It was half an hour later, and both Vimes and Angua were back in the new
Watch headquarters. Vimes had returned from the Patrician's palace with the
newspaper still in his hand and a thoughtful look on his face and had
ordered her and the newly appointed sergeants Cheery Littlebottom and
Detritus to a meeting in his office on the double.
In accordance with the fourth law of universal policing they all brought their preferred drinks from the cafeteria on the first floor to the meeting. This meant that Vimes's office saw Angua carefully sipping on a fruit juice, while Cheery stirred her Klatchian coffee with lots of milk, and Detritus loomed in the background with a can of Lava Boy[1]. Vimes didn't drink anything, preferring instead to toy with a cigar.
He wished that Carrot had been here. The lad was so damn likeable that even first class arseholes like those snobs Vimes had encountered in the palace were putty in his hands. But unfortunately Carrot was away for three weeks visiting his foster parents, so that wasn't an option. He would have to make do with what he had. The whole business was strange, though.
Instead of winding him up the way he usually did under similar circumstances, the Patrician had ordered him, Vimes, to put his highest- ranking officers on the case. And he had stressed that they'd take care of it personally, too. His highest ranking officers, that was Captain Carrot, and Sergeants Angua, Cheery, Detritus and Colon, but Vetinari had specifically said that Colon's skills were probably put to better use preserving the status quo in the watch office[2].
With Carrot away, that left himself, a werewolf, a dwarf and a troll to deal with matters. Vimes almost smiled. 'Those people', that brat had said, and those were the people he was going to get.
It had dawned on him that His Lordship never, ever did anything without good reason, and that maybe his showing the newspaper to Vetinari had changed the outcome of the meeting quite considerably.
He looked at it again. "Watch Commander Jacked Off!" the headline screamed from the front page.
The corresponding article reported in no uncertain terms of how the recent spats of cart jackings, chariot thefts and acts of vandalism were a source of concern to various influential pillars of society. The bunburys were threatened by this development, it was claimed, and the report went on to suggest that the aforementioned pillars had demanded that the Watch was reorganised in order to better the chances of catching the perpetrators, and that the Patrician had agreed to do so. This, it concluded, probably meant that someone else would soon replace the Commander of the Watch.
Very odd, he thought. Who would send something like this to the newspaper, and why? The men who had actually come to the Patrician with their complaints would certainly not leave any stone unturned to get Vimes thrown out, but in their world there were certain rules. He knew the type: rich and arrogant, the lot of them. Hell-raisers in their youth, they followed in their fathers' arrogant footsteps, trampling little people who had the bad fortune of crossing their paths, before finally retiring to one of the gentlemen's clubs in Esoteric Street[3].
To stoop to something so base as a newspaper - something read by the rabble - to get something done was not the done thing in these people's view. And anyway, the newspaper people had got hold of the story before the meeting had ended, and ended quite differently compared with what and the Inquirer had printed. Come to think of it, even calling it "cart jacking" was wrong, wasn't it?
Placing the cigar between his teeth he raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question to Angua.
"Dibbler didn't have anything to do with this. I could tell", she said. "He didn't have a smell of guilt about him. Not any more than usual, that is," she corrected herself.
"Also, I checked with the person who had received the clack, and he hadn't suspected anything either. Apparently they get their material from all sorts of different sources, and Dibbler obviously doesn't bother checking whether the stories are correct or not. He just picks out the best ones and puts them in the paper."
Vimes nodded silently. I bet he does, he thought. 'All the news that's fit to print' was the device the Inquirer sported underneath the logotype on its front page, and Dibbler obviously had his own views on how to interpret that. But Vimes was equally sure that Angua had got the right take on things. The Watch didn't have a lie detector as such, but with a nose like Angua's they didn't need one.
"Where was the clack sent from then? Did they at least remember that?"
"This one came in a batch from the Main Tower, they said. Sorry, sir."
Vimes swore under his breath. The Main Tower was handling an enormous amount of information every day, and there was little or no chance of them knowing the origins of one specific message. So much for that thought. Vimes leaned forward.
"OK, people," he said. "According to his lordship we have to give priority to this case because of the annual bunburys."
"The what?" said Cheery, who didn't take a great interest in such matters.
"The chariot races at the Hippo," Vimes replied, courtly. "Which by the way we are also in charge of security for, but that's a question we can deal with later."
