,” said Lady Margolotta. “Legitimacy, you see. The Scone represents continuity all the vay to B’hrian Bloodaxe. They say he sat on it vhile it vas still soft and left his impression, as it vere. ” “You mean kingship has passed from bu—backside to backside?” “Humans believe in crowns, don’t they?” “Yes, but at least they’re at the other end!” “Thrones, then. ” Lady Margolotta sighed. “People set such store by strange things. Crowns. Relics. Garlic…Anyvay…there will be a civil var over the leadership which Albrecht vill surely vin, and he’ll cease all trading with Ankh-Morpork. Did you know that? He thinks the place is evil. ” “I know it is,” said Vimes. “And I live there. ” “I’ve heard that he plans to declare all dvarfs there d’hrarak ,” the vampire went on. Vimes heard Cheery gasp. “It means ‘not dwarfs. ’” “That’s very big of him,” said Vimes. “I shouldn’t think our lads’ll worry about that. ” “Um,” said Cheery. “Quite so. The young lady looks vorried, and you’d do vell to listen to her, Sir Samuel. ” “Excuse me,” said Vimes, “But what is all this to you?” “You really don’t drink at all, Sir Samuel?” “No. ” “Not even vun?” “No,” said Vimes, more sharply. “You’d know that, if you knew anything about—” “Yet you keep half a bottle in your bottom drawer as a sort of permanent test,” said Lady Margolotta. “Now that, Sir Samuel, suggests a man who vears his hair shirts on the inside. ” “I want to know who’s been saying all this!” Lady Margolotta sighed. Vimes got the impression that he’d failed another test. “I am rich, Sir Samuel. Vampires tend to be. Didn’t you know? Lord Vetinari, I know, believes that information is currency. But everyone knows that currency has alvays been information. Money doesn’t need to talk, it merely has to listen. ” She stopped and sat watching Vimes, as if she’d suddenly decided to listen. Vimes moved uncomfortably under the steady gaze. “How is Havelock Vetinari?” she said. “The Patrician? Oh…fine. ” “He must be quite old now. ” “I’ve never really been certain how old he is,” said Vimes. “About my age, I suppose. ” Then she stood up suddenly. “This has been an interesting meeting, Sir Samuel. I trust Lady Sybil is vell?” “Er…yes. ” “Good. I am so glad. Ve vill meet again, I am sure. Igor vill see you out. My regards to the baron, vhen you see him. Pat him on the head for me. ” “What the hell was that all about, Cheery?” said Vimes, as the coach set off down the hill again. “Which bit, sir?” “Practically all of it, really. Why should Ankh-Morpork dwarfs object if someone says they’re not dwarfs? They know they’re dwarfs. ” “They won’t be subject to dwarf law, sir. ” “I didn’t know they were. ” “I mean…it’s like…how you live your life, sir. Marriages, burials…that sort of thing. Marriages won’t be legal. Old dwarfs won’t be allowed to be buried back home. And that’d be terrible. Every dwarf dreams of going back home when he’s old and starting up a little mine. ” “Every dwarf? Even the ones who were born in Ankh-Morpork?” “Home can mean all sorts of things, sir,” said Cheery. “There’s other things, too. Contracts won’t be valid. Dwarfs like good solid rules, sir. ” “We’ve got laws in Ankh-Morpork, too. More or less. ” “Between themselves dwarfs prefer to use their own, sir. ” “I bet the Copperhead dwarfs won’t like it if that happens. ” “Yes, sir. There’ll be a split. And another war. ” She sighed. “But why was she going on about drink?” “I don’t know, sir. ” “I don’t like ’em. Never have, never will. ” “Yes, sir. ” “Did you see that rat?” “Yes, sir. ” “I think she was laughing at me. ” The coach rolled through the streets of Bonk once more. “How big a war?” “Probably a worse one than the one fifty years ago, I expect,” said Cheery. “I don’t recall people talking about that one,” said Vimes. “Most humans didn’t know about it,” said Cheery. “It mostly took place underground. Under mining passages and digging invasion tunnels and so on. Perhaps a few houses fell into mysterious holes and people didn’t get their coal, but that was about it. ” “You mean dwarfs just try to collapse mines on other dwarfs?” “Oh yes. ” “I thought you were all law-abiding?” “Oh yes, sir. Very law-abiding. Just not very merciful. ” Ye gods, thought Vimes, as the coach rolled over the bridge on the center of the town, I haven’t been sent to a coronation. I’ve been sent to a war that hasn’t started yet. He glanced up. Tantony was watching him intently, but looked away quickly. Lady Margolotta watched the coach until it reached the gates of the town. She stood back a little from the window. There was a slight overcast, but habits of preservation died hard. “What a very angry man, Igor. ” “Yeth, mithtreth. ” “You can see it piling up behind his patience. I vonder how far he can be pushed?” “I’ve brought the hearthe around, mithreth. ” “Oh, is it that late? Ve had better be going, then. Everyone feels despondent if I miss a meeting, you know. ” The castle on the other side of the valley was much more rugged than Lady Margolotta’s confectionery item. Even so, the gates were wide open and didn’t look as though they were often closed. The main door was tall and heavy-looking. The only thing that suggested it hadn’t been ordered for the standard castle catalog was the smaller, narrow door, a few feet high, set into it. “What’s that for?” said Vimes. “Even a dwarf would bump their head. ” “I suppose it depends on what shape you are when you go in,” said Cheery darkly. The main door opened as soon as Vimes had laid his hand on the wolf’s-head knocker. But he was ready this time. “Good morning, Igor,” he said. “Good day, Your Exthelency,” said Igor, bowing. “Igor and Igor send their regards, Igor. ” “Thank you, Your Exthelency. Thince you mention it, could I put a parthel on your coach for Igor?” “You mean the Igor at the embassy?” “That’s who I thaid, thir,” said Igor, patiently. “He athked me if I could lend him a hand. ” “Yes, no problem there. ” “Good. It’th well wrapped up and the ithe with keep it nithe and frethh. Would you thtep thith way? The marthter ith changing at the moment. ” Igor shambled into a wide hall, one side of which was mostly fireplace, and bowed out. “Did he say what I thought he said?” said Vimes. “About the hand and ice?” “It’s not what it sounds like, sir,” said Cheery. “I hope so. My gods, look at that damned thing!” A huge red flag hung from the rafters. In the middle of it was a black wolf’s head, its mouth full of stylized flashes of lightning. “Their new flag, I think,” said Cheery. “I thought it was just a crest with the doubled-headed bat?” “Perhaps they thought it was time for a change, sir—” “Ah, Your Excellency! Isn’t Sybil with you?” The woman who had entered was Angua, but padded somewhat with years. She was wearing a long, loose green gown, very old-fashioned by Ankh-Morpork standards, although there were some styles that never go out of style on the right figure. She was brushing her hair as she walked across the floor. “Er…she’s staying at the embassy today. We had rather a difficult journey. You would be the Baroness Serafine von Uberwald?” “And you’re Sam Vimes. Sybil’s letters are all about you. The baron won’t be long. We were out hunting and lost track of time. ” “I expect it’s a lot of work, seeing to the horses,” said Vimes politely. Serafine’s smile went strange for a moment. |
