'And then young Carrot turns up with charisma writ all over him, and he's got a sword and a birthmark and everyone gets a funny feeling and dozens of buggers start going through the records and say, Hey, looks like the king's come back. And then they watch him for a while and say, Shit, he really is decent and honest and fair and just, just like in all the stories. Whoops! If this lad gets on the throne we could be in serious trouble! He might turn out to be one of them inconvenient kings from long ago who wanders around talking to the common people - '
'You are in favour of the common people?' said Dragon mildly.
The common people?' said Vimes. 'They're nothing special. They're no different from the rich and powerful except they've got no money or power. But the law should be there to balance things up a bit. So I suppose I've got to be on their side.'
'A man married to the richest woman in the city?'
Vimes shrugged. The watchman's helmet isn't like a crown. Even when you take it off you're still wearing it.'
That's an interesting statement of position, Sir Samuel, and I would be the first to admire the way you've come to terms with your family history, but - '
'Don't move!' Vimes shifted his grip on the crossbow. 'Anyway... Carrot wouldn't do, but the news was getting around, and someone said, Right, let's have a king we can control. All the rumours say the king is a humble watchman so let's find one. And they had a look and found that when it comes to humble you can't beat Nobby Nobbs. But ... I think people weren't too sure. Killing Vetinari wasn't an option. As I said, too many things would happen too fast. But to just gently remove him, so that he's there and not there at the same time, while everyone tried out the idea... that was a good wheeze. That's when someone got Mr Carry to make poisoned candles. He'd got a golem. Golems can't talk. No one would know. But it turned out to be a bit... erratic.'
'You seem to wish to involve me,' said Dragon King of Arms. 'I know nothing about this man other than that he's a customer - '
Vimes strode across the room and pulled a piece of parchment from a board. 'You did him a coat of arms!' he shouted. 'You even showed me when I was here! The butcher, the baker and the candlestick-maker! Remember?'
There was no sound now from the hunched figure.
'When I first met you the other day,' said Vimes, 'you made a point of showing me Arthur Carry's coat of arms. I thought it was a bit fishy at the time, but all that business with Nobby put it out of my mind. But I do remember it reminded me of the one for the Assassins' Guild.'
Vimes flourished the parchment.
'I looked and looked at it last night, and then I wound my sense of humour down ten notches and let it go out of focus and looked at the crest, the fish-shaped lamp. Lampe au poisson, it's called. A sort of bilingual play on words, perhaps? A lamp of poison? You've got to have a mind like old Detritus to spot that one. And Fred Colon wondered why you'd left the motto in modern Ankhian instead of putting it into the old language, and that made me wonder so I sat up with the dictionary and worked it out and, you know, it would have read Ars Enixa Est Candelam . Ars Enixa. That must have really cheered you up. You'd said who did it and how it was done and gave it to the poor bugger to be proud of. It didn't matter that no one else would spot it. It made you feel good. Because we ordinary mortals just aren't as clever as you, are we?' He shook his head. 'Good grief, a coat of arms. Was that the bribe? Was that all it took?'
Dragon slumped in his chair.
'And then I wondered what was in it for you,' continued Vimes. 'Oh, there's a lot of people involved, I expect, for the same old reasons. But you? Now, my wife breeds dragons. Out of interest, really. Is that what you do? A little hobby to allow the centuries to fly by? Or does blue blood taste sweeter? Y'know, I hope it was some reason like that. Some decent mad selfish one.'
'Possibly - if someone were so inclined, and I certainly' make no such admission, ah-ha - they might simply be thinking of improving the race,' said the shape in the shadows.
'Breeding for receding chins or bunny teeth, that sort of thing?' said Vimes. 'Yes, I can see where it'd be more straightforward if you had the whole king business. All those courtly balls. All those little arrangements which see to it that the right kind of gel meets only the right kind of boy. You've had hundreds of years, right? And everyone consults you. You know where all the family trees are planted. But it's all got a bit messy under Vetinari, hasn't it? All the wrong people are getting to the top. I know how Sybil curses when people leave the pen gates open: it really messes up her breeding programme.'
'You are wrong about Captain Carrot, ah-ha. The city knows how to work around... difficult kings. But would it want a future king who might really be called Rex?'
Vimes looked blank. There was a sigh from the shadows. 'I am, ah-ha, referring to his apparently stable relationship with the werewolf.'
Vimes stared. Understanding eventually dawned. 'You think they'd have puppies?'
