Disclaimers: See Part 1.
*****
::Ankh-Morpork::
Sherlock Holmes was in a foul mood.
He had been up the entire night, supervising the transport of the gold statue under heavy guard and its interment in the Pseudopolis Yard gaol to prevent it being stolen. He had spoken little and eaten even less since his return, and the two night shifts, upon comparing notes, had come to the conclusion that he was either undead or an insomniac, for he had stubbornly refused sleep, sitting in front of the statue in a state of deep meditation, despite the fact that he'd been up since at least midnight the previous night.
It was now just after dawn, and the plate with his dinner on it (now ice cold) now had a bit of company in the form of his breakfast. For all he noticed he might have been petrified himself.
"He's been like that all night," said Ponder, who was fighting sleep himself, to Angua, who was just returning to duty. "He hasn't eaten or slept at all since we got back. The only exciting moment was when Cpl Nobbs went into check on the statue."
"What happened?" asked Angua.
"Apparently he tried to get a souvenir and Mr Holmes hit him with a flying tackle - he was like a tiger or something all of a sudden - and got it away from him."
"Well, he's dedicated, I'll give him that."
"I'm not sure if you want to try talking to him, though. I tried asking him about what Nobbs tried to take last night and he nearly took my head off."
"You think he'd talk to a witness?"
"A witness?" Ponder looked past Angua and failed to find anyone with her.
"Down here, four-eyes."
On a hunch, Ponder looked down.
There, at the end of perhaps the only example of patchwork string, was a dog. In theory, anyway. Ponder had seen this particular creature around the High Energy Magic building a number of times, begging for scraps - he'd told Skazz not to feed it and he *swore* that Skazz told him to get stuffed, but Skazz denied saying any such thing.
"Woof," said the dog.
"This is your witness?" Ponder ventured.
"After a fashion," she replied, "Just don't tell Vimes I brought him in here."
"It's a dog," Ponder protested feebly.
"Yeah, what of it?" Angua seemed to say. Ponder looked at her, startled, but saw that she was glaring at the dog. He followed her gaze, hoping vainly that it would help. The dog looked at him.
"Bark," it said.
"Er, go ahead," Ponder sputtered, "I don't think Vimes would mind."
"Thanks," Angua said, and patted him on the shoulder. He was still trying to work out the last conversation when she left.
"I need a pipe," Holmes announced, apparently sensing other life forms nearby, when Angua and the dog entered the holding area. He looked precisely like someone who'd been up all night - his eyes were red, his hair was mussed from running frustrated fingers through it, and he needed to shave.(a)
"We don't have any spare pipes around here," Angua replied, "but I could probably get you a cigarette, or a cigar if you really needed it."
Holmes waved at her impatiently. "No good. I can't think properly unless I've got a pipe."
"Well, if you're interested, I may have found you a witness."
"A witness - to what? I don't even know what happened, if anything, or if it would help if there was a witness to it." He glanced at the scrap of gold cloth he'd wrestled from Nobby. Well, not precisely a scrap.
"Arf."
Holmes looked over and registered the presence of the dog. "What's that?" he asked.
"This is Gaspode," Angua replied, as the dog scratched furiously at one ear, "your witness."
"Woof," said Gaspode, adding "Biscuit."
Holmes blinked once, slowly. He had the look of a man who up till now has always believed the evidence of his senses, and was really trying hard to find a category to fit this new piece of evidence into. Logic, he had already learned, was optional in this city. He decided to try out a theory that, under the circumstances, appeared plausible.
"Your dog spoke," he said to Angua, very matter-of-factly. He watched her carefully for any indication that, yes, he was going mad.
"Don't be daft," said Gaspode, "Everyone knows that dogs can't talk."
"I'm not talking to you," Holmes snarled at Gaspode, "and furthermore I refuse to argue with you about your capacity for speech. I am really not in the mood for any foolishness."
