‘How should I know? I don’t know how much money humans generally have.’
Nobby subsided.
‘There’s one thing that’s true at least,’ he said. ‘You dwarfs really love gold, don’t you?’
‘Of course we don’t. Don’t be silly.’
‘Well—’
‘We just say that to get it into bed.’
It was in a clown’s bedroom. Colon had occasionally wondered what clowns did in private, and it was all here – the overlarge shoe tree, the very wide trouser press, the mirror with all the candles round it, some industrial-sized sticks of make-up . . . and a bed which looked like nothing more complicated than a blanket on the floor, because that’s what it was. Clowns and fools weren’t encouraged to live the soft life. Humour was a serious business.
There was also a hole in the wall, just big enough to admit a man. A little pile of crumbling bricks was heaped next to it.
There was darkness on the other side.
On the other side, people killed other people for money.
Carrot stuck his head and shoulders through the hole, but Colon tried to pull him back.
‘Hang on, lad, you don’t know what horrors lie beyond these walls—’
‘I’m just having a look to find out.’
‘It could be a torture chamber or a dungeon or a hideous pit or anything!’
‘It’s just a student’s bedroom, sergeant.’
‘You see?’
Carrot stepped through. They could hear him moving around in the gloom. It was Assassin’s gloom, somehow richer and less gloomy than clown’s gloom.
He poked his head through again.
‘No-one’s been in here for a while, though,’ he said. ‘There’s dust all over the floor but there’s footprints in it. And the door’s locked and bolted. On this side.’
The rest of his body followed Carrot.
‘I just want to make sure I fully understand this,’ he said to Dr Whiteface. ‘Beano made a hole into the Assassins’ Guild, yes? And then he went and exploded that dragon? And then he came back through this hole? So how did he get killed?’
‘By the Assassins, surely,’ said Dr Whiteface. ‘They’d be within their rights. Trespass on Guild property is a very serious offence, after all.’
‘Did anyone see Beano after the explosion?’ said Carrot.
‘Oh yes. Boffo was on gate duty and he distinctly remembers him going out.’
‘He knows it was him?’
Dr Whiteface looked blank.
‘Of course.’
‘How?’
‘How? He recognized him, of course. That’s how you know who people are. You look at them and you say . . . that’s him. That’s called re-cog-nit-ion,’ said the clown, with pointed deliberation. ‘It was Beano. Boffo said he looked very worried.’
‘Ah. Fine. No more questions, doctor. Did Beano have any friends among the Assassins?’
‘Well . . . possibly, possibly. We don’t discourage visitors.’
Carrot stared at the clown’s face. Then he smiled.
‘Of course. Well, that about wraps it all up, I think.’
‘If only he’d stuck to something, you know, original,’ said Dr Whiteface.
‘Like a bucket of whitewash over the door, or a custard pie?’ said Sergeant Colon.
‘That’s right!’
‘Well, we might as well be going,’ said Carrot. ‘I imagine you don’t want to lay a complaint about the Assassins?’
Dr Whiteface tried to look panicky, but this did not work very well under a mouth painted into a wide grin.
‘What? No! I mean – if an Assassin broke into our Guild, I mean, not on proper business, and stole something, well, we’d definitely consider we were within our rights to, well—’
‘Pour jelly into his shirt?’ said Angua.
‘Hit him around the head with a bladder on a stick?’ said Colon.
‘Possibly.’
‘Each Guild to their own, of course,’ said Carrot. ‘I suggest we might as well be going, sergeant. Nothing more for us to do here. Sorry to have troubled you, Dr Whiteface. I can see this must have been a great strain on you.’
The clown was limp with relief.
‘Don’t mention it. Don’t mention it. Happy to help. I know you have your job to do.’
He ushered them down the stairs and into the courtyard, bubbling with small talk now. The rest of the Watch clanked to attention.
‘Actually . . .’ said Carrot, just as he was being ushered out of the gate, ‘there is one thing you could do.’
‘Of course, of course.’
‘Um, I know it’s a bit cheeky,’ said Carrot, ‘but I’ve always been very interested in Guild customs . . . so . . . do you think someone could show me your museum?’
‘Sorry? What museum?’
‘The clown museum?’
‘Oh, you mean the Hall of Faces. That’s not a museum. Of course. Nothing secret about it. Boffo, make a note. We’d be happy to show you around any time, corporal.’