'The genetics of werewolves are not straightforward, ah-ha, but the chance of such an outcome would be considered unacceptable. If someone were thinking on those lines.'
'By gods, and that's if?'
The shadows were changing. Dragon was still slumped in his chair, but his outline seemed to be blurring.
'Whatever the, ah-ha, motives, Mr Vimes, there is no evidence other than supposition and coincidence and your will to believe that links me with any attempt on Vetinari's, ah-ha, life...'
The old vampire's head was sunk even further in his chest. The shadows of his shoulders seemed to be getting longer.
'It was sick, involving the golems,' said Vimes, watching the shadows. 'They could feel what their king was doing. Perhaps it wasn't very sane even to begin with, but it was all they had. Clay of their clay. The poor devils didn't have anything except their clay, and you bastards took away even that - '
Dragon leapt suddenly, bat-wings unfolding. Vimes's wooden bolt clattered somewhere near the ceiling as he was borne down.
'You really thought you could arrest me with a piece of wood?' said Dragon, his hand around Vimes's neck.
'No,' Vimes croaked. 'I was more... poetic... than that. All I had ... to do ... was keep you talking. Feeling... weak, are you? The biter bit... you might say... ?' He grinned.
The vampire looked puzzled, and then turned his head and stared at the candles. 'You... put something in the candles? Really?'
'We... knew garlic... would smell but... our alchemist reckoned that... if you get... holy water... soak the wicks... water evaporates... just leaves holiness.'
The pressure was released. Dragon King of Arms sat back on his haunches. His face had changed, shaping itself forward, giving him an expression like a fox.
Then he shook his head. 'No,' he said, and this time it was his turn to grin. 'No, that's just words. That wouldn't work...'
'Bet... your... unlife?' rasped Vimes, rubbing his neck. 'A better way... than old Carry went, eh?'
'Trying to trick me into an admission, Mr Vimes?'
'Oh, I had that,' said Vimes. 'When you looked straight at the candles.'
'Really? Ah-ha. But who else saw me?' said Dragon.
From the shadows there was a rumble like a distant thunderstorm.
'I Did,' said Dorfl.
The vampire looked from the golem to Vimes.
'You gave one of them a voice?' he said.
'Yes,' said Dorfl. He reached down and picked up the vampire in one hand. 'I Could Kill You,' he said. 'This Is An Option Available To Me As A Free-Thinking Individual But I Will Not Do So Because I Own Myself And I Have Made A Moral Choice.'
'Oh, gods,' murmured Vimes under his breath.
'That's blasphemy,' said the vampire.
He gasped as Vimes shot him a glance like sunlight. 'That's what people say when the voiceless speak. Take him away, Dorfl. Put him in the palace dungeons.'
'I Could Take No Notice of That Command But Am Choosing To Do So Out of Earned Respect And Social Responsibility - '
'Yes, yes, fine,' said Vimes quickly.
Dragon clawed at the golem. He might as well have kicked at a mountain.
'Undead or Alive, You Are Coming With Me,' said Dorfl.
'Is there no end to your crimes? You've made this thing a policeman? said the vampire, struggling as Dorfl dragged him away.
'No, but it's an intriguing suggestion, don't you think?' said Vimes.
He was left alone in the thick velvety gloom of the Royal College.
And Vetinari will let him go, he reflected. Because this is politics. Because he's part of the way the city works. Besides, there's the matter of evidence. I've got enough to prove it to myself, but...
But I'll know, he told himself.
Oh, he'll be watched, and maybe one day when Vetinari is ready a really good assassin will be sent with a wooden dagger soaked in garlic, and it'll all be done in the dark. That's how politics works in this city. It's a game of chess. Who cares if a few pawns die?
I'll know. And I'll be the only one who knows, deep down.
His hands automatically patted his pockets for a cigar.
It was hard enough to kill a vampire. You could stake them down and turn them into dust and ten years later someone spills a drop of blood in the wrong place and guess who's back ? They returned more times than raw broccoli.
These were dangerous thoughts, he knew. They were the kind that crept up on a watchman when the chase was over and it was just you and him, facing one another in that breathless little pinch between the crime and the punishment.
And maybe a watchman had seen civilization with the skin ripped off one time too many and stopped acting like a watchman and started acting like a normal human being and realized that the click of the crossbow or the sweep of the sword would make all the world so clean.
And you couldn't think like that, even about vampires. Even though they'd take the lives of other people because little lives don't matter and what the hell can we take away from them ?
