Whys and "weres" – c8
The ambassador and his wife were genuinely pleased to see their niece, who had gone to the kennels behind the Embassy first to check on the condition of the wounded dog. Johanna had been pleased to see Rambou's temperature was down, and the wound site felt normally warm without any rigidity of the tissues. Despite the conical collar she had fitted to prevent him worrying at the stitches, which always looks a little bit comical on an animal, Rambou was lively and conscious and pleased to see her.
"Well done, Franz!" she said to the young konstabel who had assisted her. "I believe he'll live!"
Franz Huik smiled, bashfully.
"It was your work, miss." he said. "You discovered what I missed."
"Ja", she said, thoughtfully, "But I was operating in daylight at leisure. You were working alone by candlelight while the Embassy was under attack. You did well to save his life till the morning!"
Sergeant deKok beamed at them both.
"I owe both of you." he said. "Miss, the boy here says you teach animal medicine at the Zoo?"
"Well, I would not say I teach" she said. "I'm still learning. But zoo animals sometimes become sick and require practical healing. When I can I explain to others what I am doing and why, so they absorb a little teaching. I believe Konstabel Huik here could benefit from detached service at the Zoo for one or two days a week. It would make him a better animal doctor and of more use to you in his role here."
He isn't built for the military, she thought. A thin weedy little chap with glasses. He opted to do his National Service in the police force rather than the military. Because his Morporkian is very good and he has an affinity for dogs, he was posted here as an embassy guard. He must find living among the macho thugs and men's men to be wearying.
"It's your lucky day, Huikie!" deKok said, kindly. "Make your arrangements with the lady here, and I'll give you the local leave."
I wonder if he'll return Home when his time's served, now that he's seen Ankh-Morpork?
Huik's face lit up. Johanna smiled at him, feeling pleased she'd done a little good. And possibly recruited a first-class zookeeper. Ag, they can't all be golems.
She wondered again about the confused report from Gritchlow, who as senior keeper was responsible for staff administration.
One leopard too many? I'll have to see it for myself. She wondered if it tied in to the current case. It had too many unconnected dangling loose ends for her liking.
"A special constable?" Aunt Frijda queried, with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not denying that we don't need a Watch, and Commander Vimes is a good neighbour to us, but isn't that rather beneath you, Johanna?"
"In the circumstances, Aunt, I couldn't say no." she replied, politely. "In any case, my patrol partner tonight isn't exactly redneck white trash. Angua is first in line to succeed to a Grafinate in Überwald. In old Sto Kerrig, that was a Margrav. I believe the equivalent in the social order here is a Marquess, in Morporkian. Ranks higher than a Lady and slightly lower than a Duchess. And as for Sally von Humpeding. I would not have stopped reciting her titles by tomorrow breakfast!"
"And of course there are the strange rumours surrounding Captain Carrot." her uncle said, thoughtfully. "Whatever he is, he is most assuredly not of the lowest social class!"
"You've made your point." Frijda said, crossly She still hadn't quite forgiven her husband for ogling the underdressed kaffir girls so openly in That Place, and had given him, if not Hell, then Purgatory, for it. Pieter had held his peace, but given the opportunity, couldn't resist a snipe back when offered one.
A black waiter stepped forward to refill Johanna's glass. Reflexively, she said "thank you", which drew the glance of one of the other diners.
Don't provoke him, Johanna. You need his good graces tonight, and in any case, the man is dangerous. Ag, is there something wrong with his glands, the way his eyes bulge when he stares?
"I'm sorry, Liutnant Verkramp. That's a local affectation my niece picked up from living in this city." said Aunt Frijda, quickly.
"Common courtesy doesn't hurt. I find it gets you better service if you're polite to the staff!" Johanna said.
"To white staff, certainly." said the BOSS section chief, in his clipped, odd, tone.
"Tell me about the attack on the Guild of Assassins." her uncle said, changing the subject deftly. "I can't help thinking whoever did that must be tired of life."
Johanna told the story much as she'd heard it, making her aunt gasp in horror.
"First the attack on us, and now on you!" she said, shocked. "Is it to do with your joining their police force?"
"Indirectly, I think. Commander Vimes chose to activate me as a Detective–Constable to use my skills and knowledge in the leopard case. It may be the case that those behind it believe I am a threat to them and wish to see me eliminated. Strangely enough, they also attempted to take out a Guild contract on Sergeant Angua."
