‘Where have you been?’
‘Getting a bite, Mr Slant. You didn’t turn up this morning, and Mr Tulip gets hungry.’
‘I told you to maintain a very low profile.’
‘Mr Tulip isn’t good at low profiles. Anyway, it all went off well. You must have heard. Oh, we nearly got killed because you didn’t tell us a lot of stuff, and that’s going to cost you but, hey, who cares about us? What’s the problem?’
Mr Slant glared at them. ‘My time is valuable, Mr Pin. So I will not spin this out. What did you do with the dog?’
‘No one said anything to us about that dog,’ said Mr Tulip, and Mr Pin knew he’d got the tone wrong.
146
‘Ah, so you encountered the dog,’ said Mr Slant. ‘Where is it?’
‘Gone. Ran off. Bit our –ing legs and ran off.’
Mr Slant sighed. It was like the wind from an ancient tomb.
‘I did tell you that the Watch has a werewolf on the staff,’ he said.
‘Well? So what?’ said Mr Pin.
‘A werewolf would have no difficulty in talking to a dog.’
‘What? You’re telling us people will listen to a dog?’ said Mr Pin.
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ said Mr Slant. ‘A dog has got personality. Personality counts for a lot. And the legal precedents are clear. In the history of this city, gentlemen, we have put on trial at various times seven pigs, a tribe of rats, four horses, one flea and a swarm of bees. Last year a parrot was allowed as a prosecution witness in a serious murder case, and I had to arrange a witness protection scheme for it. I believe it is now pretending to be a very large budgerigar a long way away.’ Mr Slant shook his head. ‘Animals, alas, have their place in a court of law. There are all kinds of objections that could be made but the point is, Mr Pin, that Commander Vimes will build a case on it. He will start questioning . . . people. He already knows things are not right, but he has to work within the bounds of proof and evidence, and he has neither. If he finds the dog, I think things will unravel.’
‘Slip him a few thousand dollars,’ said Mr Pin. ‘That always works with watchmen.’
‘I believe that the last person who tried to bribe Vimes still doesn’t have full use of one of his fingers,’ said Mr Slant.
‘We did everything you –ing told us!’ shouted Mr Tulip, pointing a sausage-thick finger.
Mr Slant looked him up and down, as if seeing him for the first time.
‘”Kill the Cook!!!”‘ he said. ‘How amusing. However, I understood that we were employing professionals.’
Mr Pin had seen this one coming and once again caught Mr Tulip’s fist in mid-air, being momentarily lifted off his feet.
The envelopes, Mr Tulip,’ he sang. This man knows things
‘Hard to know any –ing thing when you’re dead,’ snarled Mr Tulip.
147
‘Actually the mind becomes crystal clear,’ said Mr Slant. He stood up and Mr Pin noticed how a zombie rises, using pairs of muscles in turn, not so much standing as unfolding upwards.
‘Your . . . other assistant is still safe?’ Slant said.
‘Back down in the cellar, drunk as a skunk,’ said Mr Pin. ‘I don’t see why we don’t just scrag him right now. He nearly turned and ran when he saw Vetinari. If the man hadn’t been so surprised we’d have been in big trouble. Who’d notice one more corpse in a city like this?’
‘The Watch, Mr Pin. How many times must I tell you this? They are uncannily good at noticing things.’
‘Mr Tulip here won’t leave ’em much to notice–‘ Mr Pin stopped. The Watch frighten you that much, do they?’
‘This is Ankh-Morpork,’ snapped the lawyer. ‘We are a very cosmopolitan city. Being dead in Ankh-Morpork is sometimes only an inconvenience, do you understand? We have wizards, we have mediums of all sizes. And bodies do have a habit of turning up. We want nothing that is going to give the Watch a clue, do you understand?’
‘They’d listen to a –ing dead man?’ said Mr Tulip.
