Jingo. Part 14

"We're in big big trouble," said n.o.bby. trouble," said n.o.bby.

"No, no, no, this is a Clue what we have found by patient detectoring," said Sergeant Colon. "And it's going to be a feather in our caps and no mistake when Mister Vimes hears about it!"

"How much do you reckon there is?"

"Got to be hundreds and hundreds of dollars' worth," said Colon. "And that's a lot of money to a Klatchian. You can probably live like a king for a year on a dollar, in Klatch."

"It wasn't very very patient detectoring," said n.o.bby doubtfully. "All I did was look under the bed." patient detectoring," said n.o.bby doubtfully. "All I did was look under the bed."

"Ah, but that's because you is trained," said Colon. "Your basic civilian civilian wouldn't think of that, right? Ah, it all begins to make sense!" wouldn't think of that, right? Ah, it all begins to make sense!"

"Does it? Why would the Klatchians give him money to shoot a Klatchian?" said n.o.bby.

Colon tapped the side of his nose. "Politics," he said.

"Ah, politics politics," said n.o.bby. "Ah, well, politics politics. I see. Politics Politics. Right. So why?"

"Aha," said Colon again, tapping the other side of his nose.

"Why're you picking your nose, sarge?"

"I'm tapping tapping it," said Colon severely. "That's to show I'm in the know." it," said Colon severely. "That's to show I'm in the know."

"In the nose," said n.o.bby cheerfully.

"It's just the sort of underhand cunning thing they'd do," said Colon.

"Payin' us to kill them?" said n.o.bby.

"Ah, you see, some Klatchian n.o.b gets topped here here, and then they they can send a snotty note saying, 'You killed our big n.o.b, you foreign nephews of dogs, this means war!' See? A perfect excuse." can send a snotty note saying, 'You killed our big n.o.b, you foreign nephews of dogs, this means war!' See? A perfect excuse."

"Do you need need an excuse to have a war?" said n.o.bby. "I mean, who for? Can't you just say, 'You got lots of cash and land but I've got a big sword so divvy up right now, chop chop?' That's what an excuse to have a war?" said n.o.bby. "I mean, who for? Can't you just say, 'You got lots of cash and land but I've got a big sword so divvy up right now, chop chop?' That's what I I'd do," said Corporal n.o.bbs, military strategist. "And I wouldn't even say that that until after I'd attacked." until after I'd attacked."

"Ah, but that's 'cos you don't know about politics," said Colon. "You can't do that stuff anymore. Mark my words, this case has got politics written all over it. That's why old Vimes put me on it, depend upon it. Politics. Young Carrot's all very well, but you need an experienced man of the world in these delicate political situations."

"You've certainly got the nose-tapping just right," said n.o.bby. "I generally miss."

But he felt troubled, if not in his nose then in whatever small organ propelled his blood around his body. This didn't feel right. Nothing much in n.o.bby's life had ever felt right, so he knew very well how the feeling felt.

He looked up at the bare walls and down at the rough floorboards.

"There's a bit of sand on the floor," he said.

"Another clue, then," said Colon happily. "A Klatchian has been here. b.u.g.g.e.r all else but sand in Klatch. Still got some in his sandals."

n.o.bby opened the window. It gave on to a gently sloping roof. Someone could get through it easily and be away over the tiles and into the maze of chimneys.

"He could've gone in and out this way, sarge," he volunteered.

"Good point, n.o.bby. Write that down. Evidence of conniving and sneaking around."

n.o.bby peered down. "Here, there's gla.s.s outside, Fred..."

Sergeant Colon joined him at the stricken window. One of the panes had been smashed. Outside, gla.s.s glittered on the tiles.

"That could be a clue, eh?" said n.o.bby, hopefully.

"It certainly is," said Sergeant Colon. "See the gla.s.s fell outside outside the window? Everyone knows you look at which way the gla.s.s falls. I reckon he was just testing his bow and it went off while it was loaded." the window? Everyone knows you look at which way the gla.s.s falls. I reckon he was just testing his bow and it went off while it was loaded."

"That's clever, sarge," said n.o.bby.

"That's detectoring detectoring," said Colon. "It's no good just looking looking at things, n.o.bby. You got to at things, n.o.bby. You got to think think straight, too." straight, too."

"Cecil, sarge."

"That's Frederick, Cecil. Come on, I think we've wrapped this up nicely. Old Vimes says he wants a report toot sweet."

n.o.bby looked out of the broken window. The roof ab.u.t.ted the end wall of a much larger warehouse. For a moment he found himself thinking bendy rather than straight, but he reasoned that his thinking was only a corporal's thinking, and worth far less per thought than a sergeant's thinking, so he kept his private thoughts to himself.

As they went downstairs Mrs. Spent watched them suspiciously through a barely opened doorway at the far end of the hall, clearly ready to slam it shut at the first suggestion of any s.e.xual magnetism.

"It's not as if I even know where to get get a s.e.xual magnet," n.o.bby muttered. "And she didn't even laugh." a s.e.xual magnet," n.o.bby muttered. "And she didn't even laugh."