"The werewolf…" mused her uncle. "What knowledge might she have that could be dangerous to our shadowy adversaries?"
"Not so shadowy!" asserted Verkramp, spitting fragments of his dinner. The others tried to conceal their distaste.
"Ambassador, we know it is the Zulus. I ask you again to let me activate Operation Whiplash!"
Pieter van der Graaf stared at the secret service man.
"No, Liutnant. Not a bloody chance. I'm not having your men playing cloak and dagger games all over this City, randomly killing black people you think are a threat to the Staadt. Firstly, there are people here who do the cloak and dagger game far better than us and there are far more of them. The Guild of Assassins takes a dim view of unlicenced killing in their city. If only because they believe they should get first refusal on the contract. Vimes' Watch is also very good. And I am not making this city a battleground for our own domestic problems. Lord Vetinari has the right to remove accreditation for diplomats who make trouble in his City and pack them off home in disgrace. If the Zulus wish to begin such a war, let the Patrician's eye pass over us as the injured party, and fall on their Embassy on Brookless Lane. The moral victory would be beneficial for us, and the approbrium falls on them. A sympathetic editorial in the Times, for once. Amazing how that newspaper shapes opinion far more effectively than victory in a war! Besides, I'm three years away from retirement and I value my pension!"
That's one for Downey, Johanna thought. But then, he's worked out that if my people are provoked enough, they will retaliate. Is this what it's all for, to create a flashpoint that starts a war? And my family live too near the Border!
Verkramp fell into sullen silence. Johanna decided to sweeten him.
"Later, Liutnant Verkramp, I would value your opinion on my personal woes. Is it in order to request to see your files on individuals at the Kwa'Zulu Embassy?"
"Such things may be possible, ja." the BOSS head agreed, cautiously.
Johanna nodded, and turned back to her uncle.
"In pursuing this case as a Special Constable, my inquiries brought up the name of an organisation I'd never heard of before, called the Howondalandian National Congress." she said. "Uncle Piet, who are they?"
From the way her uncle and the secret policeman both sat up straight and drew breath, she knew she was on to something.
"They're a miniscule splinter group with extreme opinions." her uncle said, dismissively.
"Subversives!" said Verkramp.
"They had a brief vogue among the university liberal thinkers thirty or forty years ago, but they've either argued among themselves, been imprisoned and rehabilitated, or else emigrated, exiled or fled to Kwa'zululand". Uncle Piet added.
"They got poor Laurens at Witwatersrand. I was reading for politics, philosophy and economics with a view to joining the Diplomatic Service. My friend Laurens van der Post(1)– I recall you asked about him before? – was a brilliant but erratic individual who opened his mind to all the wrong ideas, I'm sorry to say. We all warned him he was headed for trouble, but he had to fall in with the extremists who wanted a Utopia where White and Black Howondaland merged into some sort of fantasy of equality. No longer Zululand, no longer the Staadt, but some sort of super-republic combining both. Laurens was reading in anthropology and ethnology, and that led him to the belief of complete equality between the races."
"We closed the anthropology department down at that University." boasted Verkramp. "It bred subversives!"
"He spent so much time with the blacks." said Aunt Frijda. "There were terrible rumours".
"He put this scurrilous pamphlet out. It was closed down and he was imprisoned. He exiled himself first to Kwa'Zululand where he carried on researching and agitating for the HNC. Then he made the mistake of antagonising the witchdoctors. He was allowed to witness some sort of ritual where, allegedly, people were put through ordeals to prove their worth, then blessed by the Gods with the power to turn into leopards at will."
Johanna suddenly became more attentive.
"Now I know there's magic in this world, and witches, wizards, witch-doctors, and so on, are Nature's way of venting it safely. But as a rational man, I suspect the drugs fed to the blacks during this ceremony made them think they'd turned into animals. Nothing more, nothing less. Anyway, he made the error of writing up this secret ritual, that he'd been allowed to watch on sufferance and strict confidence, and releasing it in his latest book on native ritual beliefs. So when the Witch-Finders went pointing the bones at him, he had to escape in a hurry. I believe he currently scratches out a penniless and friendless existence in Quirm, poor fellow."
"Uncle. Do you have a copy of this book?" she asked, excited. It would shorten her reading time, and her intuition was flashing a very large beacon at her.
This is it! Why do people deny the truth when it's there, right in front of them?
