The chalk crumbled in his fingers. Dorfl walked out into the fog.
Cheri looked up from her workbench.
‘The wick’s full of arsenous acid,’ she said. ‘Well done, sir! This candle even weighs slightly more than other candles!’
‘What an evil way to kill anyone,’ said Angua.
‘Certainly very clever,’ said Vimes. ‘Vetinari sits up half the night writing, and in the morning the candle’s burned down. Poisoned by the light. The light’s something you don’t see. Who looks at the light? Not some plodding old copper.’
‘Oh, you’re not that old, sir,’ said Carrot, cheerfully.
‘What about plodding?’
‘Or that plodding, either,’ Carrot added quickly. ‘I’ve always pointed out to people that you walk in a very purposeful and meaningful manner.’
Vimes gave him a sharp look and saw nothing more than a keen and innocently helpful expression.
‘We don’t look at the light because the light is what we look with,’ said Vimes. ‘Okay. And now I think we should go and have a look at the candle factory, shouldn’t we? You come, Littlebottom, and bring your . . . have you got taller, Little-bottom?’
‘High-heeled boots, sir,’ said Cheri.
‘I thought dwarfs always wore iron boots . . .’
‘Yes, sir. But I’ve got high heels on mine, sir. I welded them on.’
‘Oh. Fine. Right.’ Vimes pulled himself together. ‘Well, if you can still totter, bring your alchemy stuff with you. Detritus should’ve come off-duty from the palace. When it comes to locked doors you can’t beat Detritus. He’s a walking crowbar. We’ll pick him up on the way.’
He loaded his crossbow and lit a match.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘We’ve done it the modern way, now let’s try policing like grandfather used to do it. It’s time to’
‘Prod buttock, sir?’ said Carrot, hurriedly.
‘Close,’ said Vimes, taking a deep drag and blowing out a smoke ring, ‘but no cigar.’
Sergeant Colon’s view of the world was certainly changing. Just when something was about to fix itself firmly in his mind as the worst moment of his entire life, it was hurriedly replaced by something even nastier.
Firstly, the drainpipe he was riding hit the wall of the building opposite. In a well-organized world he might have landed on a fire escape, but fire escapes were unknown in Ankh-Morpork and the flames generally had to leave via the roof.
With the pipe thus leaning against the wall, he found himself sliding down the diagonal. Even this might have been a happy outcome were it not for the fact that Colon was a heavy man and, as his weight slid nearer to the middle of the unsupported pipe, the pipe sagged, and cast iron has only a very limited amount of sag before it snaps, which it novv did.
Colon dropped, and landed on something soft -at least, softer than the street – and the something went ‘mur-r-r-r-r-m!’. He bounced off it and landed on something lower and softer which went ‘baaaaarp!’, and rolled from this on to something even lower and apparently made of feathers, which went insane. And pecked him.
The street was full of animals, milling around uncertainly. When animals are in a state of uncertainty they get nervous, and the street was already, as it were, paved with anxiety. The only benefit to Sergeant Colon was that this made it slightly softer than would otherwise have been the case.
Hooves trod on his hands. Very large dribbly noses sneezed at him.
Sergeant Colon had not hitherto had a great deal of experience of animals, except in portion sizes. When he’d been little he’d had a pink stuffed pig called Mr Dreadful, and he’d got up to Chapter Six in Animal Husbandry. It had woodcuts in it. There was no mention of hot smelly breath and great clomping feet like soup plates on a stick. Cows, in Sergeant Colon’s book, should go ‘moo’. Every child knew that. They shouldn’t go ‘mur-r-r-r-r-m!’ like some kind of undersea monster and spray you with spit.
He tried to get up, skidded on some cow’s moment of crisis, and sat down on a sheep. It went ‘blaaaart!’ What kind of noise was that for a sheep to make?
He got up again and tried to make his way to the kerb. ‘Shoo! Get out of the damn way, you sheep! Gam!’
A goose hissed at him and stuck out altogether too much neck.
