Disclaimer: See Part 1.
*****
::Ankh-Morpork::
Ponder entered the workroom that Vimes had indicated was currently occupied by the "village idiot," and found a tall man engaged in oddly platonic discourse with what was obviously a Seamstress - something which immediately pegged the stranger as a relative newcomer to Ankh- Morpork. He was tall - Ponder estimated about six-foot-six or seven, at least - and he was thin in a way that put Ponder in mind of a scarecrow or, to put the same idea another way, Rincewind. In other words, he gangled - and the fact that he was currently wearing clothing better suited for the ungangly indicated to Ponder that whenever he'd arrived, he'd left all his luggage back in Lon-Don.
"So, you're saying that Cpl Nobbs is... human?" asked Sherlock Holmes of Roxanne.
"By default, really," she replied, "It's none of *our* concern, though."
"Why is that?"
"Lifetime ban from the Guild. Nobody really wants to touch him... that way. I mean he's sweet in his own way, but--"
Ponder cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir."
Holmes looked at him. "May I help you?"
"Vimes told me I could find you in here. You're the London gent, right?"
Holmes looked at him askance. "Who's asking?"
Ponder put out his hand. "Professor Ponder Stibbons, Unseen University." He hesitated. "Well, student professor, really. I don't have my doctorate yet."
Holmes shook his hand. "Okay...?"
"I think my department has figured out what happened between here and London."
Just then, what appeared to be a dwarvish drag queen tromped into the room.
"Who's that?" Holmes asked Roxanne, sotto voce.
"That's Cheery Littlebottom, the local forensic department." She paused. "She's a dwarf."
"Do all dwarves look like that?"
"I believe that would be an emphatic no."
"Good."
"Excuse me sir--" Ponder began, but Littlebottom had already approached Holmes, the light glinting off her hoop earrings.
"You're on the Lightfoot investigation?" she asked the detective, nearly giving herself whiplash trying to look him in the face.
"I am," Holmes replied, trying not to look bewildered. Littlebottom was one of the few female dwarves who openly flaunted her gender, wearing makeup, earrings, and high-heeled ironshod boots on a regular basis. She also curled her beard.
"Ah, so you're the 'damn idiot' of the day. Don't worry, I'm sure Mr. Vimes doesn't mean anything by it. Anyway, I just thought you'd like to know that a patrol found Lightfoot about fifteen minutes ago."
"Dead or alive?" Holmes asked.
Littlebottom considered the question for a bit longer than Holmes thought was necessary. "Well," she finally said, "I really think you should come see for yourself."
"Why? Is he in the infirmary?"
"No - he's still in the alley where we found him. I really think you should see this."
Holmes sighed. "If you insist."
"Excuse me, sir--"
"If you need to talk to me, you can talk on the way over," Holmes barked at Ponder.
"Yessir," Ponder grumbled, "Er, before we go--"
"What!"
"I just wanted to explain to you how we think you wound up here."
"We?"
"The lads and I. Now, this may be a little difficult for you to understand, coming as you do from a place where wizards are less commonplace--"
Holmes sighed impatiently. "You said you were an educated man, Stibbons."
"I *am* educated - in magic!"
"That I will not believe until I see proof of such a phenomena!" Holmes announced, confident that this was an argument he would win.
Ponder straightened up indignantly, looking a little like a nerdy cobra preparing to be slightly unpleasant at someone. Telling someone he was a poor excuse for a wizard was one thing, and in fact he had become almost immune to the jabs of the older wizards at UU - but to tell someone that his entire trade didn't exist... well! Even Ponder had his ego.
"Brace yourself, sir," he said, smiling as he cracked his knuckles.
Holmes heard the sound of rushing feet, all belonging to those on the Watch who knew better than to insult a wizard - or to stay very near someone who did(a). By the time he looked around, everyone else in the room was pressed against the far wall.
He looked back at Ponder just as the spell went off. The unknown forces caused him to rock back on his heels, then stagger back a few steps as he felt a not so much unpleasant as wholly *unfamiliar* sensation crawling all over him. He looked down at himself to see that the crawling sensation was seeing his borrowed clothing, reconfiguring itself.
"The Department of Inadvisably Applied Magic - of which I'm the head - has, of course, studied your home city from here," Ponder said, from approximately fifteen thousand miles away, "I'm not really malicious, even to pompous twits like you've turned out to be. You might find your new costume a bit more familiar."
It would have been more familiar, of course, had Holmes not watched a set of braces [a/n: British suspenders] sprout from the waistband of the trousers and felt the back of the shirt spawn a gray waistcoat, apparently from the extra fabric left over when the shirt tailored itself to fit him a bit better. By the time the spell finished, he was dressed in what was perfectly normal clothing for London (though frightfully drab for Ankh-Morpork).
"Better?" Ponder queried.
Holmes stared at his transformed clothing for a full minute before he apparently regained enough strength in his neck to gape at Ponder. The young wizard merely tucked his hands into the pockets of his robes and smiled benignly at Holmes.
"No, go ahead," Ponder said, "I think you were just saying something funny a few moments ago - oh hell, somebody catch him, please, I think he's gone into shock."
Nobody did, and Holmes hit the floor like someone had cut his strings.
*
(a) It was like seeing someone telling off the Patrician, or watching a seventeen-cart wreck piling up on Broad Way - you wanted to get far enough away to disassociate yourself as a possible cause, but at the same time you wanted to see how everything turned out.
