Disclaimers: See Part 1.
*****
::Still Ankh-Morpork, only a bit later::
Holmes returned to his senses about fifteen minutes later, which coincidentally was the same moment Cheery announced her belief that he might need the Kiss of Life. Some social survival instinct wrenched him back to full alertness so quickly that he was certain he'd sprained his cerebral cortex. Cheery also shared her opinion that Holmes looked rather more dapper now than he did before - the waistcoat helped; the rumpled raincoat didn't. Holmes gave her an appraising glance but otherwise declined to respond as he shrugged into the only overcoat he currently had.
Another half hour hence, Holmes, Ponder, and their police escort found themselves at the entrance to what was currently the most heavily guarded alley in Ankh-Morpork. It was filled wall-to-wall and end-to-end with Watch dwarves (a), who were quite naturally guarding the only other item of note.
It was a gold statue.
Now, dwarves have a natural instinct for finding gold in any quantity, a skill that generally was wasted in Ankh-Morpork due to the local economy. The first dwarf, it is said, who heard about the golden Ankh-Morpork dollar laughed so hard upon seeing the real currency that he'd had to be carried out of the city on a stretcher.
It made sense, then, that a dwarf patrol was the first to find this treasure, and of course everybody wanted to make sure nobody stole it from them.
Holmes regarded the crowd and the statue for several moments, then consulted the iconograph plate that Dunnykins had given him.
"It appears that someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to make this statue," he concluded, "But why?"
"Is it this Lightfoot person you're looking for?" asked Ponder.
"It appears to be his likeness - I won't be able to tell any more than that unless I can get closer." He glanced down at the front row of dwarves, who tightened its collective grip on its weaponry and silently dared him to try. He glanced down at Cheery. "Miss Littlebottom, have you any suggestions?"
She pursed her lips, then cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted something in Dwarvish which caused a remarkable chain reaction. By a curious sort of armoured Brownian motion that resembled a colony of bumper cars, the dwarves immediately between Holmes and the statue parted, crushing themselves and each other against the alley walls. Not even a toe or a weapon handle protruded into the new furrow.
"What did you say to them?" Ponder whispered to Cheery as Holmes started forward.
"I told them that whomever was still standing between us and that statue after five seconds would be charged with obstruction," she replied.
"What's the usual punishment for obstruction?"
"They get a great big kiss from me," Cheery grinned evilly.
"Oh," Ponder squeaked.
"I think you both should come see this," Holmes said from halfway down the alleyway, unwittingly saving Ponder from an awkward conversation.
They joined him just as he was questioning one of the dwarves.
"Has anyone tried to lift this statue?" he was asking.
"This is Ankh-Morpork," replied the dwarf, "I expect everyone's tried to lift it. It's solid gold, you know."
Holmes looked at him. "How do you know it's solid gold?"
The dwarf looked at him sideways. "Dwarves can tell these things, don't you know that?"
"He's new here," said Cheery pointedly.
"If this statue is solid gold, it must weigh a quarter ton, at least," Holmes said, "So now did it get here? And feel that - the clothes are supple, like cloth." He pinched part of the sleeve to demonstrate, then ran his fingers along another scrap of the golden cloth that was clenched in the statue's rigid grasp. "I can't honestly say that I've ever seen anything quite like this... Why make a statue of this detail and then drop it in an alley?"
"I have a theory," said Ponder, who tried to dramatise the moment by stepping forward but instead caught his toe in a pothole and stumbled. Holmes caught his arm and hauled him back to his feet.
"Well, what's your theory?" Holmes asked him.
"I don't think Lightfoot has precisely... disappeared."
"What are you saying - that Lightfoot's been turned into a gold statue?"
"Do you have a better theory?"
"When you have eliminated the impossible..." Holmes murmured, "Of course, the real question now is, what's impossible around here?" He turned to Cheery. "Miss Littlebottom, I want this area cleared. Arrange to have the statue transported back to the Watchhouse - maximum security - until I can figure this out. As it is, any evidence has probably been trampled to illegibility" - he glared at the dwarves, who stubbornly refused to look at all conciliatory - "But I'll have to make do with whatever I can find."
Nobody moved. Holmes bristled.
"Please," he added, with the sort of exaggerated calm that generally denoted a bad case of ruffled feathers.
*
(a) about three across and twenty-seven deep, in other words.