"Books by a known subversive? In an embassy library?" snorted Verkramp.
The ambassador held up a hand.
"So far as I know, it was never on the prohibited list." he said. "No, I don't have a copy. But it was called "Secret rituals of the Kwa'Zulu and Matabele jungle clans", or something similar. "
Johanna recalled a book like this in the stack the Librarian had found for her. She itched to be home.
"Thank you, uncle. This will help the investigation enormously."
Her uncle nodded.
"I believe there is a remnant of the original HNC living in exile in this city" he said. "They're not important or dangerous, but I do feel sorry for them. Imagine being exiled twice over. Having to live in a foreign cold damp city, and unable to be a part of a larger expatriot family that is mutually supportive of each other, in the main. Seeing the greater number of White Howondalandians living in this city who rightly shun them for their foolish beliefs, and only having each other for company. It must be like life imprisonment. If they came to me and swore to renounce their silliness and vow to obey our country's constitution and laws, I could arrange pardon and repatriation for them. We are not unreasonable. But they will not. What can you do?"
Johanna's memory was again jogged.
"These exiled subversives. Would one be a woman in her fifties, grey-haired, medium build, oval face with falling chin, grey eyes, tight pursed mouth…"
"You are describing one known to us." Verkramp said. "In what circumstances did you encounter her?"
Johanna told of being followed out of the Guild and how she'd identified her followers. Kak. I've given the poor woman a death sentence. That was not my intention.
"Collaboration with the enemy." The BOSS man said. "Normally the death sentence applies".
"We don't know for sure if she was working for the Kwa'Zulu." Johanna reminded him.
"It appears clear-cut to me. I'll add it to her record. You, miss Smith-Rhodes, will of course sign the witness statement."
"A great pity." Her uncle sighed. "I knew her at university. A brilliant mind and a great beauty. But she had to go listening to the wrong people".
Johanna entered the BOSS offices, a well protected part of an upper floor at the Embassy which was normally locked off from unauthorised personnel, with the usual repressed shudder. An irrational feeling passed over her, as Verkramp routinely locked the security door behind him, that once in, she would never be allowed out again.
Verkramp looked at her as if he was reading her thoughts. She remembered her Assassin training, and told herself that secret policemen the world over capitalised on the instant feeling of guilt, of "what do they know about me?", that their very presence instilled in the population.
It was apparently like this in Ankh-Morpork in the old days, she reminded herself. Vimes wants to use me as a Special in the Cable Street Particulars. Those stories he told about the old CSP, when Captain Swing was in charge. Ag!
She wondered if Findthee Swing would have recognised Verkramp as a spiritual cousin. Apparently he'd had the same sort of warped appearance and a peculiar way of speaking, too.
Verkramp sat down at a desk, took his ease, and steepled his fingers. He deliberately did not offer her a seat.
Vetinari-light. But he has a certain style.
"Now please explain why you wished to see me, Miss Smith-Rhodes."
She looked the ridiculous – but dangerous – little man in the eye.
"As you know, liutnant, there have been a spate of mysterious attacks in the City over the past few nights. As an Assassin, I am keen to discover who targeted the Guild last night. As a special detective constable of the Watch, I am charged with participating in the ongoing investigation into several murders. "
Ag, I'm even beginning to talk like a policewoman, in the same plodding ponderous methodical manner!
"You are investigating an attack on this Embassy, against all diplomatic and internationally recognised protocol. I believe all these things are fundamentally inter-related, and we can help each other's investigations."
Verkramp nodded.
"As a loyal citizen of the Republic, your information will be freely volunteered to me without condition."
"I would volunteer it more freely if you would open your files to me, liutnant. I am especially interested in what you know about a third secretary at the Kwa'Zulu embassy, called Emmanuel N'Juri."
Ag, the things we do for our friends, she thought.
Verkramp considered this. Then he rang a bell on his desk. A BOSS clerk answered the summons.
"Fetch me the file on N'juri, E." he ordered. Then he added "No, let's be thorough. Bring me the files on the new members of staff at the Kwa'Zulu embassy. The whole draft who arrived last September. By all accounts they are closely associated."
Johanna eventually had four names and biographies.
"Liutnant" she said. All four are associated with something called the Leopard Society. What is this?"
Vekramp shrugged.
