He stopped half-way up and looked around.
The golem had reached the bottom step. It tested it carefully. The wood creaked and the whole stairway, grey with age, trembled.
‘It won’t take the weight!’ said Wee Mad Arthur. ‘The bugger’s gonna smash it up! Yeah!’
The golem took another step. The wood groaned.
Colon got a grip on himself and hurried on up the stairs.
Behind him, the golem seemed to have satisfied itself that the wood could indeed take its weight, and started to leap from step to step. The rails shook under Colon’s hands and the whole structure swayed.
‘Come on, will yez?’ said Wee Mad Arthur, who had already reached the top. ‘It’s gaining on yez!’
The golem lunged. The stairs gave way. Colon flung out his hands and grabbed the edge of the roof. Then his body thudded into the side of the building.
There was the distant sound of woodwork hitting cobbles.
‘Come on then,’ said Wee Mad Arthur. ‘Pull yourself up, yer silly bugger!’ ‘Can’t,’ said Colon. ‘Why not?’ ‘It’s holding on to my foot . . .’
‘A cigar, your lordship?’
‘Brandy, my lord?’
Lord de Nobbes sat back in the comfort of his chair. His feet only just reached the ground. Brandy and cigars, eh? This was the life all right. He took a deep puff at the cigar.
‘We were just talking, my lord, about the future governance of the city now that poor Lord Vetinari’s health is so bad . . .’
Nobby nodded. This was the kind of thing you talked about when you were a nob. This was what he’d been born for.
The brandy was giving him a pleasant warm feeling.
‘It would obviously upset the current equilibrium if we looked for a new Patrician at this point,’ said another armchair. ‘What is your view, Lord de Nobbes?’
‘Oh, yeah. Right. The guilds’d fight like cats in a sack,’ said Nobby. ‘Everyone knows that.’
‘A masterly summary, if I may say so.’
There was a general murmur of agreement from the other chairs.
Nobby grinned. Oh, yes. This was the bee’s pyjamas and no mistake. Hobnobbing with his fellow nobs, talking big talk about important matters instead of having to think up reasons why the tea-money tin was empty . . . oh, yes.
A chair said, ‘Besides, are any of the guild leaders up to the task? Oh, they can organize a bunch of tradesmen, but ruling an entire city … I think not. Gentlemen, perhaps it is time for a new direction. Perhaps it is time for blood to reveal itself.’
Odd way of putting it, Nobby thought, but clearly this was how you were supposed to speak.
‘At a time like this,’ said a chair, ‘the city will surely look at those representatives of its most venerable families. It would be in all our interests if such a one would take up the burden.’
‘He’d need his head examined, if you want my opinion,’ said Nobby. He took another swig of the brandy and waved the cigar expansively.
‘Still, not to worry,’ he said. ‘Everyone knows we’ve got a king hanging around. No problem there. Send for Captain Carrot, that’s my advice.’
Another evening folded over the city in layers of fog.
When Carrot arrived back at the Watch House Corporal Littlebottom made a face at him and indicated, with a flicker of her eyes, the three people sitting grimly on the bench against one wall.
They want to see an officer!’ she hissed. ‘But S’arnt Colon isn’t back and I knocked on Mr Vimes’s door and I don’t think he’s in.’
Carrot composed his features into a welcoming smile.
‘Mrs Palm,” he said. ‘And Mr Boggis . . . and Dr Downey. I am so sorry. We’re rather stretched at present, what with the poisoning and this business with the golems’
The head of the Assassins’ Guild smiled, but only with his mouth. ‘It’s about the poisoning we wish to speak,’ he said. ‘Is there somewhere a little less public?’
‘Well, there’s the canteen,’ said Carrot. ‘It’ll be empty at this time of night. If you’d just step this way . . .’
‘You do well for yourselves here, I must say,’ said Mrs Palm. ‘A canteen’
She stopped as she stepped through the door.
‘People eat in here?’ she said.
‘Well, grumble about the coffee, mostly,’ said Carrot. ‘And write their reports. Commander Vimes is keen on reports.’
‘Captain Carrot,’ said Dr Downey, firmly, ‘we have to talk to you on a grave matter concerning What have I sat in?’
Carrot brushed a chair hurriedly. ‘Sorry, sir, we don’t seem to have much time to clean up’
‘Leave it for now, leave it for now.’
The head of the Assassins’ Guild leaned forward with his hands pressed together.
