He reached the end of the plank, steadied himself and managed to lasso the remaining sack. It was moving.
‘He’s got it,’ shouted the Duck Man, who was watching
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from under the bridge. ‘Heave away, everybody!’
The sack came out of the muck with a sucking sound, and Arnold pulled himself aboard as it was dragged back to the bank.
‘Oh, very well done, Arnold,’ said the Duck Man, helping him off the sodden sack and back on to his trolley. ‘I really doubted if the surface would support you at this stage of the tide!’
‘Bit of luck for me, eh, when that cart ran over my legs all them years ago!’ said Arnold Sideways. ‘I’d have drowned, else!’
Coffin Henry slit the sacking with his knife and tipped the second lot of little terriers on to the ground, where they coughed and sneezed.
‘One or two of the little buggers look done for,’ he said. I’ll give ’em mouth to mouth respiritoriation, shall I?’
‘Certainly not, Henry,’ said the Duck Man. ‘Have you no idea of hygiene?’
‘Jean who?’
‘You can’t kiss dogs!’ said the Duck Man. They could catch something dreadful.’
The crew looked at the dogs that were clustering round their fire. How the dogs had landed in the river was something they didn’t bother to wonder about. All sorts of things landed in the river. It was the kind of thing that happened all the time. The crew took a keen interest in floating things. But it was unusual to get this many all at once.
‘Maybe it’s been raining dogs?’ said Altogether Andrews, who was being steered by the mind known as Curly. The crew liked Curly. He was easy to get along with. ‘I heard the other day that’s been happening lately.’
‘You know what?’ said Arnold Sideways. ‘What we ort to do, right, is get some stuff, like . . . wood and stuff, and make a boat. We could get a lot more stuff if we had a boat.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said the Duck Man. ‘I used to mess about in boats when I was a boy.’
‘We could boat about in mess,’ said Arnold. ‘Same thing.’
‘Not . . . exactly,’ said the Duck Man. He looked at the circle of steaming, retching dogs.
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‘I wish Gaspode was here,’ he said. ‘He knows how to think about this sort of thing.’
‘Ajar,’ said the apothecary carefully.
‘Sealed with wax,’ William repeated.
‘And you want an ounce each of. . .’
‘Oil of aniseed, oil of rampion and oil of scallatine,’ said William.
‘I can do the first two,’ said the apothecary, looking at the little list he’d been given. ‘But there is no such thing as a whole ounce of oil of scallatine in the city, you realize? It’s fifteen dollars for enough to go on a pinhead. We’ve got about enough to fill a mustard spoon and we have to keep that in a soldered lead box under water.’
‘I’ll take a pinhead’s worth, then,’
‘You’ll never get it off your hands, you know. It isn’t really for the average–‘
‘In a bottle,’ said William patiently. ‘Sealed with wax,’
‘You won’t even smell the other oils! What do you want them for?’
‘Insurance,’ said William. ‘Oh, and after you’ve sealed it, wash off the bottle with ether, and then wash the ether off.’
‘Is this going to be used for some illegal purpose?’ said the apothecary. He caught William’s expression. ‘Just interesteti,’ he added quickly.
When he’d gone to make up the order William called in at a couple of other shops and bought a pair of thick gloves. ,
When he returned, the apothecary was just bringing the oils to the counter. He held a small glass flask, filled with liquid. Inside floated a much smaller phial.
‘The outer liquid’s water,’ he said, pulling some plugs out of his nose. ‘Take it carefully, if you don’t mind. Drop it and we can kiss our sinuses goodbye.’
‘What does it smell of?’ said William.
‘Well, if I said “cabbage”,’ said the apothecary, ‘I wouldn’t be saying the half of it.’
Next, William went to his lodgings. Mrs Arcanum was averse to boarders coming back to their rooms during the day, but at the
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moment William appeared to be outside her frame of reference and she merely gave him a nod as he went upstairs.
The keys were in the old trunk at the end of his bed. It was the one he’d taken to Hugglestones; he’d kept it ever since, so that he could kick it occasionally.
His cheque book was also in there. He took that, too.
His sword rattled as his hand brushed against it.
He’d enjoyed swordsmanship at Hugglestones. It was in the dry, you were allowed to wear protective clothing and no one attempted to stamp your face into the mud. He’d actually been the champion of the school. But this wasn’t because he was much good. It was simply that most of the other boys were so bad. They approached the sport as they approached all others, in a great big keen screaming rush, using the sword as a sort of club. That meant that if William could avoid the first wild stroke, then he was going to win.
He left the sword in the trunk.
After some reflection he pulled out one of his old socks and pulled it over the apothecary’s bottle. Hurting people with broken glass wasn’t part of the plan, either.
Peppermint! Not a bad choice, but they hadn’t known what else was available, had they . . . ?
Mrs Arcanum was a great believer in net curtains, so that she could see out while outsiders couldn’t see in. William lurked behind the ones in his room until he was certain that an indistinct shape among the rooftops opposite was a gargoyle.
This wasn’t natural gargoyle territory, any more than Gleam Street.
The thing about gargoyles, he reflected as he stepped back and headed down the stairs, was that they didn’t get bored. They were happy to stay and watch anything for days. But, while they moved faster than people thought, they didn’t move faster than people.
He ran through the kitchen so quickly that he only heard Mrs Arcanum gasp, and then he was through the back door and over the wall into the alley beyond.
Someone was sweeping it. For a moment William wondered if it was a watchman in disguise, or even Sister Jennifer in disguise, but
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probably there was no one who’d disguise themselves as a gnoll. You’d have to strap a compost heap to your back, to begin with. Gnolls ate almost everything. What they didn’t eat they collected obsessively. No one had ever studied them to find out why. Perhaps a carefully sorted collection of rotted cabbage stalks was a sign of big status in gnoll society.
“ar’tn’n, M’r W’rd,’ croaked the creature, leaning on its shovel.
‘Er . . . hello . . . er . . .’
‘Sn’g’k.’
‘Ah? Yes. Thank you. Goodbye.’
He hurried down another alley, crossed the street and found yet another alley. He wasn’t sure how many gargoyles were watching him, but it took them some time to cross streets . . .
How was it that the gnoll had known his name? It wasn’t as though they’d met at a party or something. Besides, the gnolls all worked for . . . Harry King . . .
Well, they did say that the King of the Golden River never forgot a debtor. . .
William ducked and dodged across several blocks, making as much use as he could of the alleys and walkthroughs and noisome courts. He was sure a normal person wouldn’t be able to keep track of him. But then, he’d be amazed if a normal person was following him. Mister Vimes liked to refer to himself as a simple coppter, just as Harry King thought of himself as a rough diamond. William suspected that the world was littered with the remains of those people who had taken them at their word.
He slowed down and climbed some outside stairs. And then he waited.
You’re a fool, said the internal editor. Some people have tried to kill you. You’re concealing information from the Watch. You’re mixing with strange people. You’re about to do something that’s going to get so far up Mister Vimes’s nose it will raise his hat. And why?
Because it makes my blood tingle, he thought. And because I’m not going to be used. By anyone.
There was a faint sound at the end of the alley, which might not have been heard by anyone who wasn’t expecting it. It was the sound of something sniffing.
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William looked down and saw, in the gloom, a four-legged shape break into a trot while keeping its muzzle close to the ground.
William measured the distance carefully. Declaring independence was one thing. Assaulting a member of the Watch was a very different thing.