“Hah. Yes,” she said. “Can I get Igor to fetch you a drink?” “No, thank you. ” She sat down on one of the overstuffed chairs and beamed at him. “You’ve met the new king, Your Excellency?” “This morning. ” “I believe he’s having trouble. ” “What makes you think that?” said Vimes. Serafine looked startled. “I thought everyone knew?” “Well, I’ve hardly been here five minutes,” said Vimes. “I probably don’t count as everyone. ” Now, he was pleased to note, she looked puzzled. “We…just heard there was some problem,” she said. “Oh, well…a new king, a coronation to organize…a few problems are bound to occur,” he said. Well, he thought, so this is diplomacy. It’s lying, only for a better class of people. “Yes. Of course. ” “Angua is well,” said Vimes. “Are you sure you won’t have a drink?” said Serafine quickly, standing up. “Ah, here is my husband—” The baron entered the room like a whirlwind which had swept up several dogs. They bounded ahead of him and danced around him. “Hello! Hello!” he boomed. Vimes looked at an enormous man—not fat, not tall, just built to perhaps one-tenth over scale. He didn’t so much have a face with a beard as a beard with, peeking over the top in that narrow gap between the mustache and the eyebrows, small remnants of face. He bore down on Vimes in a cloud of leaping bodies, hair and a smell of old carpets. Vimes was ready for the handshake when it came but even so had to grimace as his bones were ground together. “Good of you to come, hey? Heard so much about you!” But not enough, Vimes thought. He wondered if he’d ever have the use of his hand again. It was still being gripped. The dogs had transferred their attention to him. He was being sniffed. “Greatest respect for Ankh-Morpork, hey?” said the baron. “Er…good,” said Vimes. Blood was getting no farther than his wrist. “Have seat!” the baron barked. Vimes had been trying to avoid the word, but that was exactly how the man spoke—in short, sharp, sentences, every one an exclamation. He was herded toward a chair. Then the baron let go of his hand and flung himself onto the huge carpet, the excited dogs piling on top of him. Serafine made a noise somewhere between a growl and the “tch!” of wifely disapproval. Obediently the baron pushed the dogs aside and flung himself into a chair. “You’ll have to take us as you find us,” said Serafine, smiling with her mouth alone. “This has always been a very informal household. ” “It is a very nice place,” said Vimes weakly, staring around the enormous room. Trophy heads lined the walls, but at least there were no trolls. No weapons, either. There were no spears, no rusty old swords, not even a broken bow had been hung up anywhere, which was practically against the law of castle furnishing. He stared at the wall again, and then at the carving over the fireplace. And then his gaze traveled down. One of the dogs, and Vimes had to be clear about this, he was using the term dogs merely because they were indoors and that was a place where the word wolf was not usually encountered, was watching him. He’d never seen such an appraising look on a creature’s face. It was weighing him up. There was something familiar about the pale gold hair that was a sort of mane. In fact, the dog looked quite like Angua, but heavier set. And there was another difference, which was small yet horribly significant. As with Angua, he had this sensation of movement stilled; but, whereas Angua always looked as if she was poised to flee, this one looked poised to leap. “The embassy is to your liking? We owned it, you know, before we sold it to Lord V…Ve…” “Vetinari,” said Vimes, reluctantly taking his eyes off the wolf. “Of course, your people made a lot of changes,” she went on. “We’ve made a few more,” said Vimes, recalling all those patches of shiny woodwork where the hunting trophies had been removed. “I must say I was really impressed with the bathroo—I’m sorry?” There had been almost a yelp from the baron. Serafine was glaring at her husband. “Yes,” she said sharply, “I gather interesting things have been done. ” “You’re so lucky to have the thermal springs,” said Vimes. And this was diplomacy, too, he thought, when you let your mouth chatter away while you watched people’s eyes. It’s just like being a copper. “Sybil wants to go to take the waters at Bad Heisses Bad—” Behind him he heard a faint growl from the baron and saw the look of annoyance flash across Serafine’s face. “I’m saying the wrong thing?” he said innocently. “My husband is a little unwell at the moment,” said Serafine, in the special wife voice which Vimes recognized as meaning “he thinks he’s fine right now but just you wait until I get him alone. ” “I suppose I’d better present my credentials,” said Vimes, pulling out the letter. Serafine reached across quickly and took it from his hand. “I shall read it,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Of course, it’s a mere formality. Everyone’s heard of Commander Vimes. I mean no offense, of course, but we were a little surprised when the Patrician—” “Lord Vetinari,” said Vimes helpfully, putting a slight stress on the first syllable and hearing the growl on cue. “Yes, indeed…said that you would be coming. We were expecting one of the more…experienced…diplomats…” “Oh, I can hand around the thin cucumber sandwiches like anything,” said Vimes. “And if you want little golden balls of chocolate piled up in a heap, I’m your man. ” She gave him a slow, blank stare. “Your pardon, Your Excellency,” she said. “Morporkian is not my first language, and I fear we may have inadvertently misled one another. I gather that you are, in real life, a pol ice man?” “In real life, yes,” said Vimes. “We’ve always been against a police force in Bonk,” said the baroness. “We feel it interferes with the liberties of the individual. ” “Well, I have certainly heard that argument advanced,” said Vimes. “Of course, it depends on whether the individual you are thinking of is yourself or the one climbing out of the bathroom,” he noted the grimace, “window with the family silver in a sack. ” “Happily, security has never been a problem for us,” said Serafine. “I’m not surprised,” said Vimes. “I mean…because of all the walls and gates and things. ” “I do hope you will bring Sybil to the reception this evening. But I see that we are keeping you, and I know you must have much to do. Igor will show you out. ” “Yeth, mithtreth,” said Igor, behind Vimes. Vimes could feel the river of fury building up behind the levees of his mind. “I shall tell Sergeant Angua you asked after her,” he said, standing up. “Indeed,” said Serafine. “But right now I’m looking forward to a really relaxing bath ,” said Vimes, and watched with satisfaction as both the baron and his wife flinched. “Good day to you. ” Cheery marched along beside him across the hallway. “Don’t say a word until we’re out of here,” hissed Vimes. “Sir?” “Because I want to get out of here,” said Vimes. Several of the dogs had followed him out. They weren’t growling, they hadn’t bared their teeth, but they were carrying themselves with rather more purpose than Vimes had come to associate with groin-sniffers in general. “I’ve put the parthel in the coach, Your Exthelenthy,” said Igor, opening the coach door and knuckling his forehead. “I’ll be sure to give it to Igor,” said Vimes. “Oh, not to Igor, thir. Thif ith for Igor. ” “Oh, right. ” Vimes looked out of the windows as the horses trotted away. The golden-haired wolf had come to the steps and was watching him leave. He sat back as the coach rumbled out of the castle, and closed his eyes. Cheery was wise enough to remain silent. “No weapons on the walls, did you notice?” he said, after a while. His eyes were still shut, as if he were looking at a picture on the back of them. “Most castles like that have the things hanging all over the place. ” “Well, they are werewolves, sir. ” “Does Angua ever talk about her parents?” “No, sir. ” “They didn’t want to talk about her, that’s certain. ” Vimes opened his eyes. “Dwarfs?” he said. “I’ve always got on with dwarfs. |