"Said the man who was yelling at a dog," Gaspode grumbled, then looked up at Angua, "What side of the bed did he wake up on?"
"Gaspode saw the whole thing," Angua informed Holmes, "And I think he may be able to help you with the Lightfoot case."
"You gonna eat any of that?" Gaspode queried, snuffling at Holmes' breakfast, "I can't really remember all that well on an empty stomach anyway."
"I don't suppose I can stop you," Holmes growled.
"I don't suppose you can, either," Gaspode replied, and tucked in.
"You know, it really isn't healthy," Angua said to Holmes, "Not eating or sleeping like that."
"I haven't the energy to spare for digestion nor the time to spare for sleep," he retorted, then looked back down at the scrap of gold cloth, "And I would appreciate it people would stop asking me about it - good heavens, is he done already?"
Two eggs, a side of bacon, and several sausage links had vanished into the furry black hole that was Gaspode, and the little dog was licking the plate. Gaspode glanced up at Holmes, and belched pointedly at him like only dogs can.
"Now - what'd ye wanna know?" Gaspode prompted, "I haven't got all day, you know."
Several regions of Holmes' brain had to rearrange themselves into a more compatible format before he spoke.
"I need to know what you saw in that alley. Tell me everything, and don't leave out any det--" He had leaned back in the rickety chair and steepled his fingers in his customary posture of listening attentively, and was just about to do exactly that when the back of the chair gave way. The back, unfortunately, was of a piece with the hind legs of the chair, which were in turn connected with the front legs via a few supportive dowels, so the whole mess crumpled over backwards like it had just had a heart attack, leaving Holmes sitting more or less on the stone floor.
"I am really starting to despise this city," Holmes growled.
"Looks like the feeling is mutual," Gaspode volunteered, and was forced to duck when the empty breakfast plate came skimming through the air at him.
*
(a) It was a common joke around the Watch that when you started to look like Vimes, it was time to take a break. Everyone thought it was funny except for Vimes.
*****
End of Part 14.
*****
::Ankh-Morpork::
Sherlock Holmes was in a foul mood.
He had been up the entire night, supervising the transport of the gold statue under heavy guard and its interment in the Pseudopolis Yard gaol to prevent it being stolen. He had spoken little and eaten even less since his return, and the two night shifts, upon comparing notes, had come to the conclusion that he was either undead or an insomniac, for he had stubbornly refused sleep, sitting in front of the statue in a state of deep meditation, despite the fact that he'd been up since at least midnight the previous night.
It was now just after dawn, and the plate with his dinner on it (now ice cold) now had a bit of company in the form of his breakfast. For all he noticed he might have been petrified himself.
"He's been like that all night," said Ponder, who was fighting sleep himself, to Angua, who was just returning to duty. "He hasn't eaten or slept at all since we got back. The only exciting moment was when Cpl Nobbs went into check on the statue."
"What happened?" asked Angua.
"Apparently he tried to get a souvenir and Mr Holmes hit him with a flying tackle - he was like a tiger or something all of a sudden - and got it away from him."
"Well, he's dedicated, I'll give him that."
"I'm not sure if you want to try talking to him, though. I tried asking him about what Nobbs tried to take last night and he nearly took my head off."
"You think he'd talk to a witness?"
"A witness?" Ponder looked past Angua and failed to find anyone with her.
"Down here, four-eyes."
On a hunch, Ponder looked down.
There, at the end of perhaps the only example of patchwork string, was a dog. In theory, anyway. Ponder had seen this particular creature around the High Energy Magic building a number of times, begging for scraps - he'd told Skazz not to feed it and he *swore* that Skazz told him to get stuffed, but Skazz denied saying any such thing.
"Woof," said the dog.
"This is your witness?" Ponder ventured.
"After a fashion," she replied, "Just don't tell Vimes I brought him in here."
"It's a dog," Ponder protested feebly.
