The Truth (19 page)

“We
are
talking about Wuffles, are we?” said William.

“Could you?”

“I’m sure I could.”

“We would be interested in knowing why he barked just before the…event,” said Vimes.

“And if you could find him, Corporal Nobbs could speak to him in dog language, yes?” said William.

Once again, Vimes did his impression of a statue.

“We could get a drawing of the dog to you in an hour,” he said. “Thank you. Who
is
running the city at the moment, Commander?”

“I’m just a copper,” said Vimes. “They don’t tell me these things. But I imagine a new Patrician will be elected. It’s all laid down in the city statutes.”

“Who can tell me more about them?” said William, mentally adding, “Just a copper” my bum!

“Mr. Slant is your man there,” said Vimes, and this time he smiled. “Very helpful, I believe. Good afternoon, Mr. de Worde. Sergeant, show Mr. de Worde out, will you?”

“I want to see Lord Vetinari,” said William.

“You
what?
”

“It’s a reasonable request, sir.”

“No. Firstly, he is still unconscious. Secondly, he is my prisoner.”

“Aren’t you even letting a lawyer see him?”

“I think His Lordship is in enough trouble already, lad.”

“What about Drumknott?
He
isn’t a prisoner, is he?”

Vimes glanced up at Sergeant Angua, who shrugged.

“All right. There’s no law against that, and we can’t have people saying he’s dead,” he said. He unhooked a speaking tube from a brass-and-leather construction on his desk and hesitated.

“Have they got that problem sorted out, Sergeant?” he said, ignoring William.

“Yes, sir. The pneumatic message system and the speaking tubes are
definitely
separated now.”

“Are you sure? You do know Constable Keenside had all his teeth knocked out yesterday?”

“They say it can’t happen again, sir.”

“Well, obviously it can’t. He hasn’t got any more teeth. Oh, well…” Vimes picked up the tube, held it away from him for a moment, and then spoke into it.

“Put me through to the cells, will you?”

“Wizzip? Wipwipwip?”

“Say again?”

“Sneedle flipsock?”

“This is Vimes!”

“Scitscrit?”

Vimes put the tube back on its cradle and stared at Sergeant Angua.

“They’re still working on it, sir,” she said. “They say rats have been nibbling at the tubes.”

“Rats?”

“I’m afraid so, sir.”

Vimes groaned and turned to William.

“Sergeant Angua will take you to the cells,” he said.

And then William was on the other side of the door.

“Come on,” said the sergeant.

“How did I do?” said William.

“I’ve seen worse.”

“Sorry to mention Corporal Nobbs, but—”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Sergeant Angua. “Your powers of observation will be the talk of the station. Look, he’s being kind to you because he hasn’t worked out what you are yet, okay? Just be careful, that’s all.”

“And you
have
worked out what I am, have you?” said William.

“Let’s just say I don’t rely on first impressions, shall we? Mind the step.”

She led the way down into the cells. William noted, without being so crass as to write it down, that there were two watchmen on duty at the bottom.

“Are there usually guards down here? I mean, the cells have locks on, don’t they?”

“I hear you’ve got a vampire working for you,” said Sergeant Angua.

“Otto? Oh, yes. Well, we’re not prejudiced about that sort of thing…”

The sergeant did not answer. Instead, she opened a door off the main cell corridor and called out: “Visitor for the patients, Igor.”

“Right with you, Thargent.”

The room within was brightly lit by an uncanny, flickering blue light. Jars lined shelves on one wall. Some had strange things moving in them—very strange things. Other things just floated. Blue sparks sizzled on some complex machine, all copper balls and glass rods, in the corner. But what mainly drew William’s attention was the great big eye.

Before he could actually scream, a hand reached up and what he’d thought was a huge eyeball was revealed as the largest magnifying glass he’d ever seen, swiveling up on a metal bracket attached to the forehead of its owner. But the face it revealed was barely an improvement, when it came to mouth-desiccating horror.

The eyes were on different levels. One ear was larger than the other. The face was a network of scars. But that was nothing compared to the deformed hairstyle; Igor’s greasy black hair had been brushed forward into an overhanging quiff in the manner of some of the city’s noisier young musicians, but to a length that could take out the eye of any innocent pedestrian. By the looks of the…
organic
nature of Igor’s work area, he could then help put it back.