And werewolves…well, never had a problem with werewolves. So why is the only person who hasn’t tried to blow me out this morning the blood-sucking vampire?” “I don’t know, sir. ” “Big fireplace they had. ” “Werewolves like to sleep in front of the fire at night, sir,” said Cheery. “The baron certainly didn’t seem comfortable in a chair, I spotted that. And what was that motto carved into that great big mantelpiece? ‘Homini…’” “‘Homo Homini Lupus,’ sir,” said Cheery. “It means ‘Every man is a wolf to another man. ’” “Hah! Why haven’t I promoted you, Cheery?” “Because I get embarrassed about shouting at other people, sir. Sir, did you notice the strange thing about the trophies they had on the wall?” Vimes shut his eyes again. “Stag, bears, some kind of mountain lion…What’re you asking me, Corporal?” “And did you notice something just below them?” “Let’s see…I think there was just space below them. ” “Yes, sir. With three hooks in it. You could just make them out. ” Vimes hesitated. “Do you mean,” he said carefully, “three hooks that might have had trophies hanging from them until they were removed?” “Very much that sort of hook, sir, yes. Only perhaps the heads haven’t been hung up yet?” “Trolls’ heads?” “Who knows, sir?” The coach entered the town. “Cheery, have you still got that silver chain-mail vest you used to have?” “Er…no, sir. I stopped because it seemed a bit disloyal to Angua, sir. Why?” “Just a passing thought. Oh, ye gods…is that Igor’s parcel under the seat?” “I think so, sir. But look, I know about Igors. If that’s a real hand, the original owner hasn’t got a use for it, believe me. ” “What? He cuts bits off dead people?” “Better than live people, sir. ” “You know what I mean!” “Sir, it’s considered good manners, if one of the Igors has helped you, to put it in your will that they can help themselves to any…bits of you that might help someone else. They never ask for any money. They’re very respected in Uberwald. Very good men with a scalpel and a needle. It’s a kind of vocation, really. ” “But they’re covered in scars and stitches!” “They won’t do to anyone else what they are not prepared to try on themselves. ” Vimes decided to explore the full horror of this. It took his mind off the missing trophies. “Are they any…Igorinas? Igorettes?” “Well, any Igor is considered a good catch for a young lady…” “He is?” “And their daughters tend to be very attractive. ” “Eyes at the same height, that sort of thing?” “Oh yes. ” But the door, when it was finally opened in response to impatient knocking, revealed not the switchback features of Igor but the business end of Detritus’s crossbow, which was marginally worse. “It’s us, Sergeant,” said Vimes. The crossbow was removed, and the door opened farther. “Sorry, sir, but you said I was to be on guard,” said Detritus. “There’s no need to—” “Igor’s been hurt, sir. ” Igor was sitting in the huge kitchen, a bandage around his head. Lady Sybil was fussing over him. “I went to look for him a couple of hours ago and there he was, flat on the snow,” she said. She leaned closer to Sam Vimes. “He doesn’t remember very much. ” “Can you recall what you were doing, old chap?” said Vimes, sitting down. Igor gave him a bleary look. “Well, thir, I went out to unpack the foodthtuffth from the other coach, and I’d just got hold of thomething and then all the lighth went out, thir. I reckon I mutht’ve thlipped. ” “Or someone hit you?” Igor shrugged. For a moment, both of his shoulders were at the same level. “There’s nothing on the coach worth stealing!” said Lady Sybil. “Not unless someone was dying for a knuckle sandwich,” said Vimes. “Was anything taken?” “I checked everything against der list Her Ladyship gave me, sir,” said Detritus, meeting Vimes’s gaze. “There wasn’t anything missing, sir. ” “I’ll just go and take a look for myself,” said Vimes. When they were outside he walked over to the coach and looked at the snow around it. The cobbles were visible here and there. Then he looked up at the grating. “All right, Detritus,” he said. “Talk to me. ” “Just a feelin’, sir,” rumbled the troll. “I know ‘fick’ is my middle name…” “I didn’t know you had a first name, Sergeant. ” “I don’t fink this was one of dem accidents dat happens by accident. ” “He might have fallen off the coach when he was unloading it,” said Vimes. “An’ I might be the Fairy Clinkerbell, sir. ” Vimes was impressed. This was low-temperature thinking from Detritus. “Der street doors is open,” said Detritus. “I reckon Igor disturbed someone who was pinchin’ stuff. ” “But you said nothing was missing. ” “Maybe der thief took fright, sir. ” “What, at seeing Igor? Could be…” Vimes looked at the bags and boxes. Then he looked again. Things had been thrown down any old how. That wasn’t how you unpacked a coach, unless you were looking for something in a real hurry. No one would go to these lengths to steal food. “Nothing was missing…” He rubbed his chin. “Who packed the coach, Detritus?” “Dunno, sir. I fink Her Ladyship just ordered a lot of stuff. ” “And we left in a bit of a rush, too…” Vimes stopped. Best to leave it there. He had an idea but…well, where was the evidence? You could say: Nothing that should have been there was missing, so what must have been taken was something that shouldn’t have been there. No. For now, it was just something to remember. They walked into the hall, and Vimes’s eye fell on a pile of cards on a table by the door. “Dere’s been a lot of visitors,” said Detritus. Vimes took a handful of cards. Some of them had gold edging. “Dem diplomatics all want you to come for drinky-poos an’ stories about chickens,” the troll added helpfully. “Cocktails, I think you’ll find,” said Vimes, reading through the pasteboards. “Hmm…Klatch…Muntab…Genua…Lancre… Lancre ? It’s a kingdom you could spit across! They’ve got an embassy here?” “No, sir, mostly dey’ve got a letterbox. ” “Will we all fit in?” “Dey’ve rented a house for der coronation, sir. ” Vimes dropped the invitations back onto the table. “I don’t think I can face any of this stuff,” he said. “A man can only drink so much fruit juice and listen to so many bad jokes. Where is the nearest clacks tower, Detritus?” “About fifteen miles hubward, sir. ” “I’d like to find out what’s going on back home. I think that this afternoon Lady Sybil and I will have a nice quiet ride in the country. It’ll take her mind off this. ” And then, he thought, I’ll wait until midnight, see? And it’s still only lunchtime. In the end, Vimes took Igor as driver and guide, and the guards Tantony and the one he would forever think of as Colonesque. Skimmer still hadn’t returned from whatever nefarious expedition was occupying his time, and Vimes was damned if he’d leave the embassy unguarded. Yet another word for diplomat, Vimes mused, was “spy. ” The only difference was that the host government knew who you were. The game was to outwit them, presumably. The sun was warm, the breeze was cold, the mountain air made every peak look as if Vimes could reach out and touch it. Outside the town snow-covered vineyards and farms clung to slopes that in Ankh-Morpork would be called walls, but after a while the pine forests closed in. Here and there, at a curve in the road, the river was visible far below. Up on the box, Igor was crooning a lament. “He told me Igors heal very fast,” said Lady Sybil. “They’d have to. ” “Mister Skimmer said they are very gifted surgeons, Sam. ” “Except cosmetically, perhaps. ” The coach slowed. “Do you come up here a lot, Igor?” said Vimes. “Mister Thleep used to have me drive over on the a week to collect methages, marthter. ” “I’d have thought it’d be easier to have a pickup tower in Bonk. ” “The counthil are dead againtht it, thir. ” “And you?” “I am very modern in my outlook, thir. ” The tower was quite close now, and loomed. The first twenty feet or so were of stone with narrow, barred windows. Then there was a broad platform from which the main tower grew. It was a sensible arrangement. |