"We believe it to be a secret society within the Kwa'Zulu armed forces and higher echelons of society. They take their orders directly from the College of Witch-Finders and are loyal to them. We are at present unsure of their purpose, but we suspect them to be a fanatical strike force, an army within an army, who are being recruited to act as loyal muscle to serve the witch-doctors. These four at their Embassy we have been watching. They have no clear diplomatic purpose, although the two women are graced by the rank of cultural attaché. Their dancing, if you can call it that, may well be just a front for more sinister activities.
"They may be a Zulu imitation of the Bureau, as the other blacks there are clearly wary of them and intimidated by them. "Leopard Society", we believe, is just a metaphor, a name, signifying that they will strike out of the night like the leopard. Fanatics. Their presence in this city worries us. I'm pleased your information confirms what we suspect. "
Vekramp smiled.
"Thank you for your information. It is appreciated. You may leave."
Trying not to show her relief, Johanna got up to go. Then she paused.
"One last thing. You all seemed to know the woman who was trailing me the other night. I do not. May I ask her name?"
"A fair request. She is Esther Coetzee, formerly of Bloemfontein. A brilliant intellectual and one the Staadt had high hopes for. But intellectuals are dangerous. She threw her lot in with the blacks and was caught passing Staadt secrets to Zulu spies. The president, alas, chose clemency, and spared her the death sentence. But she was exiled on icompletion of a long prison term. She lives in some reduced circumstances in the Dolly Sisters area. A miserable exile life." Verkramp added, with gloating satisfaction. "Now is that everything? "
Johanna nodded, remembering the name. Escorted out by a BOSS underling, she passed banks of filing cabinets. Lots of filing cabinets. She was now certain there was one in the drawer marked "S" with her name on it. She wondered what BOSS had on her. It was not a comforting thought.
It was too late to get back to the Guild and read up on what van der Post had to say about the Leopard Society. She had brought a bag with her containing the equipment she needed for Watch duty, and changed in a bedroom provided by her aunt. There was a knock on the door.
"Wie's daar?" she called, automatically.
A black maidservant entered.
"Please, baas-lady. The baas-lady Frijda told me to come to you and offer you help in dressing, should you need it."
Johanna nodded. Just like Auntie Frijda. Her Assassin senses kicked in. Trust nobody.
"Step forward" she commanded. "Put your hands where I can see them. Thank you. Now will you permit?"
She lightly frisked the girl for weapons. When she was satisfied that she was the Bantu housemaid she seemed to be, Johanna stepped back.
"I apologise for the intrusion on your person." she said. "But there has been one attempt on my life this week. I had to be sure."
The girl looked surprised for a second, then nodded submissively.
To give the girl a light duty to do, Johanna had her give her enamelled and personally tailored black armour a final polish.
As she got into the Watch tunic and leather skirt that was standard issue to Watchwomen, she talked to the maid.
"We know you are kin to the Ambassador." the girl said. "Whenever you stay here, there is competition to serve you, as you are kind and polite and very generous."
Johanna nodded. It was another aspect of her attitude to servants that caused mild friction with her Aunt.
"I really wish you wouldn't give them money in the morning when you stay here overnight." Aunt Frijda had complained. "It spoils them!"
Johanna had pointed out, quite reasonably, that were she to stay at a grand house such as the Rusts or the Eorles or the Venturis, she would be allocated a personal maidservant, and it was positively expected that you tipped your servant at the end of the stay in recognition of good service. It shouldn't be any different here.
Aunt Frijda had rolled her eyes, and fired the second bolt in her crossbow.
"And… I know you're an Assassin. We make allowances. But leaving all those weapons out at night where the servants can reach them?"
"They wouldn't dare." Johanna reassured her. "Anyway, a weapon you don't know how to use is useless. Which is why the Staadt prohibits most blacks to train in weapon-use."
I really shouldn't get so much pleasure out of baiting my aunt, she thought. Frijda's a decent old girl. And I'd better not tell her what Betty said.
Johanna had asked her maid Betty, semi-seriously, whether she would pick up one of her knives left on the dressing table at night, and try to stab her with it. Betty had smiled, taken the risk, and said "Oh no, baas-lady. You always say "please" and "thank you" and you treat us well. None of us would ever try to stab you."
Johanna smiled, and asked tonight's maid about her home and family back in the township, about her hopes and ambitions for the future. Flattered by the interest, she added to Johanna's store of knowledge about everyday black life at Home while she donned the armour and checked her weapons.