There was a fish tank bubbling on one bench. Inside it, some potatoes were idly swimming backwards and forwards.

“Young Igor here is part of our forensic department,” said Sergeant Angua. “Igor, this is Mr. de Worde. He wants to see the patients.”

William saw the quick glance Igor gave the sergeant, who added, “Mister Vimes says it’s okay.”

“Right this way, then,” said Igor, lurching past William and into the corridor. “Always nice to get visitors down here, Mr. de Worde. You will find we keep a very relaxed thell down here. I’ll just go and get the keyth.”

“Why does he only lisp the occasional
S
?” said William, as Igor limped towards a cupboard.

“He’s trying to be modern. You never met an Igor before?”

“Not one like that, no! He’s got two thumbs on his right hand!”

“He’s from Uberwald,” said the sergeant. “Igors are very much into self-improvement. Fine surgeons, though. Just don’t shake hands with one in a thunderstorm—”

“Here we are, then,” said Igor, lurching back. “Who first?”

“Lord Vetinari?” said William.

“He’s still athleep,” said Igor.

“What, after all this time?”

“Not surprithing. It was a nasty blow he had—”

Sergeant Angua coughed loudly.

“I thought he fell off a horse,” said William.

“Well, yes…and caught himthelf a blow when he hit the floor, I’ve no doubt,” said Igor, glancing at Angua.

He turned the key again.

Lord Vetinari lay on a narrow bed. His face looked pale, but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

“He’s not woken up
at all
?” said William.

“No. I look in on him every fifteen minutes or tho. It can be like that. Sometimeth the body just says: thleep.”

“I heard he hardly
ever
sleeps,” said William.

“Maybe he’s taking the opportunity,” said Igor, gently closing the door. He unlocked the next cell.

Drumknott was sitting up in bed, his head bandaged. He was drinking some soup. He looked startled when he saw them, and nearly spilled it.

“And how are we?” said Igor, as cheerfully as a face full of stitches can allow.

“Er…
I’m
feeling much better…” The young man looked from one face to another, uncertain.

“Mr. de Worde here would like to talk to you,” said Sergeant Angua. “I’ll go and help Igor sort out his eyeballs. Or something.”

William was left in an awkward silence. Drumknott was one of those people with no discernible character. “You’re Lord de Worde’s son, aren’t you,” said Drumknott. “You write that news sheet.”

“Yes,” said William. It seemed he’d always be his father’s son. “Um. They say Lord Vetinari stabbed you.”

“So they say,” said the clerk.

“You were there, though.”

“I knocked on the door to take him his copy of the paper as he’d requested, His Lordship opened it, I walked into the room…and the next thing I know I was waking up here with Mr. Igor looking at me.”

“That must have come as a shock,” said William, with a momentary flash of pride that the
Times
had figured in this in some small way.

“They say I’d have lost the use of my arm if Igor hadn’t been so good with a needle,” said Drumknott earnestly.

“But your head’s bandaged, too,” said William.

“I think I must have fallen over when…when whatever it was happened,” said Drumknott.

My gods, thought William, he’s
embarrassed
.

“I have every confidence that there has been a mistake,” Drumknott went on.

“Has His Lordship been preoccupied lately?”

“His Lordship is always preoccupied. It’s his job,” said the clerk.

“Do you know that three people heard him say that he’d killed you?”

“I cannot explain that. They must have been mistaken.”

The words were clipped sharp. Any moment now, William thought…

“Why do you think—” he began, and was proved right.

“I
think
I don’t have to talk to you,” said Drumknott. “Do I?”

“No, but—”

“Sergeant!”
Drumknott shouted.

There were swift footsteps and the cell door opened.

“Yes?” said Sergeant Angua.

“I have finished talking to this gentleman,” said Drumknott. “And I am tired.”

William sighed, and put his notebook away.

“Thank you,” he said. “You’ve been very…helpful.”

As he walked along the corridor he said, “He doesn’t want to believe His Lordship might have attacked him.”

“Really,” said the sergeant.

“Looks like quite a bang he had on his head,” William went on.