‘I don’t see why not. You are,’ said the zombie. He relaxed a little. ‘Anyway, it is always possible that there may be further use for your . . . colleague. Some further little outing to convince the unconvinced. He is too valuable an asset to . . retire just yet.’
‘Yeah, okay. We’ll keep him in a bottle. But we want extra for the dog,’ said Mr Pin.
‘It’s only a dog, Mr Pin,’ said Slant, raising his eyebrows. ‘Even Mr Tulip could out-think a dog, I expect.’
‘Got to find the dog first,’ said Mr Pin, stepping smartly in front of his colleague. ‘Lots of dogs in this town.’
The zombie sighed again. ‘I can add another five thousand dollars in jewels to your fee,’ he said. He held up a hand. ‘And please don’t insult both of us by saying “ten” automatically. The task is not hard. Lost dogs in this town either end up running with one of the feral packs or begin a new life as a pair of gloves,’
‘I want to know who’s giving me these orders,’ said Mr Pin. He could feel the weight of the Dis-organizer inside his jacket.
148
Mr Slant looked surprised. ‘Me, Mr Pin.’
‘Your clients, I meant,’
‘Oh, really!’
‘This is going to get political,’ Mr Pin persisted. ‘You can’t fight politics. I’m going to need to know how far we’ve got to run when people find out what happened. And who’s going to protect us if we’re caught,’
‘In this city, gentlemen,’ said Mr Slant, ‘the facts are never what they seem. Take care of the dog, and . . . others will look after you. There are plans afoot. Who can say what really happened? People are easily confused, and here I speak as one who has spent centuries in court rooms. Apparently, they say, a lie can run round the world before the truth has got its boots on. What an obnoxious little phrase, don’t you think? So . . . do not panic, and all will be well. And do not be stupid, either. My . . . clients have long memories and deep pockets. Other killers can be hired. Do you understand me?’ He snapped the catches on his case. ‘Good day to you,’
The door swung to behind him.
There was a rattling behind Mr Pin as Mr Tulip pulled out his set of stylish executive barbecue tools.
‘What are you doing?’
That –ing zombie is going to end up on the end of a couple of –ing handy and versatile kebab skewers,’ said Mr Tulip. ‘An’ then I’m gonna put an edge on this –ing spatula. An’ then . . . then I’m gonna get medieval on his arse.’
There were more pressing problems, but this one intrigued Mr Pin.
‘How, exactly?’ he said.
‘I thought maybe a maypole,’ said Mr Tulip reflectively. ‘An’ then a display of country dancing, land tillage under the three-field system, several plagues and, if my –ing hand ain’t too tired, the invention of the –ing horse collar,’
‘Sounds good,’ said Mr Pin. ‘Now let’s find that damn dog,’
‘How we gonna do that?’
‘Intelligently,’ said Mr Pin.
‘I hate that –ing way.’
149
He was called King of the Golden River. This was a recognition of his wealth and achievements and the source of his success, which ·was not quite the classical river of gold. It was a considerable advance on his former nickname, which was Piss Harry.
Harry King had made his fortune by the careful application of the old adage: where there’s muck there’s brass. There was money to be made out of things that people threw away. Especially the very human things that people threw away.
The real foundations of his fortune came when he started leaving empty buckets at various hostelries around the city centre, especially those that were more than a gutter’s length from the river. He charged a very modest fee to take them away when they were full. It became part of the life of every pub landlord; they’d hear a clank in the middle of the night and turn over in their sleep content in the knowledge that one of Piss Harry’s men was, in a small way, making the world a better-smelling place.
They didn’t wonder what happened to the full buckets, but Harry King had learned something that can be the key to great riches: there is very little, however disgusting, that isn’t used somewhere in some industry. There are people out there who want large quantities of ammonia and saltpetre. If you can’t sell it to the alchemists then the farmers probably want it. If even the farmers don’t want it then there is nothing, nothing, however gross, that you can’t sell to the tanners.