She wore her machete in favour of the issue Watch sword – cheap metal and blunted too easily- with her dagger and whip on the other side. A pouch of spare crossbow bolts, Guild issue, hung at her belt. A basic field medicine kit, compact and to her own specifications, was in the opposite pouch. Her lightweight bespoke armour consisted of greaves to protect her lower legs – in the short skirt she didn't feel so exposed then - a front and back; and vambraces protecting both forearms. A standard Watch helmet completed the assembly, about the only part of Watch issue armour she had retained. It had dangling cheek-guards in the old Latatian manner that offered protection to her face, but she did not lace them together under her chin. That could be fatal and offer an opponent a gift garrotting cord. Her Watch badge fitted to the breastplate, she took care to secure her Guild badge inobtrusively out of sight, where she could use it to identify herself should she need to. Mr Vimes did not approve of her wearing it visibly while on muster. She wore short boots rather than sandals, of Assassin design, within which were concealed a few additional surprises.
Checking herself in a mirror, she slung her personal crossbow over her shoulder, and smiled happily. She was twenty-nine, in a profession she loved, happily going steady with a good man, and just about to walk into unknown danger for no pay.
It made her feel really alive. She tipped the maid with fifty pence, and went out to call a cab to get her to the Yard in time for the shift-change.
Matron Igorina and the Watch Igor took turns checking out the blood samples retrieved from the Embassy and the Guild through one of the new-fangled looking at very small things indeed, or reversed telescope machines, invented by Leonard of Quirm. They conferred, in low voices. Cheery Littlebottom was invited to look, but apart from recognising blood cells of various types, she could make no further sense of it.
"Well?" she said, impatiently.
Igorina turned to her.
"Sample one, that retrieved from the Embassy, is mingled with canine blood, which we believe to be that of the dog that was injured. I have iconographed it for the evidence file.
"Sample Two is pure. There's no doubt about it. It is entirely human blood. No trace of leopard blood cells anywhere."
Cheery looked perplexed.
"But when Mr Maroon awoke this afternoon, he said he saw recognisable human shapes climbing down the wall of the Guild. He didn't see where they went, but he is adamant he was charged and bowled over by three big cats."
He had hit his head quite heavily on the way down, and would have deeply-gouged scars from a mauling inflicted in passing. He had been coherent and in command of his own mind: he had described two spotted golden leopards race past him without stopping, one of which was bleeding from the chest, but the third had been completely black and had gone out of its way to knock him over and inflict injury. He had noticed, as it bore him down, that it was oozing blood from flesh wounds in the shoulder, and was very, very, angry, all flattened ears, hissing scream, and them teeth…
"Perhaps some sort of animal handler?" Igor proposed. They used the leopards to make a diversion, and followed discreetly while all eyes were elsewhere?"
"Perhaps" said Cheery, doubtfully. She wished she knew more about animal habits.
"We can also identify the suspects as Black Howondalandian" Igorina added.
Cheery nodded: that fitted the description, of IC3's.(2)
"How?" she asked.
"The blood we're looking at has sickle cells in it." Igorina explained. "These are only found in people of Howondalandian origin. It means the carrier has a blood deformity that will kill them within twenty years."
Cheery nodded. It was something to tell Mr Vimes.
Johanna made it to the Muster.
Aware heads were turning at the presence of the striking Assassin-Constable, she shared a nod with Angua and sat down to listen to the briefing.
Squads were to patrol normally around the city, but the majority would be deployed in areas of known leopard activity, especially the Shades, with orders to look out for the elusive big cats. If nothing else, a massive show of force would deter the local and make them keep their heads down. A token squad would patrol Filigree Street and Widdershins Broadway down to Baker Street, as the bloody Assassins… apologies, Miss Smith-Rhodes – would be out in force patrolling their own turf and he wanted somebody to keep an eye on the bugg.. them… outside their Guild.
Vimes broke off.
"Special Constable Hancock, what the heck is that?"
Andy Hancock saluted, enthusiastically.
"Trident and a weighted net, sir. The old Latatians used them for leopard-hunting!"
Johanna winced and covered her eyes.