An enemy would find it hard to break in or set fire to it, there was enough storage room inside to see out a siege, and the enemy would be aware that the lads inside would have signaled for help thirty seconds after the attack began. The company had money. They were like the coaching agents in that respect. If a tower went out of action, someone would be along to ask expensive questions. There was no law here; the kind of people who’d turn up would be inclined to leave a message to the world that towers were not to be touched. Everyone should know this, and therefore it was odd to see that the big signal arms were stationary. The hairs rose on Vimes’s neck. “Stay in the carriage, Sybil,” he said. “Is there something wrong?” “I’m not…sure,” said Vimes, who was sure. He stepped down and nodded to Igor. “I’m going to have a look inside,” he said. “If there is any…trouble, you’re to get Lady Sybil back to the embassy, all right?” Vimes leaned back into the coach and, trying not to look at Sybil, lifted up one of the seats and pulled out the sword he had hidden there. “Sam!” she said, accusingly. “Sorry, dear. I thought I ought to carry a spare…” There was a bellpull by the door of the tower. Vimes tugged at it, and heard a clang somewhere above. When nothing else happened, he tried the door. It swung open. “Hello?” There was silence. “This is the Wa—” Vimes stopped. It wasn’t the Watch, was it. Not out here. The badge didn’t work. He was just an inquisitive trespassing bastard. “Anyone there?” The room was piled high with sacks, boxes and barrels. A wooden stairway led up to the next floor. Vimes climbed up into a combined bedroom and mess room; there were only two bunks, their covers pulled back. A chair was on the floor. A meal was on the table, knife and fork laid down carefully. On the stove something had boiled dry in an iron pot. Vimes opened the firebox door, and there was a whoomph as the inrushing air rekindled the charred wood. And, from above, the chink of metal. He looked at the ladder and trapdoor to the next floor. Anyone climbing it would be presenting their head at a convenient height for a blade or a boot— “Tricky, isn’t it, Your Grace,” said someone above him. “You’d better come up. Mmm, mhm. ” “Inigo?” “It’s safe enough, Your Grace. There’s only me here. Mmm. ” “That counts as safe, does it?” Vimes climbed the ladder. Inigo was sitting at a table, leafing through a stack of papers. “Where’s the crew?” “That, Your Grace,” said Inigo, “is one of the mysteries, mmm, mmm. ” “And the others are—?” Inigo nodded toward the steps leading upward. “See for yourself. ” The controls for the arms had been comprehensively smashed. Laths and bits of wire dangled forlornly from their complex framework. “Several hours of repair work for skilled men, I’d say,” said Inigo, as Vimes returned. “What happened here, Inigo?” “I would say the men who lived here were forced to leave, mmm, mhm. In some disorder. ” “But it’s a fortified tower!” “So? They have to cut firewood. Oh, the company has rules, and then they put three young men in some lonely tower for weeks at a time and they expect them to act like clockwork people. See the trapdoor up to the controls? That should be locked at all times. Now you, Your Grace, and myself as well, because we are…are—” “—bastards?” Vimes supplied. “Well, yes…mmm…we’d have devised a system that meant the clacks couldn’t even be operated unless the trapdoor was shut, wouldn’t we?” “Something like that, yes. ” “And we’d have written into the rules that the presence of any visitor in the tower would, mhm, be automatically transmitted to the neighboring towers, too. ” “Probably. That’d be a start. ” “As it is, I suspect that any harmless-looking visitor with a nice fresh apple pie for the lads would be warmly welcomed,” sighed Inigo. “They do two-month shifts at a time. Nothing to look at but trees, mmm. ” “No blood, not much sign of a struggle,” said Vimes. “Have you checked outside?” “There should be a horse in the stable. It’s gone. We’re more or less on rock here. There’s wolf tracks, but there’s wolf tracks everywhere around here. And the wind’s blown the snow. They’ve…gone, Your Grace. ” “Are you sure the men let someone in through the door?” Vimes said. “Anyone who could land on the platform could be in one of these windows in an instant. ” “A vampire, mmm?” “It’s a thought, isn’t it. ” “There’s no blood around…” “It’s a shame to waste good food,” said Vimes. “Think of those poor starving children in Muntab. What are these ?” He pulled a box from under the lower bunk. Inside it were two long tubes, about a foot long, open at one end. “‘Badger and Normal, Ankh-Morpork’” he read aloud, “‘Mortar Flare (Red). Light Fuse. Do Not Place In Mouth. ’ It’s a firework, Mister Skimmer. I’ve seen them on ships. ” “Ah, there was something…” Inigo leafed through the book on the table. “They could send up an emergency flare if there’s a big problem. Yes…the tower nearest Ankh-Morpork will send out a couple of men and a bigger squad comes up from the depot down on the plains. They take a downed tower very seriously. ” “Yes, well, it could cost them money,” said Vimes, peering into the mouth of the mortar. “We need this tower working, Inigo. I don’t like being stuck out here. ” “The roads aren’t too bad yet. They could be here by tomorrow evening—I’m sure you shouldn’t do that, sir!” Vimes had pulled the mortar out of its tube. He looked at Inigo quizzically. “They won’t go off until you light the charge in the base,” he said. “They’re safe. And they’d make a stupid weapon, ’cos you can’t aim them worth a damn and they’re only made of cardboard in any case. Come on, let’s get it onto the roof. ” “Not until dark, Your Grace, mmm. That way two or three towers on each side will see it, not just the closest. ” “But the closest towers are watching they’ll certainly see—” “We don’t know that there is anyone there to watch, sir. Perhaps what happened here has happened there, too? Mmm?” “Good grief! You don’t think—” “No, I don’t think, sir, I’m a civil servant. I advise other people, mmm, mmm. Then they think. My advice is that an hour or two won’t hurt, sir. My advice is that you return with Lady Sybil now , sir. I will send up a flare as soon as it is dark and make my way back to the embassy. ” “Hold on, I am Commander in—” “Not here, Your Grace. Remember? Here you are a civilian in the way, mhm, mmm. I’ll be safe enough—” “The crew weren’t. ” “They weren’t me, mhm, mhm. For the sake of Lady Sybil, Your Grace, I advise you to leave now. ” Vimes hesitated, hating the fact that Inigo was not only right but was, despite his claim to mindlessness, doing the thinking that he should be doing. He was supposed to be out for an afternoon’s drive with his wife, for heaven’s sake. “Well…all right. Just one thing, though. Why are you here?” “The last time Sleeps was seen he was on his way up here with a message. ” “Ah. And am I right in thinking that your Mister Sleeps was not exactly the kind of diplomat that hands around the cucumber sandwiches?” Inigo smiled thinly. “That’s right, sir. He was…the other sort. Mmm. ” “Your sort. ” “Mmm. And now go , Your Grace. The sun will be setting soon. Mmm, mmm. ” Corporal Nobbs, President and Convenor of the Guild of Watchmen, surveyed his troops. “All right, one more time,” he said. “Whadda we want?” The strike meeting had been going on for some time, and it had been going on in a bar. The watchmen were already a little forgetful. Constable Ping raised his hand. “Er…a proper grievance procedure, a complaints committee, an overhaul of the promotion procedures…er…” “—better crockery in the canteen,” someone supplied. “—freedom from unwarranted accusations of sucrose theft,” said someone else. “—no more than seven days straight on nights—” “—an increase in the boots allowance—” “—at least three afternoons off for grandmother’s funerals per year—” “—not having to pay for our own pigeon feed—” “—another drink. ” This last demand met with general approval. Constable Shoe got to his feet. |
