‘I’m dreadfully sorry,’ he said. That was technically a white lie, the editor said. Like thanking your aunt for the lovely handkerchiefs. It’s okay. It’s okay.
He drew away carefully and got unsteadily to his feet. The dwarfs were also staggering upright. One or two of them were being noisily sick.
The body of Otto Chriek was crumpled on the floor. The departing Brother Pin had got one expert cut in, at neck height, before leaving.
‘Oh, my gods,’ said William. ‘What a dreadful thing to happen . . .’
‘What, having your head cut off?’ said Boddony, who’d never liked the vampire. ‘Yes, I expect you could say that.’
‘We . . . ought to do something for him
‘Really?’
‘Yes! I’d have been killed for sure if he hadn’t used those eels!’
‘Excuse me? Excuse me, please?’
The sing-song voice was coming from under the printers’ bench. Goodmountain knelt down.
‘Oh, no . . .’ he said.
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‘What is it?’ said William.
‘It’s . . . er . . . well, it’s Otto.’
‘Excuse me, please? Could somevun get me out of here?’ Goodmountain, grimacing, pushed his hand into the darkness, while the voice continued: ‘Oh, crikey, zere is a dead rat under here, somevun must’ve dropped zere lunch, how sordid– Not zer ear please, not zer ear . . . By the hair, please
The hand came out again, holding Otto’s head by the hair as requested. The eyes swivelled.
‘Everyvun all right?’ said the vampire. ‘Zat vas a close shave, yes?’
‘Are you . . . all right, Otto?’ said William, realizing that this was a winning entrant in the Really Stupid Things to Say contest.
‘Vot? Oh, yes. Yes, I zink so. Mustn’t grumble. Pretty good, really. It’s just that I seem to have had my head cut off, vich you could say is a bit of a drawback–‘
‘That’s not Otto,’ said Sacharissa. She was shaking.
‘Of course it is,’ said William. ‘I mean, who else could it–‘
‘Otto’s taller than that,’ said Sacharissa and burst out laughing. The dwarfs started to laugh, too, because at that moment they would laugh at anything. Otto didn’t join in very enthusiastically.
‘Oh, yes. Ho ho ho,’ he said. ‘Zer famous Ankh-Morpork sense of humour. Vot a funny joke. Talk about laugh. Do not mind me.’
Sacharissa was gasping for breath. William grabbed her as gently as he could, because this was the kind of laughter you died of. And now she was crying, great racking sobs that bubbled up through the laughs.
‘I wish I was dead!’ she sobbed.
‘You should try it some time,’ said Otto. ‘Mr Goodmountain, take me to my body, please? It is around here somevhere.’
‘Do you . . . should we . . . do you have to sew–‘ Goodmountain tried.
‘No. Ve heal easily,’ said Otto. ‘Ah, zere it is. If you could just put me down by me, please? And turn round? Zis is a bit, you know, embarrassing? Like the making of zer vater?’ Still wincing in the after-effects of the dark light, the dwarfs obeyed.
After a moment they heard: ‘Okay, you can look now.’
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Otto, all in one piece, was sitting up and dabbing at his neck with a handkerchief.
‘Got to be a stake in zer heart as veil,’ he said, as they stared. ‘Zo . . . vot vas all zat about, please? Zer dvarf said to make a distraction–‘
‘We didn’t know you used dark light!’ snapped Goodmountain.
‘Excuse me? All I had ready vas the land eels and you said it looked urgent! Vot did you expect me to do? I’m reformed*.’
‘That’s bad luck, that stuff!’ said a dwarf William had come to know as Dozy.
‘Oh yes? You zink? Veil, I’m zer vun who is going to have to have his collar laundered!’ snapped Otto.
William did his best to comfort Sacharissa, who was still trembling.
‘Who were they?’ she said.
Tm . . . not sure, but they certainly wanted Lord Vetinari’s dog . . .’
‘I’m sure that she wasn’t a proper virgin, you know!’
‘Sister Jennifer certainly looked very odd,’ was the most William was going to concede.
Sacharissa snorted. ‘Oh, no, I was taught by worse than her at school,’ she said. ‘Sister Credenza could bite through a door . . . No, it was the language*. I’m sure “ing” is a bad word. She certainly used it like one. I mean, you could tell it was a bad word. And that priest, he had a knifeV
Behind them Otto was in trouble.