*****
End of Part 11.
*****
::Still Ankh-Morpork, only a bit later::
Holmes returned to his senses about fifteen minutes later, which coincidentally was the same moment Cheery announced her belief that he might need the Kiss of Life. Some social survival instinct wrenched him back to full alertness so quickly that he was certain he'd sprained his cerebral cortex. Cheery also shared her opinion that Holmes looked rather more dapper now than he did before - the waistcoat helped; the rumpled raincoat didn't. Holmes gave her an appraising glance but otherwise declined to respond as he shrugged into the only overcoat he currently had.
Another half hour hence, Holmes, Ponder, and their police escort found themselves at the entrance to what was currently the most heavily guarded alley in Ankh-Morpork. It was filled wall-to-wall and end-to-end with Watch dwarves (a), who were quite naturally guarding the only other item of note.
It was a gold statue.
Now, dwarves have a natural instinct for finding gold in any quantity, a skill that generally was wasted in Ankh-Morpork due to the local economy. The first dwarf, it is said, who heard about the golden Ankh-Morpork dollar laughed so hard upon seeing the real currency that he'd had to be carried out of the city on a stretcher.
It made sense, then, that a dwarf patrol was the first to find this treasure, and of course everybody wanted to make sure nobody stole it from them.
Holmes regarded the crowd and the statue for several moments, then consulted the iconograph plate that Dunnykins had given him.
"It appears that someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to make this statue," he concluded, "But why?"
"Is it this Lightfoot person you're looking for?" asked Ponder.
"It appears to be his likeness - I won't be able to tell any more than that unless I can get closer." He glanced down at the front row of dwarves, who tightened its collective grip on its weaponry and silently dared him to try. He glanced down at Cheery. "Miss Littlebottom, have you any suggestions?"
She pursed her lips, then cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted something in Dwarvish which caused a remarkable chain reaction. By a curious sort of armoured Brownian motion that resembled a colony of bumper cars, the dwarves immediately between Holmes and the statue parted, crushing themselves and each other against the alley walls. Not even a toe or a weapon handle protruded into the new furrow.
"What did you say to them?" Ponder whispered to Cheery as Holmes started forward.
"I told them that whomever was still standing between us and that statue after five seconds would be charged with obstruction," she replied.
"What's the usual punishment for obstruction?"
"They get a great big kiss from me," Cheery grinned evilly.
"Oh," Ponder squeaked.
"I think you both should come see this," Holmes said from halfway down the alleyway, unwittingly saving Ponder from an awkward conversation.
They joined him just as he was questioning one of the dwarves.
"Has anyone tried to lift this statue?" he was asking.
"This is Ankh-Morpork," replied the dwarf, "I expect everyone's tried to lift it. It's solid gold, you know."
Holmes looked at him. "How do you know it's solid gold?"
The dwarf looked at him sideways. "Dwarves can tell these things, don't you know that?"
"He's new here," said Cheery pointedly.
"If this statue is solid gold, it must weigh a quarter ton, at least," Holmes said, "So now did it get here? And feel that - the clothes are supple, like cloth." He pinched part of the sleeve to demonstrate, then ran his fingers along another scrap of the golden cloth that was clenched in the statue's rigid grasp. "I can't honestly say that I've ever seen anything quite like this... Why make a statue of this detail and then drop it in an alley?"
"I have a theory," said Ponder, who tried to dramatise the moment by stepping forward but instead caught his toe in a pothole and stumbled. Holmes caught his arm and hauled him back to his feet.
"Well, what's your theory?" Holmes asked him.
"I don't think Lightfoot has precisely... disappeared."
"What are you saying - that Lightfoot's been turned into a gold statue?"
"Do you have a better theory?"
"When you have eliminated the impossible..." Holmes murmured, "Of course, the real question now is, what's impossible around here?" He turned to Cheery. "Miss Littlebottom, I want this area cleared. Arrange to have the statue transported back to the Watchhouse - maximum security - until I can figure this out. As it is, any evidence has probably been trampled to illegibility" - he glared at the dwarves, who stubbornly refused to look at all conciliatory - "But I'll have to make do with whatever I can find."
Nobody moved. Holmes bristled.
"Please," he added, with the sort of exaggerated calm that generally denoted a bad case of ruffled feathers.
*
(a) about three across and twenty-seven deep, in other words.
*****
End of Part 11.