And you couldn't think like that because they gave you a sword and a badge and that turned you into something else and that had to mean there were some thoughts you couldn't think.
Only crimes could take place in darkness.
Punishment had to be done in the light. That was thejob of a good watchman, Carrot always said. To light a candle in the dark.
He found a cigar. Now his hands did the automatic search for matches.
The volumes were piled up against the walls. The candlelight picked up gold lettering and the dull gleam of leather. There they were, the lineages, the books of heraldic minutiae, the Who's Whom of the centuries, the stock books of the city. People stood on them to look down.
No matches...
Quietly, in the dusty silence of the College, Vimes picked up a candelabrum and lit his cigar.
He took a few deep luxuriant puffs, and looked thoughtfully at the books. In his hand, the candles spluttered and flickered.
The clock ticked its arrhythmic tock. It finally stuttered its way to one o'clock, and Vimes got up and went into the Oblong Office.
'Ah, Vimes,' said Lord Vetinari, looking up.
'Yes, sir.'
Vimes had managed a few hours' sleep and had even attempted to shave.
The Patrician shuffled some papers on his desk. 'It seems to have been a very busy night last night...'
'Yes, sir.' Vimes stood to attention. All uniformed men knew in their very soul how to act in circumstances like this. You stared straight ahead, for one thing.
'It appears that I have Dragon King of Arms in the cells,' said the Patrician.
'Yes, sir.'
'I've read your report. Somewhat tenuous evidence, I feel.'
'Sir?'
'One of your witnesses isn't even alive, Vimes.'
'No, sir. Neither is the suspect, sir. Technically.'
'He is, however, an important civic figure. An authority.'
'Yes, sir.'
Lord Vetinari shuffled some of the papers on his desk. One of them was covered in sooty fingermarks. 'It also appears I have to commend you, Commander.'
'Sir?'
The Heralds at the Royal College of Arms, or at least at what remains of the Royal College of Arms, have sent me a note saying how bravely you worked last night.'
'Sir?'
'Letting all those heraldic animals out of the pens and raising the alarm and so on. A tower of strength, they've called you. I gather most of the creatures are lodging with you at the present time?'
'Yes, sir. Couldn't stand by and let them suffer, sir. We'd got some empty pens, sir, and Keith and Roderick are doing well in the lake. They've taken a liking to Sybil, sir.'
Lord Vetinari coughed. Then he stared up at the ceiling for a while. 'So you, er, assisted in the fire.'
'Yes, sir. Civic duty, sir.'
'The fire was caused by a candlestick falling over, I understand, possibly after your fight with Dragon King of Arms.'
'So I believe, sir.'
'And so, it seems, do the Heralds.'
'Anyone told Dragon King of Arms?' said Vimes innocently.
'Yes.'
'Took it well, did he?'
'He screamed a lot, Vimes. In a heart-rending fashion, I am told. And I gather he uttered a number of threats against you, for some reason.'
'I shall try to fit him into my busy schedule, sir.'
'Bingely bongely beep!!' said a small bright voice. Vimes slapped a hand against his pocket.
Lord Vetinari fell silent for a moment. His fingers drummed softly on his desk. 'Many fine old manuscripts in that place, I believe. Without price, I'm told.'
'Yes, sir. Certainly worthless, sir.'
'Is it possible you misunderstood what I just said, Commander?'
'Could be, sir.'
The provenances of many splendid old families went up in smoke, Commander. Of course, the Heralds will do what they can, and the families themselves keep records but frankly, I understand, it's all going to be patchwork and guesswork. Extremely embarrassing. Are you smiling, Commander?'
'It was probably a trick of the light, sir.'
'Commander, I always used to consider that you had a definite anti-authoritarian streak in you.'
'Sir?'
'It seems that you have managed to retain this even though you are authority.'
'Sir?'
'That's practically Zen.'
'Sir?'
'It seems I've only got to be unwell for a few days and you manage to upset everyone of any importance in this city.'
'Sir.'
'Was that a yes, sir or a no, sir , Sir Samuel?'
'It was just a sir , sir.'
Lord Vetinari glanced at a piece of paper. 'Did you really punch the president of the Assassins' Guild?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Why?'
'Didn't have a dagger, sir.'
Vetinari turned away abruptly. 'The Council of Churches, Temples, Sacred Groves and Big Ominous Rocks is demanding... well, a number of things, several of them involving wild horses. Initially, however, they want me to sack you.'