‘You use it to take pictures!’ said Goodmountain.
‘Vy, yes.’
Several of the dwarfs slapped their thighs, half turned away and did the usual little pantomime that people do to indicate that they just can’t believe someone else could be so damn stupid.
‘You know it is dangerous!’ said Goodmountain.
‘Mere superstition!’ said Otto. ‘All zat possibly happens is that a subject’s own morphic signature aligns zer resons, or thing-particles, in phase-space according to zer Temporal Relevance Theory, creating zer effect of multiple directionless vindows vich intersect vith the illusion of zer present and create metaphoric
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images according to zer dictates of qvasi-historical extrapolation. You see? Nothing mysterious about it at all!’
‘It certainly frightened off those people,’ said William.
‘It was the axes that did that,’ said Goodmountain firmly.
‘No, it was the feeling that the top of your head has been opened and icicles have been pounded into your brain,’ said William.
Goodmountain blinked. ‘Yeah, okay, that too,’ he said, mopping his forehead. ‘You’ve got a way with words, right enough . . .’
A shadow appeared in the doorway. Goodmountain grabbed his axe.
William groaned. It was Vimes. Worse, he was smiling, in a humourless predatory way.
‘Ah, Mr de Worde,’ he said, stepping inside. There are several thousand dogs stampeding through the city at the moment. This is an interesting fact, isn’t it?’
He leaned against the wall and produced a cigar. ‘Well, I say dogs,’ he said, striking a match on Goodmountain’s helmet. ‘Mostly dogs, perhaps I should say. Some cats. More cats now, in fact, ‘cos, hah, there’s nothing like a, yes, a tidal wave of dogs, fighting and biting and howling, to sort of, how can I put it, give a city a certain . . . busyness. Especially underfoot, because – did I mention it? -they’re very nervous dogs too. Oh, and did I mention cattle?’ he went on, conversationally. ‘You know how it is, market day and so on, people are driving the cows and, my goodness, around the corner comes a wall of wailing dogs . . . Oh, and I forgot about the sheep. And the chickens, although I imagine there’s not much left of the chickens now
He stared at William. ‘Anything you feel you want to tell me?’ he said.
‘Uh . . . we had a bit of a problem . . .’
‘Never! Really? Do tell!’
‘The dogs took fright when Mr Chriek took a picture of them,’ said William. This was absolutely true. Dark light was frightening enough even if you knew what was happening.
Vimes glared at Otto, who looked miserably at his feet.
‘Well now,’ said Vimes. ‘Shall I tell you something? They’re electing a new Patrician today–‘
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‘Who?’ said William.
‘,’ don’t know,’ said Vimes.
Sacharissa blew her nose and said: ‘It’ll be Mr Scrope, of the Shoemakers and Leatherworkers.’
Vimes gave William a suspicious look. ‘How do you know that?’ he said.
‘Everyone knows,’ said Sacharissa. ‘That’s what the young man in the bakery said this morning.’
‘Oh, where would we be without rumour?’ said Vimes. ‘So this is not a day, Mr de Worde, for . . . things to go wrong. My men are talking to some of the people who brought dogs along. Not many of them, I have to admit. Most of them don’t want to talk to the Watch. Can’t think why, we’re very good listeners. Now is there anything you want to tell me?’ Vimes looked around the room and back to William. ‘Everyone’s staring at you, I notice.’
The Times does not need any help from the Watch,’ said William.
‘Helping wasn’t what I had in mind.’
‘We haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘I’ll decide that.’
‘Really? That’s an interesting point of view.’
Vimes glanced down. William had taken his notebook out of his pocket. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I see.’ He reached down to his own belt and pulled out a blunt, dark length of wood.
‘You know what this is?’ he said.
‘It’s a truncheon,’ said William. ‘A big stick.’
‘Always the last resort, eh?’ said Vimes evenly. ‘Rosewood and Llamedos silver, a lovely piece of work. And it says on this little plate here that I’m supposed to keep the peace, and you, Mr de Worde, don’t look like part of that right now.’
They locked gazes.
‘What was the odd thing Lord Vetinari did just before the . . . accident?’ said William, so quietly that probably only Vimes heard it.