He was still, in his spare time, organizer of the Campaign for Dead Rights, and he knew how this sort of thing went. “No, no, no, no, no ,” he said. “You’ve got to get it a lot simpler than that. It’s got to have bounce. And rhythm. Like ‘Whadda we want? Dum -dee- dum -dee. When do we want it? Now!’ See? You need one simple demand. Let’s try it again. Whadda we want?” The watchmen looked at one another, no one quite wanting to be the first. “Another drink?” someone volunteered. “Yeah!” said someone at the back. “When do we want it? NOW!” “Well, that one seems to have worked,” said Nobby, as the policemen crowded round the bar. “What else are we going to need, Reg?” “Signs for the picket,” said Constable Shoe. “We’ve got to picket?” “Oh yes. ” “In that case,” said Nobby firmly, “we’ve got to have a big metal drum to burn old scrap wood in, while we’re pickin’ at it. ” “Why?” said Reg. “You got to stand around warmin’ your hands over a big drum,” said Nobby. “That’s how people know you’re an official picket and not a bunch of bums. ” “But we are a bunch of bums, Nobby. People think we are, anyway. ” “All right, but let’s be warm ones. ” The sun was a finger’s width above the rim when Vimes’s coach set off from the tower. Igor whipped the horses up. Vimes looked out of the window at the road’s edge, a few feet away and several hundred feet above the river. “Why so fast?” he shouted. “Got to be home by thunthet!” Igor shouted. “It’th tradithional. ” The big red sun was moving through bars of cloud. “Oh, let him, dear, if it gives the poor soul any pleasure,” said Lady Sybil, shutting the window. “Now, Sam, what happened at the tower?” “I don’t really want to worry you, Sybil…” “Well, now that you’ve got me really worried, you may as well tell me. All right?” Vimes gave in and explained the little that he knew. “Someone’s killed them?” “Possibly. ” “The same people that ambushed us back in that gorge?” “I don’t think so. ” “This isn’t turning out to be much of a holiday, Sam. ” “It’s not being able to do anything that makes me sick,” said Vimes. “Back in Ankh-Morpork…well, I’d have leads, contacts, some kind of a map. Everyone here is…well, hiding something, I think. The new king thinks I’m a fool, the werewolves treated me as if I was something the cat dragged in…the only person who’s been halfway civil was a vampire!” “Not the cat,” said Sybil. “What?” said Vimes, mystified. “Werewolves hate cats,” said Sybil. “I distinctly remember that. Definitely not cat people. ” “Hah. No. Dog people. They don’t like words like bath or vet , either. I reckon if you threw a stick at the baron he’d leap out of his chair to catch it—” “I suppose I ought to tell you about the carpets,” said Sybil, as the coach rocked around a corner. “What, isn’t he house-trained?” “I meant the carpets in the embassy. You know I said I’d measure up for them? But the measurements aren’t right, on the first floor…” “I don’t want to sound impatient, dear, but is this a carpet moment?” “Sam?” “Yes, dear?” “Just stop thinking like a husband and start listening like a…a copper, will you?” Vimes marched into the embassy and summoned Detritus and Cheery. “You two are coming with us to the ball tonight,” he said. “It’ll be posh. Have you got anything to wear apart from your uniform, Sergeant?” “No, sir. ” “Well, go and see Igor. There’s a good man with a needle if I ever saw one. How about you, Cheery?” “I do, er, have a gown,” said Cheery, looking down shyly. “You do?” “Yes, sir. ” “Oh. Well. Good. I’m putting the two of you on the embassy staff, too. Cheery, you’re…you’re Military Attaché. ” “Oh,” said Detritus, disappointed. “And, Detritus, you’re Cultural Attaché. ” The troll brightened up considerably. “You will not regret dis, sir!” “I’m sure I won’t,” said Vimes. “Right now, I’d like you to come with me. ” “Is dis a cultural matter, sir?” “Broadly. Perhaps. ” Vimes led the troll and Sybil up the stairs and into the office, where he stopped in front of a wall. “This one?” he said. “Yes,” said his wife. “It’s hard to notice until you measure the rooms, but that wall really is rather thick—” Vimes ran his hands along the paneling, looking for anything that might go click. Then he stood back. “Give me your crossbow, Sergeant. ” “Here we are, sir. ” Vimes staggered under its weight, but managed to get it pointed at the wall. “Is this wise, Sam?” said Sybil. Vimes stood back to take aim, and the floorboard moved under his heel. A panel in the wall swung gently. “You scared der hell out of it, sir,” said Detritus loyally. Vimes carefully handed the crossbow back, and tried to look as though he’d meant things to happen this way. He’d expected a secret passage. But this was a tiny workroom. There were jars on shelves, with labels… NEW SUET STRATA, AREA 21, GRADE A FAT, THE BIG HOLE. There were lumps of crumbling rock, with neat cardboard tags attached to them saying things like LEVEL #3, SHAFT 9, DOUBLE-PICK MINE. There was a set of drawers. One of them was full of makeup, including a selection of mustaches. Wordlessly, Vimes opened one of a stack of notebooks. The first pages had a pencil drawn street map of Bonk, with red lines threading through it. “Good grief, look at this,” he breathed, flicking onward. “Maps. Drawings. There’s pages of stuff about the assaying of fat deposits. Huh, says here ‘…the new suets, while initially promising, are now suspected of having high levels of BCBs and are likely to be soon exhausted. ’ And here it says ‘A werewolf putsch is clearly planned in the chaos following the loss of the Scone’…‘K. reports that many of the younger werewolves now follow W. , who has changed the nature of the Game’…This stuff…this stuff is spying. I wondered how Vetinari always seems to know so much!” “Did you think it came to him in dreams, dear?” “But there’s loads of details here…notes about people, lots of figures about dwarf mining production, political rumors…I didn’t know we did this sort of thing!” “You use spies all the time, dear,” said Sybil. “I do not!” “Well, what about people like Foul Ole Ron and No Way José and Cumbling Michael?” “That is not spying, that is not spying! That’s just ‘information received. ’ We couldn’t do the job if we didn’t know what’s happening on the street!” “Well…perhaps Havelock just thinks in terms of…a bigger street, dear. ” “There’s loads more of this muck, look. Sketches, more bits of ore…what the hell’s this?” It was oblong, and about the size of a cigarette packet. There was a round glass disk on one face, and a couple of levers on one side. Vimes pushed one of them. A tiny hatch opened on one side, and the smallest head that he’d ever seen that could speak said “’s?” “I know dat!” said Detritus. “Dat’s a nano-imp! Dey cost over a hundred dollars! Dey’re really small !” “No one’s bloody fed me for a fortnight!” the imp squeaked. “It’s an iconograph small enough to fit in a pocket ,” said Vimes. “Something for a spy…it’s as bad as Inigo’s damn one-shot crossbow. And look…” Steps led downward. He took them carefully, and swung open the little door at the end. Wet heat slapped into him. “Pass me down a candle, will you, dear?” he said. And by its light he looked out into a long dank tunnel. Crusted pipes, leaking steam at every joint, lined the far wall. “A way in and out where no one will see him, too,” he said. “What a dirty world we live in…” The clouds had covered the sky and the wind was whipping thick snowflakes around the tower when Inigo finished setting up the red mortar on the platform below the big square shutters. He lit a couple of matches but the wind streamed them out before he could even cup his hands around them. “Damn. Mmm, mmm. ” He slid down the ladder and into the warmth of the tower. It’d be better to spend the night here, he thought, as he rummaged in drawers. The night didn’t hold many terrors for him, but this storm had the feel of another big snow and the mountain roads would soon be treacherous. Finally an idea struck him, and he opened the door of the stove and pulled out a smoldering log on the tongs. |
