Chapter 6 – Mysteries and Clues

Sergeant Fred Colon and Private Buffybot stepped out into the cold wet night, lanterns held aloft. Rain fell steadily, and mist swirled around their ankles.

Fred looked sideways at his companion. She was bouncing on her toes, and obviously raring to go, despite the weather. He sighed. Just his luck to get stuck with a keen 'un. Commander Vimes had said to take her out and to be sure to keep her busy, oh, and to keep an eye out for a dragon. He shivered, he'd seen enough dragons to last him a lifetime already.

But it was his night for patrolling, so patrolling he would do. He stuck out his chest unconsciously, and turned an even brighter red than usual, as he reflected on the noble calling of the police sergeant.

"Right, young Bott" he said, "Now this is the sort of night where we need to be heading down Squashed Artichoke Street and the Pig Market. Your actual villains aren't going to be out in the rain getting their vests wet, and setting off their sciatica, unlike some of us." He sighed heavily. "So, we'll keep an eye on the covered markets - and the marketplace taverns of course." He felt his belly give an anxious rumble as he spoke. He'd given it a bit of a workout the night before, it was true. And Mrs Colon had been downright sarcastic this morning, about that business with the cart. No scumble, Fred, he told himself severely. Just a glass of small beer perhaps, and some port and water, to keep the cold out. Moderation, that was the secret.

"Do you think we'll see the dragon in the market?" Buffybot asked eagerly. "I bet she'd like pigs to eat!" Fred shifted uncomfortably, he hadn't thought of that. But still, by all accounts the dragon had headed off past the Unseen University, so they should be all right. "That's just why we're going that way, young Bott," he said heavily, "patrolling for thieves, and dragons."

Buffybot nodded, impressed. Sergeant Colon knew all about being a policeman, it was clear.

They set off on their route, and soon came to the corner of Squashed Artichoke Street. "Why is it called Squashed Artichoke Street?" Buffybot asked eagerly. "Did someone squash an artichoke there? A famous artichoke?"

Fred nodded. "Well, in a manner of speaking. This big pig escaped from the Pig Market, and come charging down the street, and this fella George Artichoke - who was some sort of cousin of my wife's brother-in-law by the way - he decides he's going to try and head the pig off." He left a meaningful silence. "Poor fella. Never jump in front of a pig wot's got a golem with a knife in its hand behind it, and the scent of freedom in its snout. That's good advice, that is. They say you can still see the grease stain on the wall to this day."

Buffybot shook her head over the sad fate of George Artichoke, and made a mental note about dealing with emotional pigs. She could see that she was going to learn a lot from Sergeant Colon.

The Summers living room was silent. After a second, Xander shuffled his feet, and Buffy glared at him.

"Hey!" he said, flushing. "It wasn't me. Why are you all looking at me? I am not fall-over-a-chalice guy here. Look at me! I'm over here, the chalice is over there. I'm innocent, innocent I tell you."

Anya patted Xander's arm. "Relax, sweetie. We all know you didn't do it. Don't we?" She glared with laser eyes all around the room. There was a chorus of coughs and murmurings.

"I didn't do it," yelled Xander. "I just look really guilty whenever anyone says 'Who did this?" It's a thing. Made life real difficult in kindergarten, I'll tell ya."

Willow nodded. "That's true. Xander was kindergarten fall guy. He had his milk and cookie privileges withdrawn every other week."

Buffy looked around the room. "So, who was it, then?"

"Actually," said Giles slowly, "It's rather hard to see how any of us could have done it. We are all over here, even Xander, once he'd made the blood offering - and the chalice is over there." He pointed to the other side of the room where the chalice lay on its side, still smoking slightly." He frowned. "This will need further investigation."

The patrolling watchmen stopped in the Pig Market, just outside 'The Fletch and Foreflank'. The rain fell in a light but steady drizzle, making the wicks in their lanterns flutter, and shadows dance on the walls. The sky was a cold iron grey, and the wind was picking up. Fred shivered.

"This is great!" said Buffybot. "It's so ethnic!"

Fred cast an unenthusiastic eye over the looming red brick walls of the slaughterhouses on either side, and the black mould encroaching across the cobbles. His feet were getting wet and water was dripping off his helmet and on to his cape.

There was a faint scrabbling noise and a suggestion of movement in the impenetrable wet darkness ahead of them. Buffybot and Fred gazed at it together, Bot and policeman's eye drawn as one. Fred took a quiet step toward the tavern behind him. Buffybot moved forward into the dark.

