‘I want to take this to the King,’ he said in the hushed silence.
‘We will take it-‘ the dwarf began, moving forward.
Vimes stepped aside.
‘Good evenin’, boys,’ said Detritus, standing up in the sleigh.
The tortured noises the bow’s springs were making under their preternatural stress sounded like some metal animal in extreme pain. The dwarf was a couple of feet away from several dozen arrow points.
‘On the other hand,’ said Vimes, ‘we could continue talking. You look like a dwarf who likes to talk.’
The dwarf nodded.
‘First of all, is there any reason why the two wounded men I have here couldn’t be taken inside before they die of their wounds?’
The bow twitched in Detritus’s hands.
The dwarf nodded.
‘They can go inside and be treated?’ said Vimes.
The dwarf nodded again, still looking into a bundle of arrows bigger than his head.
‘Capital. See how we get on when we simply talk? And now I suggest that you arrest me.’
‘You want me to arrest you?’
‘Yes. And Lady Sybil. We place ourselves
under your personal jurisdiction.’
‘That’s right,’ said Sybil. ‘I demand to be arrested.’ She drew herself up and out, righteous indignation radiating like a bonfire, causing the dwarfs to back away from what was clearly an unexploded bosom.
‘And since the arrest of its ambassador will certainly cause … difficulties with AnkhMorpork,’ Vimes went on, ‘I strongly suggest you take us directly to the King.’
By blessed chance, the distant tower sent up another flare. Green light illuminated the snows for a moment.
‘What’s that mean?’ said the dwarf captain.
‘It means that AnkhMorpork knows what’s going on,’ said Vimes, praying that it did. ‘And I don’t reckon you want to be the dwarf who started the war.’
The dwarf spoke to the dwarf beside him. A third dwarf joined them. Vimes couldn’t follow the hurried conversation, but right behind him Cheery whispered: ‘It’s a bit beyond him. He doesn’t want anything to happen to the Scone.’
‘Good.’
The dwarf turned back to Vimes. ‘What about the troll?’
‘Oh, Detritus will stay in the embassy,’ said Vimes.
This seemed to lighten the tone of the debate somewhat, but it still appeared to be heavy going.
‘What’s happening now?’ whispered Vimes.
‘There’s no precedent for anything like this,’ muttered Cheery. ‘You’re supposed to be an
assassin, but you’ve come back to see the King and you’ve got the Scone-‘
‘No precedent?’ said Sybil. ‘Yes there bloody well is, pardon my Klatchian …’ She took a deep breath and began to sing.
‘Oh,’ said Cheery, shocked.
‘What?’ said Vimes.
The dwarfs were staring at Lady Sybil as she changed up through the gears into full, operatic voice. For an amateur soprano she had an impressive delivery and range, a touch too wobbly for the professional stage but exactly the kind of high coloratura to impress the dwarfs.
Snow slid off roofs. Icicles vibrated. Good grief, thought Vimes, impressed. With a spiky corset and a hat with wings on it she could be ferrying dead warriors off a battlefield …
‘It’s Ironhammer’s “Ransom” song,’ said Cheery. ‘Every dwarf knows it! Er, it doesn’t translate well, but… “I come now to ransom my love, I bring a gift of great wealth, none but the King can have power over me now, standing in my way is against all the laws of the world, the value of truth is greater than gold” … er, there’s always been some debate about that last line, sir, but it’s generally considered acceptable if it’s a really big truth-‘
Vimes looked at the dwarfs. They were fascinated, and one or two of them were mouthing along to the words.
‘Is it going to work?’ he whispered.
‘It’s hard to think of a bigger precedent than this, sir. I mean, it’s the song of songs! The ultimate appeal! It’s built into dwarf law, almost! They
can’t refuse. It’d be … not being a dwarf, sir!’
As Vimes watched, one dwarf pulled a fine chainmail handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose with a wet, jingling noise. Several others were in tears.
When the last note died away there was silence, and then the sudden thunder of axes banging on shields.
‘It’s all right!’ said Cheery. ‘They’re clapping!’
