‘To tell you the truth, no, I don’t think I should do that, sir.’
‘I am the Commander of the Watch, lad.’
‘Yes, sir. And I’m not. I think that’s my point, really, although I’ll work on it some more.’
Vimes stared at him a little too long. Then, in a slightly different tone of voice, he said:
‘Lord Vetinari was seen by three cleaning maids of the household staff, all respectable ladies, after they were alerted by the barking of his lordship’s dog at about seven o’clock this morning. He said’
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– here Vimes consulted his own notebook – ‘ “I’ve killed him, I’ve killed him, I’m sorry.” They saw what looked very much like a body on the floor. Lord Vetinari was holding a knife. They ran downstairs to fetch someone. On their return they found his lordship missing. The body was that of Rufus Drumknott, the Patrician’s personal secretary. He had been stabbed and is seriously ill. A search of the buildings located Lord Vetinari in the stables. He was unconscious on the floor. A horse was saddled. The saddlebags contained . . . seventy thousand dollars . . . Captain, this is damn stupid.’
‘I know, sir,’ said Carrot. They are the facts, sir.’
‘But they’re not the right facts! They’re stupid facts!’
‘I know, sir. I can’t imagine his lordship trying to kill anyone.’
‘Are you mad?’ said Vimes. ‘I can’t imagine him saying sorry!’
Vimes turned and glared at William, as if surprised to find him still there. ‘Yes?’ he demanded.
‘Why was his lordship unconscious, sir?’
Vimes shrugged. ‘It looks as though he was trying to get on the horse. He’s got a game leg. Maybe he slipped– I can’t believe I’m saying this. Anyway, that’s your lot, understand?’
‘I’d like to get an iconograph of you, please,’ William persisted.
‘Why?’ .
William thought fast. ‘It will reassure the citizens that you are on the case and handling this personally, commander. My iconogra-pher is just downstairs. Otto!’
‘Good gods, a damn vamp–‘ Vimes began.
‘He’s a Black Ribboner, sir,’ Carrot whispered. Vimes rolled his eyes.
‘Good mornink,’ said Otto. ‘Do not be movink, please, you are making a good pattern of light and shade.’ He kicked out the legs of the tripod, peered into the iconograph and raised a salamander in its cage.
‘Looking this vay, please–‘
Click.
WHOOMPH.
‘–oh, shee-yut!’
Dust floated to the floor. In the midst of it a twist of black ribbon spiralled down.
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There was a moment of shocked silence. Then Vimes said, ‘What the hell happened just then?’
‘Too much flash, I think,’ said William. He reached down with a trembling hand and retrieved a small square of card that was sticking out of the little grey cone of the late Otto Chriek.
‘ “DO NOT BE ALARMED,”‘ he read. ‘ “The former bearer of this card has suffered a minor accident. You vill need a drop of blood from any species, and a dustpan and brush.”‘
‘Well, the kitchens are over that way,’ said Vimes. ‘Sort him out. I don’t want my men treading him in all over the damn place.’
‘One last thing, sir. Would you like me to say that if anyone saw anything suspicious they should tell you, sir?’ said William.
‘In this town? We’d need every man on the Watch just to control the queue. Just you be careful what you write, that’s all.’
The two watchmen strode away, Carrot giving William a wan smile as he passed.
William busied himself in carefully scraping up Otto with two pages from his notebook and depositing the dust in the bag the vampire used to carry his equipment.
Then it dawned on him that he was alone – Otto probably didn’t count at the moment – in the palace with Commander Vimes’s permission to be there, if ‘the kitchens are over that way’ could be parlayed into ‘permission’. And William was good with words. Truth was what he told. Honesty was sometimes not the same thing.
He picked up the bag and found his way to the back stairs and the kitchen, whence came a hubbub.
Staff were wandering around with the bewildered air of people with nothing to do who were nevertheless still being paid to do it. William sidled over to a maid who was sobbing into a grubby handkerchief.
‘Excuse me, miss, but could you let me have a drop of blood– Yes, perhaps this isn’t the right moment,’ he added nervously, as she fled shrieking.