He looked at his - for want of a better word - men.
"OK, people, listen up. We have an unlicensed thief running around steeling bits of chariots from the rich buggers who are competing in the bunburys this weekend. More likely than not it is one of the drivers doing away with the competition.
"You know I don't like mysteries and I don't like wasting our time with petty thefts, and this looks like it could win prizes in both categories, so let's just get it done and over with. Has anyone heard anything on the streets?"
There was a knock on the door then, and lance-constable Visit poked his head into the room.
"Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I thought you might like to know that Mr. Slant of the Lawyers' Guild has been here to see you. Also, there is someone else in the reception who demands to see you personally."
"Godsdamnit! I told Dorfl that we weren't to be disturbed! Who is it, then?"
"A wizard, sir. Well, I say wizard, but in truth he is an ungodly prophet of a cult of unholy knowledge-[4]"
"So he's from the University. So what? I bet he's here to try and flog us more of those magic signs that glow in the dark; last time one of them buggers came around to demonstrate one it singed Sergeant Colon's eyebrows right off when it blew up!"
That was a little unfair, and Vimes knew it. The university faculty didn't engage in commercial venues of any kind. But occasionally there were other, less successful representatives of the occult society who tried to turn a dollar with their skills, peddling flawed merchandise to the easily fooled, and that's when it got dangerous. Colon had had a close shave[5], but it had been a million to one chance.
" But sir-"
"No buts. Tell him he can talk to Colon if he can't wait. Dismissed, constable!"
"Yessir," said Visit with a glum face, and closed the door behind him.
"So. As I was saying. Has anyone heard anything about these thefts? Littlebottom? Detritus?"
"Nosir," Littlebottom said gruffly. "Me and Sergeant Detritus have been busy investigating that troll murder down at the docks last night, remember? 'Forensic mineralogy', you called it."
"Yeah," Detritus rumbled. "'Dat's a real case, not dumb stuff like dis!"
"Look, Mister Vimes, neither of us are very happy about this," Cheery said. "We have a beheaded troll in the morgue. Not even Igor can figure out how that happened, and now all of a sudden we have to drop it for a couple of cart thefts?"
This threw Vimes a little. He had only got the briefest of reports before leaving last night. He had been on a fourteen hour shift, and had been about to fall asleep on his feet when he walked home, but even so he felt a pang of guilt for not having paid more attention.
"Beheaded? What in the world could behead a troll?"
"Some sort of acid, according to Igor, sir. He wasn't sure what it was, but he is still working on the case. We haven't found the head, either."
"At least dat troll got to roll", said Detritus with a scowl. His toothache was getting worse. He put down his drink with a grimace.
"I didn't know it was that bad," Vimes admitted, "but we have to follow orders. Those three families have more power in this city than even the Patrician can ignore."
Even as he said it he wondered if it was true. But what choice did they have? Vetinari had been very clear on what he wanted the Watch to do, and Vimes had been too preoccupied with the newspaper mystery to argue.
"Anyway, with people being as crazy about the Hippo races as they are, there will probably be rioting in the streets if those fools can't compete this weekend, and we don't want that, do we?" he added.
Cheery looked aghast. "They actually use hippos in the races?!"
"No, the races are held at the Hippodrome, Sergeant," said Vimes, somewhat less patiently. "Now, doesn't anyone have any ideas?"
"I spoke with No Way José a couple of days ago, sir," Angua said. "He denied everything, of course."
Despite the general mood in the room everyone smiled a little. No Way José always did deny everything. That's how he had got his name. But then, with Angua, the spoken word always played second fiddle to the prima donna of odours. If José genuinely didn't know anything, then that was probably true for the rest of the city's professional squealers, too.
"It may be a good idea to talk to Doughnut Jimmy, sir," offered Cheery, despite herself. "He knows everyone who has anything to do with horses."
"All right. Good idea, Littlebottom." Vimes brightened a little. "Nothing else? Then I want you to get over to the crime scenes and try to get some idea of who's done it. We'll start with that today, and take it from there."
He scanned his officers for a moment.
"We don't know what we're looking for, so keep your eyes and ears open for anything unusual. Angua, you take Herrington; Cherry and Detritus, go check out the Dingleberry Estate. I'll be sure to have a little chat with my old friend Lord Rust. Oh, and no-one is to talk to the press about this. Especially not to Mr. Dibbler. Refer them to me. That's all for now."