It burst into flame when he carried it out at the top of the tower, and he directed them into the touch hole at the base of the tube. The mortar fired with a phut that was lost in the wind. The flare itself tumbled invisibly up into the snow and then, a few seconds later, exploded a hundred feet overhead, casting a brief red glare over the forests. Inigo had just gotten back into the room when there was a knock at the door, down at ground level. He paused. There was a window and hatch at this level; the designers of the tower had at least realized that it would be a good idea to be able to look down and see who was a-knocking. There was no one there. When he’d climbed back into the room, the knock came again. He hadn’t locked the door after Vimes went. A bit late to regret that now, he realized. But Inigo Skimmer had trained in an academy that made the School of Hard Knocks look like a sandpit. He lit a candle and crept down the ladder in the darkness, shadows fleeing and dancing among the stacks of provisions. With the candle set down on a box, he pulled the one-shot crossbow from inside his coat and, with an effort, cocked it against the wall. Then he flexed his left arm and felt the palm dagger ease itself into position. He clicked his heels in a certain way and sensed the tiny blades slide out from the toes. And Inigo settled down to wait. Behind him, something blew the candle out. As he turned, and the crossbow’s one bolt whirred into darkness, and the palm dagger scythed at nothing, it occurred to Inigo Skimmer that you could knock on either side of a door. They really were very clever… “Mhm, m—” Cheery twirled, or at least attempted to. It was not a movement that came naturally to dwarfs. “You look very…nice,” said Lady Sybil. “It goes all the way to the ground, too. I don’t think anyone could possibly complain. ” Unless they were remotely fashion conscious, she had to admit. The problem was that the…well, she had to think of them as the new dwarf women—hadn’t quite settled on a look. Lady Sybil herself usually wore ball gowns of a light blue, a color often chosen by ladies of a certain age and girth to combine the maximum of quiet style with the minimum of visibility. But dwarf girls had heard about sequins. They seemed to have decided in their bones that, if they were going to overturn thousands of years of subterranean tradition, they weren’t going to go all through that for no damn twin-set and pearls. “And red is good ,” said Lady Sybil sincerely. “Red is a very nice color. It’s a nice red dress. Er. And the feathers. Er. The bag to carry your ax, er—” “Not glittery enough?” said Cheery. “No! No…if I was going to carry a large ax on my back to a diplomatic function, I think I’d want it glittery, too. Er. It is such a very large ax, of course,” she finished lamely. “You think perhaps a smaller one might be better? For evening wear?” “That would be a start, yes. ” “Perhaps with a few rubies set in the handle?” “Yes,” said Lady Sybil weakly. “Why not, after all?” “What about me, Ladyship?” Detritus rumbled. Igor had certainly risen to the occasion, applying to a number of suits found in the embassy wardrobes the same pioneering surgical skills that he used on unfortunate loggers and other people who may have strayed too close to a band saw. It had taken him just ninety minutes to construct something around Detritus. It was definitely evening dress. You couldn’t get away with it in daylight. The troll looked like a wall with a bow tie. “How does all it feel?” said Lady Sybil, playing for safety. “It are rather tight around der—what’s this bit called?” “I really have no idea,” said Lady Sybil. “It makes me lurch a bit,” said Detritus. “But I feel very diplomatic. ” “Not the crossbow, however,” said Lady Sybil. “ She got her ax,” said Detritus accusingly. “Dwarf axes are accepted as a cultural weapon,” said Lady Sybil. “I don’t know the etiquette here, but I suppose you could get away with a club. ” After all, she added to herself, it’s not as though anyone would try to take it off you. “Der crossbow ain’t cultural?” “I’m afraid not. ” “I could put, like, glitter on it. ” “Not enough, I’m afraid—Oh, Sam…” “Yes, dear?” said Vimes, coming down the stairs. “That’s just your Watch dress uniform! What about your ducal regalia?” “Can’t find it anywhere,” said Vimes innocently. “I think the bag must have fallen off the coach in the pass, dear. But I’ve got a helmet with feathers in it and Igor’s buffed up the breastplate until he could see his face in it, although I’m not sure why. ” He quailed at her expression. “Duke is a military term, dear. No soldier would ever go to war in tights. Not if he thought he might be taken prisoner. ” “I find this highly suspicious, Sam. ” “Detritus will back me up on this,” said Vimes. “Dat’s right, sir,” the troll rumbled. “You distinctly said to say dat—” “Anyway, we’d better be goi—Good grief, is that Cheery?” “Yes, sir,” said Cheery nervously. Well, thought Vimes, she comes from a family where people go off in strange clothes to face explosions far away from the sun. “Very nice,” he said. Lamps were lit all along the tunnel to what Vimes had come to think of as Downtown Bonk. Dwarf guards waved the coach through after mere glances at the Ankh-Morpork crest. The ones around the giant elevator were more uncertain. But Sam Vimes had learned a lot from watching Lady Sybil. She didn’t mean to act like that, but she’d been born to it, into a class which had always behaved this way: You went through the world as if there was no possibility that anyone would stop you or question you, and most of the time that’s exactly what didn’t happen. There were others in the elevator as it rumbled downward. Mostly they were diplomats that Vimes didn’t recognize, but there was also, now, in a roped-off corner, a quartet of dwarf musicians playing pleasant yet slightly annoying music that ate its way into Vimes’s head as the interminable descent went on. When the doors opened he heard Sybil gasp. “I thought you said it was like a starry night down here, Sam!” “Er…they’ve certainly turned the wick up…” Candles by the thousand burned in brackets all around the walls of the huge cavern, but it was the chandeliers that caught the eye. There were scores of them, each at least four stories high. Vimes, always ready to look for the wires behind the smoke and mirrors, made out the dwarfs working inside the gantries and the baskets of fresh candles being lowered through holes in the ceiling. If the Fifth Elephant wasn’t a myth, at least one whole toe must be being burned tonight. “Your Grace!” Dee was advancing through the crowds. “Ah, Ideas-taster,” said Vimes. as the dwarf approached, “do allow me to introduce the Duchess of Ankh-Morpork…Lady Sybil. ” “Uh…er…yes…indeed…so delighted to make your acquaintance…” Dee murmured, caught off-guard by the charm offensive. “But, er…” Sybil had picked up the code. Vimes loathed the word “duchess,” so if he was using it then he wanted her to out-dutch everyone. She enveloped Dee’s pointy head in delighted Duchessness. “Mister Dee, Sam has told me so much about you!” she trilled. “I understand you’re quite the right-hand man—” “—dwarf—” hissed Vimes. “—dwarf to his majesty! Please, you must tell how you have achieved such a delightful lighting effect here!” “Er…lots of candles…” Dee muttered, glaring at Vimes. “I think Dee wishes to discuss some political matters with me, dear,” said Vimes smoothly, putting his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “If you’ll just take the others down, I’ll join you shortly, I’m sure. ” And he knew that no power in the world was going to prevent Sybil sweeping on down to the reception. That woman could sweep. Things stayed swept after she’d gone past. “You brought a troll, you brought a troll !” muttered Dee. “And he’s an Ankh-Morpork citizen, remember,” said Vimes. “Covered by diplomatic immunity and a rather bad suit. ” “Even so—” “There is no ‘even so,’” said Vimes. “We are at war with the trolls!” “Well, that’s what diplomacy is all about, isn’t it?” said Vimes. |