‘Thank you very much, Dr Whiteface.’
Any time.’
‘I’m just going off duty,’ said Carrot. ‘Right now would be nice. Since I happen to be here.’
‘You can’t go off duty when— ow!’ said Colon.
‘Sorry, sergeant?’
‘You kicked me!’
‘I accidentally trod on your sandal, sergeant. I’m sorry.’
Colon tried to see a message in Carrot’s face. He’d got used to simple Carrot. Complicated Carrot was as unnerving as being savaged by a duck.
‘We’ll, er, we’ll just be going, then, shall we?’ he said.
‘No point in staying here now it’s all settled,’ said Carrot, mugging furiously. ‘May as well take the night off, really.’
He glanced at the rooftops.
‘Oh, well, now it’s all settled we’ll be off, right,’ said Colon. ‘Right, Nobby?’
‘Oh, yeah, we’ll be off all right, because it’s all settled,’ said Nobby. ‘You hear that, Cuddy?’
‘What, that it’s all settled?’ said Cuddy. ‘Oh, yeah. We might as well be off. OK, Detritus?’
Detritus was staring moodily at nothing with his knuckles resting on the ground. This was a normal stance for a troll while waiting for the next thought to arrive.
The syllables of his name kicked a neuron into fitful activity.
‘What?’ he said.
‘It’s all settled.’
‘What is?’
‘You know – Mr Hammerhock’s death and everything.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes!’
‘Oh.’
Detritus considered this for a while, nodded, and settled back into whatever state of mind he normally occupied.
Another neuron gave a fizzle.
‘Right,’ he said.
Cuddy watched him for a moment.
‘That’s about it,’ he said, sadly. ‘That’s all we’re getting.’
‘I’ll be back shortly,’ said Carrot. ‘Shall we be off . . . Joey, wasn’t it? Dr Whiteface?’
‘I suppose there’s no harm,’ said Dr Whiteface. ‘Very well. Show Corporal Carrot anything he likes, Boffo.’
‘Right, sir,’ said the little clown.
‘It must be a jolly job, being a clown,’ said Carrot.
‘Must it?’
‘Lots of japes and jokes, I mean.’
Boffo gave Carrot a lopsided look.
‘Well . . .’ he said. ‘It has its moments . . .’
‘I bet it does. I bet it does.’
‘Are you often on gate duty, Boffo?’ said Carrot pleasantly, as they strolled through the Fools’ Guild.
‘Huh! Just about all the time,’ said Boffo.
‘So when did that friend of his, you know, the Assassin . . . visit him?’
‘Oh, you know about him, then,’ said Boffo.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Carrot.
‘About ten days ago,’ said Boffo. ‘It’s through here, past the pie range.’
‘He’d forgotten Beano’s name, but he did know the room. He didn’t know the number but he went straight to it,’ Carrot went on.
‘That’s right. I expect Dr Whiteface told you,’ said Boffo.
‘I’ve spoken to Dr Whiteface,’ said Carrot.
Angua felt she was beginning to understand the way Carrot asked questions. He asked them by not asking them. He simply told people what he thought or suspected, and they found themselves filling in the details in an attempt to keep up. And he never, actually, told lies.
Boffo pushed open a door and fussed around lighting a candle.
‘Here we are then,’ he said. ‘I’m in charge of this, when I’m not on the bloody gate.’
‘Ye gods,’ said Angua, under her breath. ‘It’s horrible.’
‘It’s very interesting,’ said Carrot.
‘It’s historical,’ said Boffo the clown.
All those little heads . . .’
They stretched away in the candlelight, shelf on shelf of them, tiny little clown faces – as if a tribe of head-hunters had suddenly developed a sophisticated sense of humour and a desire to make the world a better place.
‘Eggs,’ said Carrot. ‘Ordinary hens’ eggs. What you do is, you get a hen’s egg, and you make a hole in either end and you blow the egg stuff out, and then a clown paints his make-up on the egg and that’s his official make-up and no other clown can use it. That’s very important. Some faces have been in the same family for generations, you know. Very valuable thing, a clown’s face. Isn’t that so, Boffo?’
The clown was staring at him.
‘How do you know all that?’
‘I read it in a book.’
Angua picked up an ancient egg. There was a label attached to it, and on the label were a dozen names, all crossed out except the last one. The ink on the earlier ones had faded almost to nothing. She put it down and unconsciously wiped her hand on her tunic.