'Yes, sir?'
'In all I've had seventeen demands for your badge. Some want parts of your body attached. Why did you have to upset everybody?'
'I suppose it's a knack, sir.'
'But what could you hope to achieve?'
'Well, sir, since you ask, we found out who murdered Father Tubelcek and Mr Hopkinson and who was poisoning you, sir.' Vimes paused. 'Two out of three's not bad, sir.'
Vetinari riffled through the papers again. 'Workshop owners, assassins, priests, butchers... you seem to have infuriated most of the leading figures in the city.' He sighed. 'Really, it seems I have no choice. As of this week, I'm giving you a pay rise.'
Vimes blinked. 'Sir?'
'Nothing unseemly. Ten dollars a month. And I expect they need a new dart-board in the Watch House? They usually do, I recall.'
'It's Detritus,' said Vimes, his mind unable to think of anything other than an honest reply. 'He tends to split them.'
'Ah, yes. And talking of splits, Vimes, I wonder if your forensic genius could help me with a little conundrum we found this morning.' The Patrician stood up and headed for the stairs.
'Yes, sir? What is it?' said Vimes, following him down.
'It's in the Rats Chamber, Vimes.'
'Really, sir?'
Vetinari pushed open the double doors. ' Voila,' he said.
'That's some kind of musical instrument, isn't it, sir?'
'No, Commander, the word means What is that in the table? ,' said the Patrician sharply.
Vimes looked into the room. There was no one there. The long mahogany table was bare.
Except for the axe. It had embedded itself in the wood very deeply, almost splitting the table along its entire length. Someone had walked up to the table and brought an axe down right in the centre as hard as they could and then left it there, its handle pointing towards the ceiling.
'That's an axe,' said Vimes.
'Astonishing,' said Lord Vetinari. 'And you've barely had time to study it. Why is it there?'
'I really couldn't say, sir.'
'According to the servants, Sir Samuel, you came into the palace at six o'clock this morning...'
'Oh, yes, sir. To check that the bastard was safely in a cell, sir. And to see that everything was all right, of course.'
'You didn't come into this room?'
Vimes kept his gaze fixed somewhere on the horizon. 'Why should I have done that, sir?'
The Patrician tapped the axe handle. It vibrated with a faint thumping noise. 'I believe some of the City Council met in here this morning. Or came in here, at least. I'm told they hurried out very quickly. Looking rather disturbed, I'm told.'
'Maybe it was one of them that did it, sir.'
'That is, of course, a possibility,' said Lord Vetinari. 'I suppose you won't be able to find one of your famous Clues on the thing?'
'Shouldn't think so, sir. Not with all these fingerprints on it.'
'It would be a terrible thing, would it not, if people thought they could take the law into their own hands...'
'Oh, no fear of that, sir. I'm holding on tightly to it.'
Lord Vetinari plunked the axe again. 'Tell me, Sir Samuel, do you know the phrase Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? ?'
It was an expression Carrot had occasionally used, but Vimes was not in the mood to admit anything. 'Can't say that I do, sir,' he said. 'Something about trifle, is it?'
'It means Who guards the guards themselves? , Sir Samuel.'
'Ah.'
'Well?'
'Sir?'
'Who watches the Watch? I wonder?'
'Oh, that's easy, sir. We watch one another.'
'Really? An intriguing point...'
Lord Vetinari walked out of the room and back into the main hall, with Vimes trailing behind. 'However,' he said, 'in order to keep the peace, the golem will have to be destroyed.'
'No, sir.'
'Allow me to repeat my instruction.'
'No, sir.'
'I'm sure I just gave you an order, Commander. I distinctly felt my lips move.'
'No, sir. He's alive, sir.'
'He's just made of clay, Vimes.'
'Aren't we all, sir? According to them pamphlets Constable Visit keeps handing out. Anyway, he thinks he's alive, and that's good enough for me.'
The Patrician waved a hand towards the stairs and his office full of paper. 'Nevertheless, Commander, I've had no less than nine missives from leading religious figures declaring that he is an abomination.'
'Yes, sir. I've given that viewpoint a lot of thought, sir, and reached the following conclusion: arseholes to the lot of 'em, sir.'
The Patrician's hand covered his mouth for a moment. 'Sir Samuel, you are a harsh negotiator. Surely you can give and take?'
'Couldn't say, sir.' Vimes walked to the main doors and pushed them open.