“A way to stop being at war? Anyway, I understand it’s been going on for five hundred years, so obviously no one is trying very hard. ” “There will be complaints at the very highest level!” Vimes sighed. “More?” he said. “Some are saying Ankh-Morpork is deliberately flaunting its wickedness at the king!” “The king?” said Vimes pleasantly. “He’s not exactly king yet, is he? Not until the coronation, which involves a certain…bject…” “Yes, but of course that is a mere formality…” Vimes moved closer. “But it isn’t, is it?” he said quietly. “It is the thing and the whole of the thing. Without the magic, there is no king. Just someone like you, unaccountably giving orders. ” “Someone called Vimes teaches me about royalty?” said Dee, miserably. “And without the thing, all the bets are off,” said Vimes. “There will be a war. Explosions underground. ” There was a tinny little sound as he took out his watch and opened it. “My word, it’s midnight,” he said. “Follow me,” Dee muttered. “Am I being taken to see something?” said Vimes. “No, Your Excellency. You are being taken to see where something is not. ” “Ah. Then I want to bring Corporal Littlebottom. ” “ That? Absolutely not! That would be a desecration of—” “No, it wouldn’t,” said Vimes. “And the reason is, she won’t come with us because we’re not going, are we? You’re certainly not taking the representative of a potentially hostile power into your confidence and revealing that your house of cards is missing a card on the bottom layer, are you? Of course not. We are not having this conversation. For the next hour or so we’ll be nibbling tidbits in this room. I haven’t even just said this, and you didn’t hear me. But Corporal Littlebottom is the best scene-of-crime officer I’ve got, and so I want her to come along with us. ” “You’ve made your point, Your Excellency. Graphically, as always. Fetch her, then. ” Vimes found Cheery standing back to back, or at least back to knees, with Detritus. They were surrounded by a ring of the curious. Whenever Detritus raised his hand to sip his drink, the nearby dwarfs jumped back hurriedly. “Where are we going, sir?” “Nowhere. ” “Ah. That sort of place. ” “But things are looking up,” said Vimes. “Dee has discovered a new pronoun, even if he does spit it. ” “Sam!” said Lady Sybil, advancing through the throng, “They’re going to perform ‘Bloodaxe and Ironhammer’! Isn’t that wonderful?” “Er…” “It’s an opera, sir,” Cheery whispered. “Part of the Koboldean Cycle. It’s history. Every dwarf knows it by heart. It’s about how we got laws, and kings…and the Scone, sir. ” “I sung the part of Ironhammer when we did it at finishing school,” said Lady Sybil. “Not the full five-week version, of course. It’d be marvelous to see it done here. It’s really one of the great romances of history. ” “Romances?” said Vimes. “Like…a love story?” “Yes. Of course. ” “Bloodaxe and Ironhammer were both…er…weren’t both…” Vimes began. “They were both dwarfs , sir,” said Cheery. “Ah. Of course. ” Vimes gave up. All dwarfs were dwarfs. If you tried to understand their world from a human point of view, it all went wrong. “Do, er, enjoy it, dear. I’ve got to…the king wants me to…I’ll just be somewhere else for a while…politics…” He hurried away, with Cheery trailing behind him. Dee led the way led through dark tunnels. When the opera began it was a whisper far away, like the sea in an ancient shell. Eventually they stopped at the edge of a canal, its waters lapping at the darkness. A small boat was tethered there, with a waiting guard. Dee urged them into it. “It is important that you understand what you are seeing, Your Grace,” said Dee. “Practically nothing,” said Vimes. “And I thought I had good night vision. ” There was a clink in the gloom, and then a lamp was lit. The guard was punting the boat under an arch and into a small lake. Apart from the tunnel entrance, the walls rose up sheer. “Are we at the bottom of a well?” said Vimes. “That is quite a good way of describing it. ” Dee fished under his seat. He produced a curved metal horn and blew one note, which echoed up the rock walls. After a few seconds another note floated down from the top. There was a clanking, as of heavy, ancient chains. “This is quite a short lift compared to some up in the mountains,” said Dee, as an iron plate ground across the entrance, sealing it. “There’s one half a mile high that will take a string of barges…” Water boiled beside the boat. Vimes saw the walls begin to sink. “This is the only way to the Scone,” said Dee behind him. Now the boat was rocking in the bubbling water and the walls were blurred. “Water is diverted into reservoirs up near the peaks. Then it is simply a matter of opening and closing sluices, you see?” “Yes,” mumbled Vimes, experiencing vertigo and seasickness in one tight green package. The walls slowed. The boat stopped shaking. Smoothly, the water lifted them over the lip of the well and into a little channel, where there was a dock. “Any guards below?” Vimes managed, stepping out onto the blessedly solid stone. “There are usually four,” said Dee. “For tonight I…arranged matters. The guards understand. No one is proud of this. I must tell you, I disapprove most strongly of this enterprise. ” Vimes looked around the new cave. A couple of dwarfs were standing on a lip of stone which overlooked what was now a placid pool. By the look of it, they were the ones who operated the machinery. “Shall we proceed?” said the dwarf. There was a passage leading off the cave, which rapidly narrowed. Vimes had to bend almost double along one length. At one point metal plates clanked under his feet, and he felt them shift slightly. Then he was standing almost upright again, passing under another arch, and there… Either the dwarfs had cut into a huge geode, or they had with great care lined this small cave with quartz crystals until every surface reflected the light of the two small candles that stood on pillars in the middle of the sandy floor. The effect dazzled even Vimes, after the darkness of the tunnels. “Behold,” said Dee gloomily, “where the Scone should be…” A round flat stone, midway between the candles and only a few inches high, clearly contained nothing. Behind it, water bubbled up in a natural basin and split into two streams that flowed around the stone and disappeared again into another stone funnel. “All right,” said Vimes. “Tell me everything. ” “It was found missing three days ago,” said Dee. “Dozy Longfinger found it gone when he unlocked the door to replace the candles. ” “And his job is…?” “Captain of the Candles. ” “Ah. ” “It’s a very responsible position. ” “I’ve seen the chandeliers. And how often does he go in there?” “He went in there every day. ” “Went?” “He no longer holds the position. ” “Because he’s a prime suspect?” said Vimes. “Because he’s dead. ” “And how did that happen?” said Vimes, slowly and deliberately. “He…took his own life. We are certain of this, because we had to break down the door of his cave. He’d had been Captain of the Candles for sixty years. I do not think he could bear the thought of suspicion falling on him. ” “To me he does sound a likely suspect. ” “He did not steal the Scone. We know that much. ” “But the robes you people wear could hide practically anything. Was he searched?” “Certainly not! But…I shall demonstrate,” said Dee. He walked off along the narrow, metal-floored corridor. “Can you see me, Your Excellency?” “Yes, of course. ” The floor rattled as Dee came back. “Now this time I will carry something…your helmet, if you please? Just for the demonstration…” Vimes handed it to him. The Ideas-taster walked back down the corridor. When he was halfway, a gong boomed and two metal grids dropped down out of the ceiling. A few seconds after that guards appeared at the far grille, peering in suspiciously. Dee said a few words to them. The faces vanished. After a while, the grilles rose slowly. “The mechanism is complex and quite old but we keep it in good working order,” he said, handing Vimes his helmet. |