...Also, we went to the bow shops in the Street of Cunning Artificers and showed the iconograph to the man in Burleigh and Stronginthearm, who vouchsafed, that is him, e.g., he was referring to the Diseased...

"Oh, my..." Vimes's lips moved slightly as his gaze went back up the page.

...also in addition to the Klatchian money you could tell one of them had been there because of, e.g., the sand on the floor...

"He'd still got sand in his sandals?" murmured Vimes. "Good grief."

"Sam?"

Vimes looked up from his reading.

"Your soup will be cold," said Lady Sybil from the far end of the table. "You've been holding that spoonful in the air for the last five minutes by the clock."

"Sorry, dear."

"What are you reading?"

"Oh, just a little masterpiece," said Vimes, pus.h.i.+ng Fred Colon's report aside.

"Interesting, is it?" said Lady Sybil a little sourly.

"Practically unparalleled," said Vimes. "The only things they haven't found are the bunch of dates and the camel hidden under the pillow..."

Belatedly, his nuptial radar detected a certain chilliness from the far side of the cruet.

"Is, er, there something wrong, dear?" he said.

"Can you remember when we last had dinner together, Sam?"

"Tuesday, wasn't it?"

"That was the Guild of Merchants' annual dinner, Sam."

Vimes's brow wrinkled. "But you were there, too, weren't you?"

A further subtle change in the dragonhouse quotient told him that this was not a well chosen answer.

"And then you rushed off afterward because of that business with the barber in Gleam Street."

"Sweeney Jones," said Vimes. "Well, he was was killing people, Sybil. The best you could say is that he didn't mean to. He was just very bad at shaving-" killing people, Sybil. The best you could say is that he didn't mean to. He was just very bad at shaving-"

"But you you didn't have to go, I'm sure." didn't have to go, I'm sure."

"Policing's a twenty-four-hour job, dear."

"Only for you! Your constables do their ten hours and that's it it. But you're always always working. It's not good for you. You're always running around during the day, and when I wake up in the middle of the night there's always a cold s.p.a.ce beside me..." working. It's not good for you. You're always running around during the day, and when I wake up in the middle of the night there's always a cold s.p.a.ce beside me..."

The dots hung in the air, the ghosts of words unsaid. Little things, thought Vimes. That's how a war starts.

"There's so much to do, Sybil," he said, as patiently as he could.

"There's always been a lot to do. And the bigger the Watch gets the more more there is to do, have you noticed that?" there is to do, have you noticed that?"

Vimes nodded. That was true. Rotas, receipts, notebooks, reports...the Watch might or might not be making a difference in the city, but it was certainly frightening a lot of trees.

"You ought to delegate," said Lady Sybil.

"So he tells me," muttered Vimes.

"Pardon?"

"Just thinking aloud, dear." Vimes pushed the paperwork away. "I'll tell you what...let's have an evening in," he said. "There's a nice fire in the drawing room-"

"Er...no, Sam, there isn't."

"Hasn't young Forthright lit it?" Forthright was the Boy; it came as news to Vimes that this was an official servant position, but the Boy's job was to light the fires, clean the privies, help the gardener and take the blame.

"He's gone off to be a drummer boy in the Duke of Eorle's regiment," said Lady Sybil.

"Him too? He seemed a bright lad! Isn't he too young?"

"He said he was going to lie about his age."

"I hope he lies about his musical ability. I've heard him whistling." Vimes shook his head. "Whatever possessed him to do such a daft thing?"

"He thinks the uniform will impress the girls."

Sybil gave him a gentle smile. An evening at home suddenly began to seem very inviting.

"Well, it won't take a genius to find the woodshed," said Vimes. "And then we can bolt the doors and-"

One of the aforesaid doors shook to the sound of frantic knocking.

Vimes caught Sybil's gaze.

"Go on, then. Answer it," she sighed, and sat down.

The door admitted Corporal Littlebottom, seriously out of breath.

"You...got to come quick, sir...it's...murder this...time!"

Vimes looked helplessly at his wife.

"Of course you must go," she said.

Angua brushed out her hair in front of the mirror.

"I don't like this," said Carrot. "It's not a proper way to behave."

She patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry worry," she said. "Vimes explained it all. You're acting as though we're doing something wrong wrong."

"I like being a watchman," said Carrot, still in the mournful depths. "And you've got to wear a uniform. If you don't don't wear a uniform it's like spying on people. He wear a uniform it's like spying on people. He knows knows I think that." I think that."

Angua looked at his short red hair and honest ears.

"I've taken a lot of the work off his shoulders," Carrot went on. "He doesn't have to go on patrol at all all, but he still tries to do everything."

"Perhaps he doesn't want you to be quite so helpful?" said Angua, as tactfully as possible.

"It's not as if he's getting any younger, either. I've tried to point that out."

"That was kind of you."

"And I've never worn worn plainclothes." plainclothes."

"On you they'll never be very plain," said Angua, pulling on her coat. It was a relief to be out of that armor. As for Carrot, there was no disguising him. The size, the ears, the red hair, the expression of muscular good-naturedness...