"Yeah, what of it?" Angua seemed to say. Ponder looked at her, startled, but saw that she was glaring at the dog. He followed her gaze, hoping vainly that it would help. The dog looked at him.
"Bark," it said.
"Er, go ahead," Ponder sputtered, "I don't think Vimes would mind."
"Thanks," Angua said, and patted him on the shoulder. He was still trying to work out the last conversation when she left.
"I need a pipe," Holmes announced, apparently sensing other life forms nearby, when Angua and the dog entered the holding area. He looked precisely like someone who'd been up all night - his eyes were red, his hair was mussed from running frustrated fingers through it, and he needed to shave.(a)
"We don't have any spare pipes around here," Angua replied, "but I could probably get you a cigarette, or a cigar if you really needed it."
Holmes waved at her impatiently. "No good. I can't think properly unless I've got a pipe."
"Well, if you're interested, I may have found you a witness."
"A witness - to what? I don't even know what happened, if anything, or if it would help if there was a witness to it." He glanced at the scrap of gold cloth he'd wrestled from Nobby. Well, not precisely a scrap.
"Arf."
Holmes looked over and registered the presence of the dog. "What's that?" he asked.
"This is Gaspode," Angua replied, as the dog scratched furiously at one ear, "your witness."
"Woof," said Gaspode, adding "Biscuit."
Holmes blinked once, slowly. He had the look of a man who up till now has always believed the evidence of his senses, and was really trying hard to find a category to fit this new piece of evidence into. Logic, he had already learned, was optional in this city. He decided to try out a theory that, under the circumstances, appeared plausible.
"Your dog spoke," he said to Angua, very matter-of-factly. He watched her carefully for any indication that, yes, he was going mad.
"Don't be daft," said Gaspode, "Everyone knows that dogs can't talk."
"I'm not talking to you," Holmes snarled at Gaspode, "and furthermore I refuse to argue with you about your capacity for speech. I am really not in the mood for any foolishness."
"Said the man who was yelling at a dog," Gaspode grumbled, then looked up at Angua, "What side of the bed did he wake up on?"
"Gaspode saw the whole thing," Angua informed Holmes, "And I think he may be able to help you with the Lightfoot case."
"You gonna eat any of that?" Gaspode queried, snuffling at Holmes' breakfast, "I can't really remember all that well on an empty stomach anyway."
"I don't suppose I can stop you," Holmes growled.
"I don't suppose you can, either," Gaspode replied, and tucked in.
"You know, it really isn't healthy," Angua said to Holmes, "Not eating or sleeping like that."
"I haven't the energy to spare for digestion nor the time to spare for sleep," he retorted, then looked back down at the scrap of gold cloth, "And I would appreciate it people would stop asking me about it - good heavens, is he done already?"
Two eggs, a side of bacon, and several sausage links had vanished into the furry black hole that was Gaspode, and the little dog was licking the plate. Gaspode glanced up at Holmes, and belched pointedly at him like only dogs can.
"Now - what'd ye wanna know?" Gaspode prompted, "I haven't got all day, you know."
Several regions of Holmes' brain had to rearrange themselves into a more compatible format before he spoke.
"I need to know what you saw in that alley. Tell me everything, and don't leave out any det--" He had leaned back in the rickety chair and steepled his fingers in his customary posture of listening attentively, and was just about to do exactly that when the back of the chair gave way. The back, unfortunately, was of a piece with the hind legs of the chair, which were in turn connected with the front legs via a few supportive dowels, so the whole mess crumpled over backwards like it had just had a heart attack, leaving Holmes sitting more or less on the stone floor.
"I am really starting to despise this city," Holmes growled.
"Looks like the feeling is mutual," Gaspode volunteered, and was forced to duck when the empty breakfast plate came skimming through the air at him.
*
(a) It was a common joke around the Watch that when you started to look like Vimes, it was time to take a break. Everyone thought it was funny except for Vimes.
*****
End of Part 14.