"Ooh!" she cried, excited, "It's a puppy!"

The dog drew closer, emerging from the shadows, and she squinted. "Well, it's a sweet little dog anyway."

The dog came closer yet.

"Well, it's a dog,"

Fred took a step backwards, drew out his handkerchief and pressed it to his nose, his eyes starting to water.

"It's that 'orrible little cur Gaspode. Ain't seen him in a while. Reckoned he was long dead - and I might just be right, judging by the smell."

Buffybot pointed. "But he's walking! Well, limping. Poor little thing."

"Could just be the fleas," said Fred heavily. "I wouldn't rule it out." He looked longingly at the light spilling out from behind the ill-fitting door of 'The Fletch and Foreflank. "Don't touch him, Bott - you'll catch summat. Now, then." He gave his lantern to Buffybot. "You stand here and arrest anyone who falls out the door and passes out, right? Drunk and disorderly, that is."

"Right!" said Buffybot, thrilled.

"I'll just check around inside for a few minutes." Fred hitched his belt up, tilted his helmet back, and pushed his way through the door. As soon as he was gone the little grey smelly dog came up to Buffybot's ankles and sniffed them.

"You want to give your supper to the cute little doggie," said a gruff voice. "He's a nice little doggie, and I bet he's hungry."

"Hullo!" said Buffybot, looking down at Gaspode. "You can talk! Cool!" She dug in her pocket for the squashed rat and jam sandwich the Night Watch cook had given her, and put it on the ground.

"No I can't," he said, rather indistinctly through a mouthful of rat, jam and bread. "Dogs can't talk. Well known fact."

"I expect it's magic," said Buffybot happily, "magic is totally cool." There was pause filled only by indelicate gulping sounds as Gaspode bolted the sandwich in great bites.

Buffybot looked him over as he ate, in the light cast by her two lanterns. "Hey, little doggie, did you know you have mange on your bottom?"

Gaspode looked up from his supper. "Oh that's nice, that is," he said, his tone aggrieved. "We just met two seconds ago and already you're making wiv the personal remarks. Charming, I don't think."

Buffybot's eyes grew wide. "Was I tactless?" she cried, "Anya says I'm always being tactless – and she should know!. I'm awfully sorry, little dog. I bet you knew you had mange on your bottom already. The bald patches and all that dandruff would have given it away."

Gaspode sniffed a very eloquent sniff, and returned to gulping the sandwich. Then he sat on the wet cobbles and began to give his stomach a thorough scratch. Mud and hair flew. "Don't s'pose you've got a hambone in your other pocket, eh?" he said casually after a while, "or one of them little mint chocolate wafers. They go down very nice after rat and jam."

Buffybot looked sad. "I'm sorry, little dog. I don't have any more food." She paused. "Have you got somewhere to go tonight? It's very wet and cold to be out."

"Oh, I've always got somewhere to go to, me," said Gaspode. "I know my way about, alright." He sniffed again, hacked, and coughed phlegm up onto the cobbles.

"I think you need to be somewhere warm and dry," said Buffybot, concerned. "You've got a chill." She paused delicately, "You could always stay with me. There's an old stable at the Watch House, and I'm sleeping there. With Cheery. We got evicted by our oppressive landlord - well, landlady." She spoke with a simple pride. She'd never been oppressed before - she'd read about it, of course, but had never dared hope it might happen to her. The moment Mrs Wiggins had taken their payment for all the damages, and then slammed the door in their faces, and chucked their belongings from the first floor window into the street, had been one of the most exciting moments of her stay so far. She certainly was experiencing Life here in Ankh Morpork.

There was a pause "Yeah, well," said Gaspode after a moment. "A stable's as good as anywhere, I reckon." He critically examined the pads of his right paw. "Look at that," he said, "I've got a blister. You wouldn't think a dog could get a blister, would you? But there it is." He waved his paw. "Know how I got this? Running from a bleedin' dragon, that's how. There I was, minding me own business down by the sluicegates the other side of town, just lookin' to see what might have been washed up, and whoosh! there's this shadow in the sky, and this huge bloody flying worm appears and tries to have me for breakfast."

"Hoorah!" cried Buffybot, "it's a clue!" And before Gaspode knew what was happening, she had whisked him up, tucked him under her cloak and carried him off into the night.