‘ ‘ere, what did you say to our Rene?’ said a thickset man, putting down a tray of hot loaves.
‘Are you the baker?’ said William.
The man gave him a look. ‘What does it look like?’
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‘I can see what it looks like,’ said William. There was another look, but this one had just a measure of respect in it. ‘I’m still asking the question,’ he went on.
‘I’m the butcher, as it happens,’ said the man. ‘Well done. The baker’s off sick. And who are you, askin’ me questions?’
‘Commander Vimes sent me down here,’ said William. He was appalled at the ease with which the truth turned into a something that was almost a lie, just by being positioned correctly. He opened his notebook. I’m from the Times. Did you–‘
‘What, the paper?’ said the butcher.
That’s right. Did you–‘
‘Hah! You got it completely up your bum about the winter, y’know. You should’ve said it was the Year of the Ant, that was the worst. You should’ve arsked me. I could’ve put you right.’
‘And you are–?’
‘Sidney Clancy and Son, aged 39, 11 Long Hogmeat, Purveyors of Finest Cat and Dog Meats to The Gentry . . . Why aren’t you writing it down?’
‘Lord Vetinari eats pet food?’
‘He doesn’t eat much of anything from what I hear. No, I delivers for his dog; Finest stuff. Prime. We sell only the best at 11 Long Hogmeat, open every day from 6 a.m. to mid–‘
‘Oh, his dog. Right,’ said William. ‘Er.’ He looked around at the throng. Some of those people could tell him things, and he was talking to a dogmeat man. Still. . .
‘Could you let me have a tiny piece of meat?’ he said.
‘Are you going to put it in the paper?’
‘Yes. Sort of. In a way.’
~blk~
William found a quiet alcove hidden from the general excitement and gingerly let the piece of meat dribble one drop of blood on to the little grey pile.
The dust mushroomed up into the air, became a mass of coloured flecks, became Otto Chriek.
‘How vas that vun?’ he said. ‘Oh
‘I think you got the picture,’ said William. ‘Er, your jacket. . .’
Part of the sleeve of the vampire’s jacket was now the colour and
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texture of the stair carpet in the big hall, a rather dull pattern of red and blue.
‘Carpet dust got mixed in, I expect,’ said Otto. ‘Do not be alarmed. Happens all zer time,’ He sniffed the sleeve. ‘Finest steak? Thank you!’
‘It was dog food,’ said William the Truthful.
‘Dog food?’
‘Yes. Grab your stuff and follow me.’
‘Dog food?’
‘You did say it was finest steak. Lord Vetinari is kind to his dog. Look, don’t complain to me. If this sort of thing happens a lot then you ought to carry a little bottle of emergency blood! Otherwise people will do the best they can!’
‘Veil, yes, fine, zank you anyvay,’ the vampire mumbled, trailing behind him. ‘Dog food, dog food, oh dear me . . . vhere are ve goink now?’
‘To the Oblong Office to see where the attack was made,’ said William. ‘I just hope it isn’t being guarded by someone clever.’
‘Ve will get into a lot off trouble.’
‘Why?’ said William. He’d been thinking the same thing, but: why? The palace belonged to the city, more or less. The Watch probably wouldn’t like him going in there, but William felt in his bones that you couldn’t run a city on the basis of what the Watch liked. The Watch would probably like it if everyone spent their time indoors, with their hands on the table where people could see them.
The door to the Oblong Office was open. Guarding it, if you could truly be said to be on guard whilst leaning against the wall staring at the opposite wall, was Corporal Nobbs. He was smoking a surreptitious cigarette.
‘Ah, just the man I was looking for!’ said William. That was true. Nobby was more than he’d hoped for.
The cigarette disappeared by magic.
‘Am I?’ wheezed Nobbs, smoke curling out of his ears.
‘Yes, I’ve been talking to Commander Vimes, and now I would like to see the room where the crime was committed.’ William had great hopes of that sentence. It seemed to contain the
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words ‘and he gave me permission to’ without actually doing so.