As the rest of the Watch trooped out, Vimes sat back in his chair. In spite of everything it would be good to get back out onto the streets again. With a small sigh he sat back and lit his cigar.
-----
More than thirty miles away, at that exact moment, another cigar was lit.
This one was a lot cheaper than the one Vimes was enjoying, but that was because the main reason for this cigar was to keep the flies away from the smoker, and flies in general tend to be less discerning about their tobacco. The smoker in question was Humbert Sikes, and he was Head Driver for Bell & Jingle Caravans, one of the many companies specialising in hauling goods to and from Ankh-Morpork.
The caravans trundled on through the surrounding cabbage fields at an amiable speed of two miles per hour. When they reached the less civilized countries[6] closer to the Hub the merchants would sell their cheaply manufactured goods in exchange for raw material such as wood, minerals and fat, which would then be sent to Ankh-Morpork.
Almost every day there was a large caravan, with pairs of oxen pulling trains of two wagons carrying four tons apiece. When the wagons were carrying more expensive goods there would be guards along for the ride, but most of the time the trips were pleasantly uneventful. That meant that the Head Drivers' work was very simple indeed, and Humbert Sikes saw no reason to complain. It was a good job, he thought to himself. A man could do a lot worse in life.
This close to Ankh-Morpork there were never any highwaymen these days[7], so Sikes half-dozed in the chilly autumn sun, relying on his oxen to find their way to the inn. It was where they always spent the second night of the trip, and Sikes was already looking forward to the artery-clogging grub he would get. Behind him, four other drivers passed the time in similar fashion.
----------------------- [1] Detritus had been trying to get back with Ruby lately, and the troll soft drink promised that it would "Get de Ladies' Troll On a Roll". So far it hadn't been a success. The fizzy concoction was making his diamond teeth ache. [2] The status quo being a state of constant chaos . . . [3] "Gentleman" being anyone who could afford the 500 Dollars per year that a membership cost. [4] Constable Visit-the-infidels-with-explanatory-pamphlets was an Omnian, and had views on magic. [5] And then some. [6] Where people didn't bother to insult you or take your money before killing you. [7] Apart from the innkeepers, of course.
In accordance with the fourth law of universal policing they all brought their preferred drinks from the cafeteria on the first floor to the meeting. This meant that Vimes's office saw Angua carefully sipping on a fruit juice, while Cheery stirred her Klatchian coffee with lots of milk, and Detritus loomed in the background with a can of Lava Boy[1]. Vimes didn't drink anything, preferring instead to toy with a cigar.
He wished that Carrot had been here. The lad was so damn likeable that even first class arseholes like those snobs Vimes had encountered in the palace were putty in his hands. But unfortunately Carrot was away for three weeks visiting his foster parents, so that wasn't an option. He would have to make do with what he had. The whole business was strange, though.
Instead of winding him up the way he usually did under similar circumstances, the Patrician had ordered him, Vimes, to put his highest- ranking officers on the case. And he had stressed that they'd take care of it personally, too. His highest ranking officers, that was Captain Carrot, and Sergeants Angua, Cheery, Detritus and Colon, but Vetinari had specifically said that Colon's skills were probably put to better use preserving the status quo in the watch office[2].
With Carrot away, that left himself, a werewolf, a dwarf and a troll to deal with matters. Vimes almost smiled. 'Those people', that brat had said, and those were the people he was going to get.
It had dawned on him that His Lordship never, ever did anything without good reason, and that maybe his showing the newspaper to Vetinari had changed the outcome of the meeting quite considerably.
He looked at it again. "Watch Commander Jacked Off!" the headline screamed from the front page.
The corresponding article reported in no uncertain terms of how the recent spats of cart jackings, chariot thefts and acts of vandalism were a source of concern to various influential pillars of society. The bunburys were threatened by this development, it was claimed, and the report went on to suggest that the aforementioned pillars had demanded that the Watch was reorganised in order to better the chances of catching the perpetrators, and that the Patrician had agreed to do so. This, it concluded, probably meant that someone else would soon replace the Commander of the Watch.