*****
End Part 10.
*****
::Ankh-Morpork::
Ponder entered the workroom that Vimes had indicated was currently occupied by the "village idiot," and found a tall man engaged in oddly platonic discourse with what was obviously a Seamstress - something which immediately pegged the stranger as a relative newcomer to Ankh- Morpork. He was tall - Ponder estimated about six-foot-six or seven, at least - and he was thin in a way that put Ponder in mind of a scarecrow or, to put the same idea another way, Rincewind. In other words, he gangled - and the fact that he was currently wearing clothing better suited for the ungangly indicated to Ponder that whenever he'd arrived, he'd left all his luggage back in Lon-Don.
"So, you're saying that Cpl Nobbs is... human?" asked Sherlock Holmes of Roxanne.
"By default, really," she replied, "It's none of *our* concern, though."
"Why is that?"
"Lifetime ban from the Guild. Nobody really wants to touch him... that way. I mean he's sweet in his own way, but--"
Ponder cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir."
Holmes looked at him. "May I help you?"
"Vimes told me I could find you in here. You're the London gent, right?"
Holmes looked at him askance. "Who's asking?"
Ponder put out his hand. "Professor Ponder Stibbons, Unseen University." He hesitated. "Well, student professor, really. I don't have my doctorate yet."
Holmes shook his hand. "Okay...?"
"I think my department has figured out what happened between here and London."
Just then, what appeared to be a dwarvish drag queen tromped into the room.
"Who's that?" Holmes asked Roxanne, sotto voce.
"That's Cheery Littlebottom, the local forensic department." She paused. "She's a dwarf."
"Do all dwarves look like that?"
"I believe that would be an emphatic no."
"Good."
"Excuse me sir--" Ponder began, but Littlebottom had already approached Holmes, the light glinting off her hoop earrings.
"You're on the Lightfoot investigation?" she asked the detective, nearly giving herself whiplash trying to look him in the face.
"I am," Holmes replied, trying not to look bewildered. Littlebottom was one of the few female dwarves who openly flaunted her gender, wearing makeup, earrings, and high-heeled ironshod boots on a regular basis. She also curled her beard.
"Ah, so you're the 'damn idiot' of the day. Don't worry, I'm sure Mr. Vimes doesn't mean anything by it. Anyway, I just thought you'd like to know that a patrol found Lightfoot about fifteen minutes ago."
"Dead or alive?" Holmes asked.
Littlebottom considered the question for a bit longer than Holmes thought was necessary. "Well," she finally said, "I really think you should come see for yourself."
"Why? Is he in the infirmary?"
"No - he's still in the alley where we found him. I really think you should see this."
Holmes sighed. "If you insist."
"Excuse me, sir--"
"If you need to talk to me, you can talk on the way over," Holmes barked at Ponder.
"Yessir," Ponder grumbled, "Er, before we go--"
"What!"
"I just wanted to explain to you how we think you wound up here."
"We?"
"The lads and I. Now, this may be a little difficult for you to understand, coming as you do from a place where wizards are less commonplace--"
Holmes sighed impatiently. "You said you were an educated man, Stibbons."
"I *am* educated - in magic!"
"That I will not believe until I see proof of such a phenomena!" Holmes announced, confident that this was an argument he would win.
Ponder straightened up indignantly, looking a little like a nerdy cobra preparing to be slightly unpleasant at someone. Telling someone he was a poor excuse for a wizard was one thing, and in fact he had become almost immune to the jabs of the older wizards at UU - but to tell someone that his entire trade didn't exist... well! Even Ponder had his ego.
"Brace yourself, sir," he said, smiling as he cracked his knuckles.
Holmes heard the sound of rushing feet, all belonging to those on the Watch who knew better than to insult a wizard - or to stay very near someone who did(a). By the time he looked around, everyone else in the room was pressed against the far wall.
He looked back at Ponder just as the spell went off. The unknown forces caused him to rock back on his heels, then stagger back a few steps as he felt a not so much unpleasant as wholly *unfamiliar* sensation crawling all over him. He looked down at himself to see that the crawling sensation was seeing his borrowed clothing, reconfiguring itself.
"The Department of Inadvisably Applied Magic - of which I'm the head - has, of course, studied your home city from here," Ponder said, from approximately fifteen thousand miles away, "I'm not really malicious, even to pompous twits like you've turned out to be. You might find your new costume a bit more familiar."
It would have been more familiar, of course, had Holmes not watched a set of braces [a/n: British suspenders] sprout from the waistband of the trousers and felt the back of the shirt spawn a gray waistcoat, apparently from the extra fabric left over when the shirt tailored itself to fit him a bit better. By the time the spell finished, he was dressed in what was perfectly normal clothing for London (though frightfully drab for Ankh-Morpork).
"Better?" Ponder queried.
Holmes stared at his transformed clothing for a full minute before he apparently regained enough strength in his neck to gape at Ponder. The young wizard merely tucked his hands into the pockets of his robes and smiled benignly at Holmes.
"No, go ahead," Ponder said, "I think you were just saying something funny a few moments ago - oh hell, somebody catch him, please, I think he's gone into shock."
Nobody did, and Holmes hit the floor like someone had cut his strings.
*
(a) It was like seeing someone telling off the Patrician, or watching a seventeen-cart wreck piling up on Broad Way - you wanted to get far enough away to disassociate yourself as a possible cause, but at the same time you wanted to see how everything turned out.
*****
End Part 10.