“If you weigh more going out than going in, the guards will want to know why. It is unavoidable, it is still accurate to within a few ounces, and does not violate privacy. The only way to beat it would be to fly. Can thieves fly, Your Excellency?” “Depends on which sort,” said Vimes absently. “Who else goes in there?” “Once every six days the chamber is inspected by myself and two guards. The last inspection was five days ago. ” “Does anyone else go in there?” said Vimes. He noticed that Cheery had picked up a handful of the off-white sand that formed the floor of the Scone cave and was letting it run between her fingers. “Not lately. When the new king is crowned, of course, the Scone will often be brought forth for various ceremonial purposes. ” “Do you only get that white sand in here?” “Yes. Is that important?” Vimes saw Cheery nod. “I’m not…sure,” he said. “Tell me, what intrinsic value has the Scone?” “Intrinsic? It’s priceless!” “I know it’s valuable as a symbol, but what is it’s value in itself ?” “Priceless!” “I’m trying to work out why a thief might want to steal it,” said Vimes, as patiently as he could. Cheery had lifted up the flat round stone and was looking underneath it. Vimes pursed his lips. “What is… she doing?” said Dee. The pronoun dripped with distaste. “Constable Littlebottom is looking for clues,” said Vimes. “They are what we call…signs, which may help us. It’s a skill. ” “Would this letter speed your search?” said Dee. “It has writing on it. That is what we call…signs, which may help you. ” Vimes looked at the proffered paper. It was brown, and quite stiff, and covered in runes. “I, er, can’t read those,” he said. “It’s a skill,” said Dee, solemnly. “I can, sir,” said Cheery. “Allow me?” She took the paper and read it. “Er…it appears to be a ransom note, sir. From…the Sons of Agi Hammerthief. They say they have the Scone and will…they say they’ll destroy it, sir. ” “Where’s the money?” said Vimes. “No money, sir. They say Rhys must renounce all claim to be Low King. ” “There are no other conditions,” said Dee. “The note turned up on my desk. But everyone puts paperwork on my desk these days. ” “Who are the Sons of Agi Hammerthief?” said Vimes, looking at Dee. “And why didn’t you tell me about this before?” “We don’t know. It is just a made-up name. Some…malcontents, we assume. And I was told you would ask me questions. ” “But this isn’t a real crime anymore, is it?” said Vimes. “This is politics. Why can’t the king just renounce all claim, get the Scone back, and then say he had his fingers crossed? If it’s done under duress—” “We take our ceremonies seriously, Your Excellency. If Rhys renounces the throne, he cannot change his mind the next day. If he allows the Scone to be destroyed, then the kingship has no legitimacy and there will—” “—be trouble,” said Vimes. And it’ll spread to Ankh-Morpork, he added to himself. At the moment it’s only riots. “Who’ll become king if he abdicates?” “Albrecht Albrechtson, as everyone knows. ” “And that will be trouble, too,” said Vimes. “Civil war, from what I hear. ” “The king says,” said Dee quietly, “that he intends to step down nevertheless. Better any king than chaos. Dwarfs do not like chaos. ” “It’s going to be chaos either way, though,” said Vimes. “There have been rebellions against kings before. Dwarfdom survives. The crown continues. The lore abides. The Stone remains. There is…a sanity to come back to. ” Oh, my gods, thought Vimes. Thousands of dwarfs die but that’s all right if a lump of rock survives. “I’m not a policeman here. What can I do?” “This hasn’t happened!” shrieked Dee, his nerve cracking. “But everyone knows foreigners from Ankh-Morpork do not mind their own business!” “Ah…you mean…given that you don’t want people to know about this…it would look bad if you appeared to be too excited…but you can’t be blamed if a stupid flatfoot pokes his nose into things…?” Dee waved his hands in the air. “This wasn’t my idea!” “Look, the security you have got here would disgrace a child’s piggy bank. I can think of two or three ways of getting the Scone out of here. What about the secret passage into this room?” “I know of no secret passage into this room!” “Oh, good. At least we’ve ruled out something. Go and wait by the boat. Corporal Littlebottom and I have to talk about some things. ” Dee left reluctantly. Vimes waited until the dwarf was visible in the glow of the candles beyond the weighing bridge. “What a mess,” he said. “Locked-room mysteries are even worse when they leave the room unlocked. ” “You’re thinking that Dozy might have worn bags of sand under his robes, aren’t you, sir,” said Cheery. No, thought Vimes. I wasn’t. But now I know how a dwarf would solve this. “Possibly,” he said aloud. “Grubby white sand can’t be uncommon. You’d add a bit of sand every day, yes? Just enough not to trigger the scales. Finally you’ve got…how much does the Scone weigh?” “About sixteen pounds, sir. ” “All right. Dump the sand on the floor, shove the Scone under your robes, and…it might just work. ” “Risky, sir. ” “But no one thinks anyone is really going to try to steal the Scone. Would you try to tell me that four guards sitting in that little guardhouse on a twelve-hour shift will be alert all the time? That’s enough for a hand of poker!” “I suppose they rely on the fact that they’d know when a boat came up, sir. ” “Right. Big mistake. And you know what? I bet that when a boat’s just gone down, that’s the time they’re least alert. Cheery, if a human could get in here, they could get into the Scone room. They’d have to be nimble and a good swimmer, but they could do it. ” “The guards on the gates were pretty keen, sir. ” “Well, yes. Guards always are, just after a theft. Smart as foxes and sharp as knives, just in case anyone wonders if it was them who dropped off to sleep at the wrong time. I’m a copper , Cheery. I know how dull guarding can be. Especially when you know that no one is ever going to steal what you’re guarding. ” He scuffed the sand with his boot. “They were looking hard at every cart that went in or out this morning. But that was because the Scone had been stolen. It’s at times like this you get very official, very efficient and very pointless activity. Don’t try to tell me that last week they opened every barrel and prodded every load of hay. Even the stuff coming in ? Can you see Dee? Is he looking at me?” Cheery peered around Vimes. “No, sir. ” “Good. ” Vimes walked over to the tunnel, pressed his back against a wall, took a deep breath, and walked his legs up the opposite wall. Then he eased his way out over the plates of the weigh-bridge, inched along with feet and shoulder blades and, wincing at every protest from his knees, eventually dropped down. He strolled over to Dee, who was talking to the guards. “How did—” “Never mind,” said Vimes. “Let’s just say I’m longer than a dwarf, shall we?” “Have you solved it?” “No. But I have an idea. ” “Really? Already?” said Dee. “And what is that?” “I’m still working it out,” said Vimes. “But it’s lucky the king told you to ask me, Dee. One thing I have found out is that no dwarf will give you the right answer. ” The opera was just ending as Vimes slipped into the seat beside Sybil. “Have I missed anything?” he said. “It’s very good. Where have you been?” “You wouldn’t believe me. ” He stared, unseeing, at the stage. A couple of dwarfs were engaged in a very careful mock battle. All right, then. If it was politics it was…well, politics. There was nothing he could do about politics. So…think about it as a crime… What was the simple solution? Best to start with the first rule of policing: Suspect the victim. Vimes wasn’t quite sure who the victim was here, though. So…suspect the witness. That was another good rule. That meant the late Dozy. He could have walked out with the Scone days before he “discovered” the loss. He could have done just about anything. The way the thing was guarded was a joke. Nobby and Colon could have done it better. |
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