"Well you know best. Just stay away from Special Constable Piggle. The poor man's still recovering from those Agatean Throwing Stars you used, when we were hunting the Kicklebury Street Ninja."(3)
"A special operation is to take place in the area of the Tump employing Sergeant von Überwald and Special Detective-Constable Smith-Rhodes. They will be covertly inserted under conditions of secrecy, or as near as we can get. There will be a back-up squad under Captain Carrot, based in the Tump Tower.
"Duty sergeant in the Yard will be Sergeant Colon. Have a good night, ladies and gentlemen, and happy hunting!"
Johanna heard the plan, and asked for one small detour. She wanted to see the scene of the latest murder for herself to see if she could ad anything the Watch had missed. Well aware of her animal knowledge, Vimes was not offended and authorised the trip.
"Besides, Mr Vimes, if enyone is following me – end I would like you to be eware of the possibility – this will ect es misdirection es to our main purpose tonight."
"Who's following you?"
Johanna explained about the previous night, and said she had positively identified one of her tails. She gave details of Esther Coetzee.
Vimes nodded.
"As long as that little turd at your embassy isn't setting you up to use me as a patsy to arrest one of his political suspects." he warned her. "I wouldn't put it past him. If it wasn't for the fact he must have been five or six – and such a sweet little child, I'm sure – when Findthee Swing died, I'd book him for reincarnating with malice aforethought."
A closed police van took them to the scene of crime. Johanna looked around methodically but could find no further evidence.
"It is typical of leopards to dreg their dead prey into a high place." she said. "Trees are favoured, but rocky cregs end outcrops hev been observed. Otherwise, hyenas, which are more powerful peck enimels, will drive off the leopard end steal the prey."
Angua and Vimes listened.
"Whet is not typical is thet they hunted es a peck. Leopards ere not peck enimels. They hunt solo, except when they ere raising cubs."
There was a shuffling in the dark nearby to them. They moved to the sound, Angua and Johanna drawing swords. They relaxed as they heard a faint "Buggrit!"
"Here, miss policewoman!" said a low voice. "I got information on them leopards you're looking for. Twenty dollars buys it!"
"Come forward!" Johanna commanded. Something about the harmonics of her voice compelled obedience. Slowly, reluctantly, Gaspode slunk out of the dark.
"How do I know you ere not going to tell me eny old rubbish in return for the money?" Johanna demanded.
"It's OK, Johanna. This is Gaspode. When he isn't mucking you around, he's a reliable informant." Angua said.
"This girl's good." Gaspode said, cocking an ear towards Johanna. "Most people just don't believe a dog can talk. She believes the evidence of her own ears. "
"I'm trained to" she said, curtly. "End I've seen you before. You're that mutt who hengs eround the beck kitchen door of the Guild on mixed grill night, yesno?"
"Whoops…" said Gaspode, who had just realised what stylish personally tailored jet-black armour meant. Turning to run for it, he found Angua standing just behind him. She delivered a low werewolf growl that said "don't even think it".
Gaspode laughed, nervously.
"Er… can I be allowed to rephrase my request?"
"Give us the information first, Gaspode. Then I'll decide what it's worth." Vimes said, lighting a cigar.
"Right y'are, your grace, sir. Er, some nights ago myself and my associate here was keeping our own business behind Monkey Street, when stone me, these three bloody great cats come up and starts on this poor inoffensive bloke trying to kip down on the other side of the street" Gaspode began.
"S'right. Buggrit." Said a voice in the shadows.
"Now me, I'll go for cats, its in yer bones, right? But I looked at these three and thought "not a bloody chance. Let's do one" We waited till they was occupied, if you sees what I mean, and then we skeddadled."
"Describe them" Johanna said.
"Two of them was golden brown with darker spots. I knew they wasn't pumas or jaguars, right, 'cos with them, there's a break in the circle around the spot, right? These was complete pale circles enclosing a darker core".
"Leopards." said Johanna. "And the third?"
"That's the funny thing, miss. The third was all black. Oh, there were spots there, if you knew where to look. But very dark grey ones. Charcoal grey, right? That's your…"
"Penther." Johana said. "A bleck panther. Running in a peck with leopards. This is making no sense. Penthers end leopards ere the same enimel, virtually, but they do not get along. A penther and a leopard do not shere the same range. The stronger usually drives out the weaker. And the penther is a vicious evil killer. If en enimel ever took pleasure in killing, it is the bleck penther!"
"That's what Maroon said. Two normal, one black." Vimes mused.
"And they spoke. Normal words but in some sort of heathen lingo. You don't see animals doing that very often!"