Sybil, panting with the effort, turned to her husband. She gleamed in the torchlight. ‘Do you think that was all right?’ she said.
‘By the sound of it, you’re an honorary dwarf,’ said Vimes. He held out his arm. ‘Shall we go?’
News was going on ahead. Dwarfs were pouring out of the entrance to Downtown when the Duke and Duchess arrived.
There were dwarfs behind them now. They were being swept along. And all the time, hands reached out to touch the Scone as it passed.
Dwarfs crowded into the elevator with them. Down below, the roar of conversation stopped abruptly as Vimes stepped out and raised the Scone above his head. Then the rock echoed and re-echoed to one enormous cheer.
They can’t even see it, thought Vimes. To most of them it’s a tiny white dot. And that was what the plotters had known, wasn’t it? You don’t have to steal something to hold it hostage.
‘They are to be arrested!’ Dee was hurrying forward, with more guards behind him.
‘Again?’ said Vimes. He kept the Scone aloft.
‘You attempted to kill the King! You escaped from your cell!’
‘That’s something about which we could hear more evidence,’ said Vimes, as calmly as he could. The Scone was heavy. ‘You can’t keep people in the dark all the time, Dee.’
‘You shall certainly not see the King!’
‘Then I will drop the Scone!’
‘Do so! It won’t-‘
Vimes heard the gasp of the ,dwarfs behind him.
,‘It won’t what?’ he said quietly. ‘It won’t matter? But this is the Scone!’
One of the dwarfs that had accompanied them from the embassy shouted something, and several others took it up.
‘Precedent is on your side,’ Cheery translated. ‘They say they can always kill you after you’ve seen the King.’
‘Well, not exactly what I was hoping, but it’ll have to do.’ Vimes looked at Dee again. ‘You said you wanted me to find the thing, didn’t you? And now, how fitting that I return it to its rightful owner…’
‘You … the King is … You may give it to me,’ said Dee, pulling himself up to the height of Vimes’s chest.
‘Absolutely not!’ snapped Lady Sybil. ‘When Ironhammer returned the Scone to Bloodaxe, would he have given it to Slogram?’
There was a general chorus of dissent.
‘Of course not,’ said Dee, ‘Slogram was a trait-‘
He stopped.
‘I think,’ said Vimes, ‘that we had better see the King, don’t you?’
‘You can’t demand that!’
Vimes indicated the press of dwarfs behind them. ‘You’re going to be amazed at how difficult it’s going to be for you, explaining that to them,’ he said.
It took half an hour to see the King. He had to be roused. He had to dress. Kings don’t hurry.
In the meantime, Vimes and Sybil sat in an anteroom on chairs too small for them, surrounded by dwarfs who weren’t themselves sure if they were a prisoner escort or an honour guard. Other dwarfs were peering around the doorway; Vimes could hear the buzz of excited conversation.
They weren’t wasting much time looking at him. Their gaze always fell on the Scone that he held in his lap. It was clear that most of them hadn’t even seen it before.
You poor little sods, he thought. This is what you all believe in, and before the day’s out you’re going to be told it’s just a bad fake. You’ll see it’s a forgery. And that about wraps it up for your little world, doesn’t it? I set out to solve a crime and I’m going to end up committing a bigger one.
I’m going to be lucky to get out of here alive, aren’t I?
A door was rolled open. A couple of what Vimes thought of as the heavy dwarfs stepped through and gave everyone the official, professional look which said that for your comfort and convenience we have decided not to kill you right at this very moment.
The King entered, rubbing his hands.
‘Ah, your excellency,’ he said, pronouncing the word as a statement of fact rather than a welcome. ‘I see you have something that belongs to us.’
Dee detached himself from the crowd at the door.
‘I must make a serious accusation, sire!’ he said.
‘Really? Bring these people into the law room. Under guard, of course.’
He swept away. Vimes looked at Sybil and shrugged. They followed the King, leaving the hubbub of the main cavern behind.
Once again Vimes was in the room with too many shelves and too few candles. The King sat down.
‘Is the Scone heavy, your excellency?’
‘Yes!’
‘It is weighted with history, see? Put it down on the table with extreme care, please. And … Dee?’