‘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 several tubes, about a foot long, open at one end.
“Badger & Normal, AnkhMorpork’,’ 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 was a big problem. Yes, the tower nearest AnkhMorpork 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 on to 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 if 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, mmph. 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’s 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, mmhm, mmm. I’ll be safe enough-‘
‘The crew weren’t.’
‘They weren’t me, mmhm, mmhm. 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 grandmothers’ 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-deedum-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 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 being unable to do anything that makes me sick,’ said Vimes. ‘Back in AnkhMorpork … 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? Well, 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 Attache.’
‘Oh,’ said Detritus, disappointed.
‘And, Detritus, you’re Cultural Attache.’
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 panelling, 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.