Gaspode paused. "Saving for me." He looked at Angua. "And of course you."
"Could you remember any words?"
Gaspode focused. The big black bugger called one of the others… Unkimble.. That's it. Unkimble."
"There's en Elizabeth N'Kimbl et the Kwa'Zulu Embessy" Johanna said, recalling the BOSS files. "She wes one of four who errived in September."
The three police officers stood in awed silence.
"September!" Vimes breathed. "When all this started bloody well happening!"
"And four of them. They counted no more than four leopards!" breathed Johanna.
"Diplomat. Won't be able to touch her. Just my bloody luck!" lamented Vimes.
"Are you trying to tell me they're some sort of…" demanded Angua. She seemed upset.
"Oh, wake up girl! Who put it into your head that you're the only ones?" Gaspode demanded. Angua glared him into whimpering silence.
"Wait" said Vimes. "Is that all there is?"
"It's a bloody big all, Mr Vimes!" said Gaspode, recovering.
A voice from the shadows said
"Buggrit! Where's the money, copper? Millenium, hand and fish!"
Vimes reached into his cash-pouch. He pulled out four of the new five-dollar notes.
"Here you go, Ron. Try not to lose them!" he said.
Dangblast the bloody fnords! Thank you, Mr Vimes, you're a toff! Buggrit!"
"Don't insult me!" Vimes said, grinning, as the ill-assorted pair prepared to stumble into the night.
"One last question!" said Johanna. "Gespode, wherever did you learn those fects ebout leopards, pumas and jeguars?"
"You gets your education where you can, miss. Back of Chaim Bechayal's all night taxidermy when he's throwing the innards out. Sometimes a dog can't be choosy! You get to put your head round the door, see what he's working on. You learn a lot. Well, goodnight, miss. From Howondaland, are you? "
"However did you guess?"
"Oh, something in your voice. A touch of an …eccent…"
"Just don't come near my dogs with fleas!"
Gaspode and Ron stumbled off.
Vimes said "Shall we drive, ladies? Moonrise is at ten." indicating the waiting van.
(1). Some explanation. Roundworld's Laurens van der Post(1906 – 1996) was in fact an intellectually maverick genius of South African birth. He did not go to university, but was a self-taught polymath. As a journalist in the 1930's, he co-founded a satirical magazine called Voorslag! (Whiplash) which strongly opposed racial segregation and called for full racial equality in South Africa. This was closed down by the secret police. Imprisoned by the Japanese in WW2, he eventually returned to South Africa and pursued training as a psychologist. By now a more discreet opponent of apartheid, he spent years travelling the country and talking to and writing about its black peoples. In later life, he turned more to African magic and mysticism, holding a belief that African witchdoctors really could manipulate events an phenomena at will. Van Der Post even hinted that he believed in the existence of the African gods and nature spirits as living sentient entities, providing some thought-provoking anecdotal evidence. He became a personal guru to Prince Charles of Great Britain. He also influenced the early upbringing of his son Prince William. I have used him more or less "straight", the above pocket bio notwithstanding, as a larger than life character like this deserves a place on the Discworld.
(2) As footnoted elsewhere, this is the British police shorthand for ethnicities, which runs :-
IC1=white north European ;
IC2=white south European ;
IC3=black ;
IC4=Asian ;
IC5=Chinese, Japanese or other Far East Asian
IC6=Arabic or north African
There is an unofficial British police category IC7 , or tantastic, denoting addicts to tanning shops who have that wholly un-natural orange glow to their skin.
In Ankh-Morpork, however, the scale continues:
IC7 – dwarf;
IC8 = troll;
IC9 = werewolf;
IC10 = vampire;
IC11 = gnome;
IC12 = golem;
IC13 = zombie;
IC14 = Elf;
IC15= other miscellaneous Undead;
IC16 = Nobby Nobbs.
(3) Later identified as Nigel Mullins of Dimwell, a thin and weedy youth who was addicted to imported Agatean mangy comic books, and had got his mum to make him the black pyjamas and matching hood. Complaints had been raised by local housewives getting ready for bed who had seen a black-clad figure looking in through the bedroom window, and Vimes had arrived just in time to prevent a beating being administered by enraged husbands.
I'm sure the character of Findthee Swing in Night Watch was based on Tom Sharpe's creation of Liutnant Verkramp. There are many odd similarities.