Very odd, he thought. Who would send something like this to the newspaper, and why? The men who had actually come to the Patrician with their complaints would certainly not leave any stone unturned to get Vimes thrown out, but in their world there were certain rules. He knew the type: rich and arrogant, the lot of them. Hell-raisers in their youth, they followed in their fathers' arrogant footsteps, trampling little people who had the bad fortune of crossing their paths, before finally retiring to one of the gentlemen's clubs in Esoteric Street[3].
To stoop to something so base as a newspaper - something read by the rabble - to get something done was not the done thing in these people's view. And anyway, the newspaper people had got hold of the story before the meeting had ended, and ended quite differently compared with what and the Inquirer had printed. Come to think of it, even calling it "cart jacking" was wrong, wasn't it?
Placing the cigar between his teeth he raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question to Angua.
"Dibbler didn't have anything to do with this. I could tell", she said. "He didn't have a smell of guilt about him. Not any more than usual, that is," she corrected herself.
"Also, I checked with the person who had received the clack, and he hadn't suspected anything either. Apparently they get their material from all sorts of different sources, and Dibbler obviously doesn't bother checking whether the stories are correct or not. He just picks out the best ones and puts them in the paper."
Vimes nodded silently. I bet he does, he thought. 'All the news that's fit to print' was the device the Inquirer sported underneath the logotype on its front page, and Dibbler obviously had his own views on how to interpret that. But Vimes was equally sure that Angua had got the right take on things. The Watch didn't have a lie detector as such, but with a nose like Angua's they didn't need one.
"Where was the clack sent from then? Did they at least remember that?"
"This one came in a batch from the Main Tower, they said. Sorry, sir."
Vimes swore under his breath. The Main Tower was handling an enormous amount of information every day, and there was little or no chance of them knowing the origins of one specific message. So much for that thought. Vimes leaned forward.
"OK, people," he said. "According to his lordship we have to give priority to this case because of the annual bunburys."
"The what?" said Cheery, who didn't take a great interest in such matters.
"The chariot races at the Hippo," Vimes replied, courtly. "Which by the way we are also in charge of security for, but that's a question we can deal with later."
He looked at his - for want of a better word - men.
"OK, people, listen up. We have an unlicensed thief running around steeling bits of chariots from the rich buggers who are competing in the bunburys this weekend. More likely than not it is one of the drivers doing away with the competition.
"You know I don't like mysteries and I don't like wasting our time with petty thefts, and this looks like it could win prizes in both categories, so let's just get it done and over with. Has anyone heard anything on the streets?"
There was a knock on the door then, and lance-constable Visit poked his head into the room.
"Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I thought you might like to know that Mr. Slant of the Lawyers' Guild has been here to see you. Also, there is someone else in the reception who demands to see you personally."
"Godsdamnit! I told Dorfl that we weren't to be disturbed! Who is it, then?"
"A wizard, sir. Well, I say wizard, but in truth he is an ungodly prophet of a cult of unholy knowledge-[4]"
"So he's from the University. So what? I bet he's here to try and flog us more of those magic signs that glow in the dark; last time one of them buggers came around to demonstrate one it singed Sergeant Colon's eyebrows right off when it blew up!"
That was a little unfair, and Vimes knew it. The university faculty didn't engage in commercial venues of any kind. But occasionally there were other, less successful representatives of the occult society who tried to turn a dollar with their skills, peddling flawed merchandise to the easily fooled, and that's when it got dangerous. Colon had had a close shave[5], but it had been a million to one chance.
" But sir-"
"No buts. Tell him he can talk to Colon if he can't wait. Dismissed, constable!"
"Yessir," said Visit with a glum face, and closed the door behind him.
"So. As I was saying. Has anyone heard anything about these thefts? Littlebottom? Detritus?"
"Nosir," Littlebottom said gruffly. "Me and Sergeant Detritus have been busy investigating that troll murder down at the docks last night, remember? 'Forensic mineralogy', you called it."
"Yeah," Detritus rumbled. "'Dat's a real case, not dumb stuff like dis!"
"Look, Mister Vimes, neither of us are very happy about this," Cheery said. "We have a beheaded troll in the morgue. Not even Igor can figure out how that happened, and now all of a sudden we have to drop it for a couple of cart thefts?"
This threw Vimes a little. He had only got the briefest of reports before leaving last night. He had been on a fourteen hour shift, and had been about to fall asleep on his feet when he walked home, but even so he felt a pang of guilt for not having paid more attention.