“Does it?”

“Look, even I can see this smells funny.”

“Can you?”

“I
see
,” said William. “You went to the Mister Vimes School of Communication, yes?”

“Did I?” said Sergeant Angua.

“Loyalty is a wonderful thing.”

“Is it? The way out is
this
way—”

After the sergeant had ushered William into the street she went back upstairs into Vimes’s office and quietly shut the door behind her.

“So he only spotted the gargoyles?” said Vimes, who was watching William walk down the street.

“Apparently. But I wouldn’t underestimate him, sir. He notices things. He was dead right about the peppermint bomb. And how many officers would have noticed how deeply that arrow went into the floor?”

“That’s unfortunately true.”

“And he spotted Igor’s second thumb, and hardly anyone else has noticed the swimming potatoes.”

“Igor hasn’t got rid of them yet?”

“No, sir. He believes that instant fish and chips is only a generation away.”

Vimes sighed.

“All right, Sergeant. Forget the potatoes. What are the odds?”

“Sir?”

“I know what goes on in the duty room. They wouldn’t be watchmen if someone wasn’t running a book.”

“On Mr. de Worde?”

“Yes.”

“Well…six’ll get you ten that he’ll be dead by next Monday, sir.”

“You might just spread the word that I don’t like that sort of thing, will you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Find out who’s running the book, and when you have found out that it is Nobby, take it off him.”

“Right, sir. And Mr. de Worde?”

Vimes stared at the ceiling.

“How many officers are watching him?” he said.

“Two.”

“Nobby’s usually good at judging odds. Think that’ll be enough?”

“No.”

“Me neither. But we’re stretched. He’s going to have to learn the hard way. And the trouble with the hard way is, you only get one lesson.”

Mr. Tulip emerged from the alleyway where he had just negotiated the purchase of a very small packet of what would later prove to be rat poison cut with powdered washing crystals.

He found Mr. Pin reading a large piece of paper.

“What’s that?” he said.

“Trouble, I expect,” said Mr. Pin, folding it up and putting it in his pocket. “Yes, indeed.”

“This city is getting on my —ing nerves,” said Mr. Tulip, as they continued down the street. “I got a —ing
headache
. And my leg hurts.”

“So? It bit me, too. You made a big mistake with that dog.”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t’ve shot at it?”

“No, I’m saying you shouldn’t’ve missed. It got away.”

“It’s only a dog,” Mr. Tulip grumbled. “What’s such a problem about a dog? It’s not like it’s a reliable —ing witness. They never told us about no —ing dog.” His ankle was beginning to get that hot, dark sensation that suggested that someone hadn’t been brushing their teeth lately. “You just try carrying a guy with a —ing dog snapping at your legs!
And
how come the —ing zombie never told us the guy was so —ing
fast?
If he hadn’t been staring at the geek he’d have —ing
got
me!”

Mr. Pin shrugged. But he’d made a note of that. Mr. Slant had failed to tell the New Firm quite a lot of things, and one of them was that Vetinari moved like a snake.

This was going to cost the lawyer a lot of money. Mr. Pin had nearly got
cut.

But he was proud of stabbing the clerk and shoving Charlie out of the landing to babble to the stupid servants. That hadn’t been in the script. That was the kind of service you got from the New Firm. He snapped his fingers as he walked. Yeah! They could react, they could extemporize, they could get
creative…

“Excuse me, gentlemen?”

A figure had stepped out of the alleyway ahead of them, a knife in each hand.

“Thieves’ Guild,” it said. “Excuse me? This is an official robbery.”

To the surprise of the thief, Mr. Pin and Mr. Tulip seemed neither shocked nor frightened, despite the size of the knives. Instead, they looked like a pair of lepidopterists who’d stumbled across an entirely new kind of butterfly, and found it trying to wave a tiny little net.

“Official robbery?” said Mr. Tulip, slowly.

“Ah, you’re visitors to our fair city?” said the thief. “Then this is your lucky day, sir and…sir. A theft of twenty-five dollars entitles you to immunity from further street theft for a period of a full six months plus, for this week only, the choice of this handsome box of crystal wine glasses or a useful set of barbecue tools, which will be the envy of your friends.”