Colon backed off, and stopped when something nudged him in the back. It was a pig.
It was no Mr Dreadful. This wasn’t the little piggy that went to market, or the little piggy that stayed at home. It would be quite hard to imagine what kind of foot would have a piggy like this, but it would probably be the kind that also had hair and scales and toenails like cashew nuts.
This piggy was the size of a pony. This piggy had tusks. And it wasn’t pink. It was a blue-black colour and covered with sharp hair but it did have – let’s be fair, thought Colon – little red piggy eyes.
This little piggy looked like the little piggy that killed the boarhounds, disembowelled the horse and ate the huntsman.
Colon turned around, and came face-to-face with a bull like a beef cube on legs. It turned its huge head from side to side so that each rolling eye could get a sight of the sergeant, but it was clear that neither of them liked him very much.
It lowered its head. There wasn’t room for it to charge, but it could certainly push.
As the animals crowded around him, Colon took the only way of escape possible.
There were men slumped all over the alley.
‘Hello, hello, hello, what’s all this, then?’ said Carrot.
A man who was holding his arm and groaning looked up at him. ‘We were viciously attacked!’
‘We don’t have time for this,’ said Vimes.
‘We may have,’ said Angua. She tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the wall opposite, on which was written in a familiar script:
NO MASTER…
Carrot hunched down and spoke to the casualty. ‘You were attacked by a golem, were you?’ he said.
‘Right! Vicious bugger! Just walked out of the fog and went for us, you know what they’re like!’
Carrot gave the man a cheerful smile. Then his gaze travelled along the man’s body to the big hammer lying in the gutter, and moved from that to the other tools strewn around the scene of the fight. Several had their handles broken. There was a long crowbar, bent nearly into a circle.
‘It’s lucky you were all so well armed, ‘ he said.
‘It turned on us, ‘ said the man. He tried to snap his fingers. ‘Just like that – aargh!’
‘You seem to have hurt your fingers . . .’
‘You’re right!’
‘It’s just that I don’t understand how it could have turned on you and just walked out of the fog,’ said Carrot.
‘Everyone knows they’re not allowed to fight back!’
‘ “Fight back”,’ Carrot repeated.
‘It’s not right, them walking around the streets like that,’ the man muttered, looking away.
There was the sound of running feet behind them and a couple of men in blood-stained aprons caught up with them. ‘It went that way!’ one yelled. ‘You’ll be able to catch up with it if you hurry!’
‘Come on, don’t hang around! What do we pay our taxes for?’ said the other.
‘It went all round the cattle yards and let everything out. Everything*. You can’t move on Pigsty Hill!’
‘A golem let all the cattle out?’ said Vimes. ‘What for?’
‘How should I know? It took the yudasgoat out of Sock’s slaughterhouse so half the damn things are following it around! And then it went and put old Fosdyke in his sausage machine’
‘What?’
‘Oh, it didn’t turn the handle. It just shoved a handful of parsley in his mouth, dropped an onion down his trousers, covered him in oatmeal and dropped him in the hopper!’
Angua’s shoulders started to shake. Even Vimes grinned.
‘And then it went into the poultry merchant’s, grabbed Mr Terwillie, and’ – the man stopped, aware there was a lady present, even if she was making snorting noises while trying not to laugh, and continued in a mumble – ‘made use of some sage and onion. If you know what I mean . . .’
‘You mean he?’ Vimes began.
‘Yes!’
His companion nodded. ‘Poor old Terwillie won’t be able to look sage and onion in the face again, I reckon.’
‘By the sound of it, that’s the last thing he’ll do,’ said Vimes.
Angua had to turn her back.
Tell him about what happened in your pork butcher’s,’ said the man’s companion.
‘I don’t think you’ll need to/ said Vimes. Im seeing a pattern here.’
‘Right! And poor young Sid’s only an apprentice and didn’t deserve what it done to him!’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Carrot. ‘Er. . .I think I’ve got an ointment that might be’