"Beheaded? What in the world could behead a troll?"
"Some sort of acid, according to Igor, sir. He wasn't sure what it was, but he is still working on the case. We haven't found the head, either."
"At least dat troll got to roll", said Detritus with a scowl. His toothache was getting worse. He put down his drink with a grimace.
"I didn't know it was that bad," Vimes admitted, "but we have to follow orders. Those three families have more power in this city than even the Patrician can ignore."
Even as he said it he wondered if it was true. But what choice did they have? Vetinari had been very clear on what he wanted the Watch to do, and Vimes had been too preoccupied with the newspaper mystery to argue.
"Anyway, with people being as crazy about the Hippo races as they are, there will probably be rioting in the streets if those fools can't compete this weekend, and we don't want that, do we?" he added.
Cheery looked aghast. "They actually use hippos in the races?!"
"No, the races are held at the Hippodrome, Sergeant," said Vimes, somewhat less patiently. "Now, doesn't anyone have any ideas?"
"I spoke with No Way José a couple of days ago, sir," Angua said. "He denied everything, of course."
Despite the general mood in the room everyone smiled a little. No Way José always did deny everything. That's how he had got his name. But then, with Angua, the spoken word always played second fiddle to the prima donna of odours. If José genuinely didn't know anything, then that was probably true for the rest of the city's professional squealers, too.
"It may be a good idea to talk to Doughnut Jimmy, sir," offered Cheery, despite herself. "He knows everyone who has anything to do with horses."
"All right. Good idea, Littlebottom." Vimes brightened a little. "Nothing else? Then I want you to get over to the crime scenes and try to get some idea of who's done it. We'll start with that today, and take it from there."
He scanned his officers for a moment.
"We don't know what we're looking for, so keep your eyes and ears open for anything unusual. Angua, you take Herrington; Cherry and Detritus, go check out the Dingleberry Estate. I'll be sure to have a little chat with my old friend Lord Rust. Oh, and no-one is to talk to the press about this. Especially not to Mr. Dibbler. Refer them to me. That's all for now."
As the rest of the Watch trooped out, Vimes sat back in his chair. In spite of everything it would be good to get back out onto the streets again. With a small sigh he sat back and lit his cigar.
-----
More than thirty miles away, at that exact moment, another cigar was lit.
This one was a lot cheaper than the one Vimes was enjoying, but that was because the main reason for this cigar was to keep the flies away from the smoker, and flies in general tend to be less discerning about their tobacco. The smoker in question was Humbert Sikes, and he was Head Driver for Bell & Jingle Caravans, one of the many companies specialising in hauling goods to and from Ankh-Morpork.
The caravans trundled on through the surrounding cabbage fields at an amiable speed of two miles per hour. When they reached the less civilized countries[6] closer to the Hub the merchants would sell their cheaply manufactured goods in exchange for raw material such as wood, minerals and fat, which would then be sent to Ankh-Morpork.
Almost every day there was a large caravan, with pairs of oxen pulling trains of two wagons carrying four tons apiece. When the wagons were carrying more expensive goods there would be guards along for the ride, but most of the time the trips were pleasantly uneventful. That meant that the Head Drivers' work was very simple indeed, and Humbert Sikes saw no reason to complain. It was a good job, he thought to himself. A man could do a lot worse in life.
This close to Ankh-Morpork there were never any highwaymen these days[7], so Sikes half-dozed in the chilly autumn sun, relying on his oxen to find their way to the inn. It was where they always spent the second night of the trip, and Sikes was already looking forward to the artery-clogging grub he would get. Behind him, four other drivers passed the time in similar fashion.
----------------------- [1] Detritus had been trying to get back with Ruby lately, and the troll soft drink promised that it would "Get de Ladies' Troll On a Roll". So far it hadn't been a success. The fizzy concoction was making his diamond teeth ache. [2] The status quo being a state of constant chaos . . . [3] "Gentleman" being anyone who could afford the 500 Dollars per year that a membership cost. [4] Constable Visit-the-infidels-with-explanatory-pamphlets was an Omnian, and had views on magic. [5] And then some. [6] Where people didn't bother to insult you or take your money before killing you. [7] Apart from the innkeepers, of course.