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They started to give Vimes the look of all guards everywhere, which in summary is
this: the default position is that you're dead; only my patience stands in the way. But
Vimes was ready for it. Any five hells you cared to name knew that he'd used it
himself often enough. He countered with the aloof expression of someone who didn't
notice guards.
'Commander Vimes, City Watch,' he said, holding up his badge.
'I need to see Grag Hamcrusher immediately.'
'He's not seeing anyone,' said one of the guards.
'Oh. So he is dead, then?' said Vimes.
He felt the answer. He didn't even have to see Angua's little nod. The dwarfs had
been dreading the question, and were sweating.
To their shock and horror, and also somewhat to his own surprise, he sat down on
the steps between them and pulled a packet of cheap cigars out of his pocket.
'I won't offer one to you lads because I know that you aren't allowed to smoke on
duty' he said convivially. 'I don't allow my boys to do it. The only reason I can get
away with it is that there's no one to tell me off, haha.' He blew a stream of blue
smoke. 'Now, I am, as you know, head of the City Watch. Yes?'
The two dwarfs, staring straight ahead, both nodded imperceptibly.
'Good,' said Vimes. 'And that means you, that's both of you, are impeding me in the
execution of my duty. That gives me, oooh, a whole range of options. The one I'm
thinking of right now is summoning Constable Dorfl. He's a golem. Nothing impedes
him in the execution of his duty, believe me. You'll be picking bits of that door off the
floor for weeks. And I wouldn't stand in his way, if I was you. Oh, and it'd be lawful,
which means that if anyone puts up a fight it gets really interesting. Look, I'm only
telling you this because I've done my share of guarding over the years, and there are
times when looking tough works and there are times - and this, I suggest, is one of
them - when going and asking the people inside what you should do next is a very
good career move.'
'Can't leave our post,' said a dwarf.
'Don't worry about that,' said Vimes, standing. 'I'll stand guard for you.'
'You can't do that!'
Vimes bent down to the dwarf's ear.
'I am Commander of the Watch,' he hissed, no longer Mr Friendly. He pointed at the
cobblestones. 'This is my street. I can stand where I like. You are standing on my
street. It's the public highway. That means that there are about a dozen things I could
arrest you for, right now. That would cause trouble, right enough, but you would be
bang in the middle of it. My advice to you, one guard to another, is to hop off smartly
and speak to someone highe- further up the ladder, okay?'
He saw worried eyes peering out from between the rampant eyebrows and the
luxuriant moustache and spotted the tiny little tells he'd come to recognize, and
added: 'Off you go, ma'am.'
The dwarf hammered on the door. The hatch slid back. Whispering transpired. The
door opened. The dwarf hurried in.
The door closed. Vimes turned, took up station beside it, and stood to attention
slightly more theatrically than necessary.
There were one or two outbreaks of laughter. Dwarfs they might be, but in Ankh-
Morpork people always wanted to see what would happen next.
The remaining guard hissed, 'We're not allowed to smoke on duty!'
'Oops, sorry,' said Vimes, and removed the cigar, tucking it behind his ear for later.
This got a few more chuckles. Let 'em laugh, said Vimes to himself. At least they're
not throwing things.
The sun shone down. The crowd stood still. Sergeant Angua stared at the sky, her
face carefully blank. Detritus had settled into the absolute, rock-like stillness of a troll
with nothing to do right now. Only Ringfounder looked uneasy. This probably was not
a good time and place to be a dwarf with a badge, Vimes thought. But why? All we've
been doing in the last couple of weeks is trying to stop two bunches of idiots from
killing one another.
And now this. This morning was going to cost him an earful, he thought, although in
fact Sybil never shouted when she told him off. She just spoke sadly, which was a lot
worse.
The bloody family portrait, that was the trouble. It seemed to involve an awful lot of
sittings, but it was a tradition of Sybil's family and that was that. It was more or less
the same portrait, every generation: the happy family group, against a panorama of
their rolling acres. Vimes had no rolling acres, only aching feet, but as the inheritor of
the Ramkin wealth he was, he'd learned, also the owner of Crundells, a huge stately
home out in the country. He hadn't even seen it yet. Vimes didn't mind the
countryside if it stayed put and didn't attack, but he liked pavement under his feet and
didn't much care for being pictured as some kind of squire. So far his excuses for
avoiding the interminable sittings had been reasonable, but it was a close-run thing
More time passed. Some of the dwarfs in the crowd wandered off. Vimes didn't
move, not even when he heard the hatch in the door open for a moment and then
slide back. They were trying to wait him out.
'Tcha-tcha-rumptiddle-tiddle-tiddle-tiddle-tchum-chum!'
Without looking down, maintaining the stolid thousand-mile stare of a guard, Vimes
pulled the Dis-Organizer out of his pocket and raised it to his lips.
'I know you were turned off,' he grunted.
'Pop-Up For Alarms, remember?' said the imp.
'How do I stop you doing that?'
'The correct form of words is in the manual, Insert Name Here,' said the imp primly.
'Where is the manual?'
'You threw it away,' said the imp, full of reproach. 'You always do. That's why you
never use the right commands, and that is why I did not "go away and stick my head
up a duck's bottom" yesterday. You have an appointment to see Lord Vetinari in half
an hour.'
'I will be busy' muttered Vimes.
'Would you like me to remind you again in ten minutes?'
'Tell me, what part of "Stick your head up a duck's bottom" didn't you understand?'
Vimes replied, and plunged the thing back into his pocket.
So, it had been half an hour. Half an hour was enough. This was going to be drastic,
but he'd seen the looks the dwarfs were giving Detritus. Rumour was an evil poison.
As he stepped forward, ready to go and summon Dorfl and all the problems that
invading this place would entail, the door opened behind him.
'Commander Vimes? You may come in.'
There was a dwarf in the doorway. Vimes could just make out his shape in the gloom.
And for the first time he noticed the symbol chalked on the wall over the door: a
circle, with a horizontal line through it.
'Sergeant Angua will accompany me,' he said. The sign struck Vimes as vaguely
unsettling; it seemed to be a stamp of ownership that was rather more emphatic than,
for example, a little plaque saying 'Mon Repos'.
'The troll will stay outside,' said the figure flatly.
'Sergeant Detritus will stand guard, along with Corporal Ringfounder,' said Vimes.
This restatement of fact seemed to pass muster, suggesting that the dwarf probably
knew a lot about iron but nothing about irony. The door opened further, and Vimes
stepped inside.
The hall was bare, except for a few stacked boxes, and the air smelled of- What?
Stale food. Old empty houses. Sealed-up rooms. Attics.
The whole house is an attic, Vimes thought. The thud, thud from below was really [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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