‘Captain Carrot, we are here to discuss this terrible matter of the poisoning of Lord Vetinari.’
‘You really ought to talk to Commander Vimes’
‘I believe that on a number of occasions Commander Vimes has made derogatory comments to you about Lord Vetinari,’ said Dr Downey.
‘You mean like “He ought to be hung except they can’t find a twisty enough rope”?’ said Carrot. ‘Oh, yes. But everyone does that.’
‘Do you?’
‘Well, no,’ Carrot admitted.
‘And I believe he personally took over the investigation of the poisoning?’
‘Well, yes. But’
‘Didn’t you think that was odd?’
‘No, sir. Not when I thought about it. I think he’s got a sort of soft spot for the Patrician, in his way. He once said that if anyone was going to kill Vetinari he’d like it to be him.’
‘Indeed?’
‘But he was smiling when he said it. Sort of smiling, anyway.’
‘He, er, visits his lordship most days, I believe?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And I understand that his efforts to discover the poisoner have not reached any conclusions?’
‘Not as such, sir,’ said Carrot. ‘We’ve found a lot of ways he’s not being poisoned.’
Downey nodded at the others. ‘We would like to inspect the Commander’s office,’ he said.
‘I don’t know if that’s’ Carrot began.
‘Please think very carefully,’ said Dr Downey. ‘We three represent most of the guilds of this city. We feel we have a good reason for inspecting the Commander’s office. You will of course accompany us to see that we do nothing illegal.’
Carrot looked awkward. ‘I suppose … if I’m with you . . .’ he said.
‘That’s right,’ said Downey. ‘That makes it official.’
Carrot led the way. ‘I don’t even know if he’s back,’ he said, opening the door. ‘As I said, we’ve been . . . oh.’
Downey peered around him and at the figure slumped over the desk.
‘It would appear that Sir Samuel is in,’ he said. ‘But quite out of it.’
‘I can smell the drink from here,’ said Mrs Palm. ‘It’s terrible what drink will do to a man.’
‘A whole bottle of Bearhugger’s finest,’ said Mr Boggis. ‘All right for some, eh?’
‘But he hasn’t touched a drop all year!’ said Carrot, giving the recumbent Vimes a shake. ‘He goes to meetings about it and everything!’
‘Now let us see . . .’ said Downey.
He pulled open one of the desk drawers.
‘Captain Carrot?’ he said. ‘Can you witness that there appears to be a bag of greyish powder in here? I will now’
Vimes’s hand shot out and slammed the drawer on the man’s fingers. His elbow rammed back into the assassin’s stomach and, as Downey’s chin jerked down, Vimes’s forearm swung upwards and caught him full on the nose.
Then Vimes opened his eyes.
‘Wassat? Wassat?’ he said, raising his head. ‘Dr Downey? Mr Boggis? Carrot? Hmm?’
‘Hwat? Hwat?’ screamed Downey. ‘You hnsfruck me!’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Vimes, concern radiating from every feature as he pushed the chair back into Downey’s groin and stood up. Im afraid I must have dropped off and, of course, when I woke up and found someone stealing from . . .’
‘You’re raving drunk, man!’ said Mr Boggis.
Vimes’s features froze.
‘Indeed? Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,’ he snarled, prodding the man in the chest. ‘A peck of bloody pickled peppers Peter Piper damn well picked. Do you want me to continue?’ he said, poking the man until his back was against the wall. ‘It doesn’t get much better!’
‘Hwhat about thif packet?’ shouted Downey, clutching his streaming nose with one hand and waving at the desk with the other.
Vimes still wore a wild-eyed mirthless grin. ‘Ah, well, yes,’ he said. ‘You’ve got me there. A highly dangerous substance.’
‘Ah, you admit it!’
‘Yes, indeed. I suppose I have no alternative but to dispose of the evidence . . .’ Vimes grabbed the packet, ripped it open and tipped most of the powder into his mouth.
‘Mmm mmm,’ he said, powder spraying everywhere as he masticated. ‘Feel that tingle on the tongue!’
‘But that’s arsenic,’ said Boggis.
‘Good gods, is it?’ said Vimes, swallowing. ‘Amazing! I’ve got this dwarf downstairs, you know, clever little bugger, spends all his time with pipes and chemicals and things to find out what is arsenic and what isn’t, and all the time here’s you able to spot it just by looking! I’ve got to hand it to you!’