Part 3 (1/2)
The young woman stood on a corner of the Shades. Her general stance indicated that she was, in the specialized patois of the area, a lady in waiting. To be more precise a lady in waiting for Mr. Right, or at least Mr. Right Amount.
She idly swung her handbag.
This was a very recognizable signal, for anyone with the brains of a pigeon. A member of the Thieves' Guild would have pa.s.sed carefully by on the other side of the lane, giving her nothing more than a gentlemanly and above all nonaggressive nod. Even the less-polite freelance thieves that lurked in this area would have thought twice before eyeing the handbag. The Seamstresses' Guild operated a very swift and nonreversible kind of justice.
The skinny body of Done It Duncan however, did not not have the brains of a pigeon. The little man had been watching the bag like a cat for fully five minutes, and now the very thought of its contents had hypnotized him. He could practically taste the money. He rose on his toes, lowered his head, dashed out of the alley, grabbed the bag and got several inches before the world exploded behind him and he ended up flat in the mud. have the brains of a pigeon. The little man had been watching the bag like a cat for fully five minutes, and now the very thought of its contents had hypnotized him. He could practically taste the money. He rose on his toes, lowered his head, dashed out of the alley, grabbed the bag and got several inches before the world exploded behind him and he ended up flat in the mud.
Something right by his ear started to drool. And there was a long, very long drawn out growl, not changing in tone at all, just unrolling a deep promise of what would happen if he tried to move.
He heard footsteps, and out of the corner of his eyes saw a swirl of lace.
”Oh, Done It Done It,” said a voice. ”Bag s.n.a.t.c.hing? That's a bit low, isn't it? Even for you? You could've got really hurt. It's only Duncan, miss. He'll be no trouble. You can let him up.”
The weight was removed from Duncan's back. He heard something pad off into the gloom of an alley.
”I done it, I done it,” said the little thief desperately, as Corporal n.o.bbs helped him to his feet.
”Yes, I know you did. I saw saw you,” said n.o.bby. ”And you know what'd happen to you if the Thieves' Guild spotted you? You'd be dead in the river with no time off for good behavior.” you,” said n.o.bby. ”And you know what'd happen to you if the Thieves' Guild spotted you? You'd be dead in the river with no time off for good behavior.”
”They hate me 'cos I'm so good,” said Duncan, through his matted beard. ”'Ere, you know the robbery at All Jolson's last month? I done that.”
”That's right, Duncan. You done that.”
”An' that haul at the gold vaults last week, I done that, too. It wasn't Coalface and his boys.”
”No, it was you, wasn't it, Duncan.”
”An' that job at the goldsmith's that everyone says Crunchie Ron done-”
”You done it, did you?”
”'S'right,” said Duncan.
”And it was you what stole fire from the G.o.ds, too, wasn't it, Duncan?” said n.o.bby, grinning evilly under his wig.
”Yeah, that was me,” Duncan nodded. He sniffed. ”I was a bit younger then, of course.” Duncan peered shortsightedly at n.o.bby n.o.bbs.
”Why've you got a dress on, n.o.bby?”
”It's hush hush, Duncan.”
”Ah, right.” Duncan s.h.i.+fted uneasily. ”You couldn't spare me a bob or two, could you, n.o.bby? I ain't eaten for two days.”
Small coins gleamed in the dark.
”Now push off,” said Corporal n.o.bbs.
”Thanks, n.o.bby. You got any unsolved crimes, you know where to find me.”
Duncan lurched off into the night.
Sergeant Angua appeared behind n.o.bby, buckling on her breastplate.
”Poor old devil,” she said.
”He was a good thief in his day,” said n.o.bby, taking a notebook out of his handbag and jotting down a few lines.
”Kind of you to help him,” said Angua.
”Well, I can get the money back out of petty cash,” said n.o.bby. ”An' now we know who did the bullion job, don't we. That'll be a feather in my cap with Mister Vimes.”
”Bonnet, n.o.bby.”
”What?”
”Your bonnet, n.o.bby. It's got a rather fetching band of flowers around it.”
”Oh...yeah...”
”It's not that I'm complaining,” said Angua, ”but when we were a.s.signed this job I thought it was me me who was going to be the decoy and you who was going to be the backup, n.o.bby.” who was going to be the decoy and you who was going to be the backup, n.o.bby.”
”Yeah, but what with you bein'...” n.o.bby's expression creased as he edged his way into unfamiliar linguistic territory, ”...mor...phor...log...ic...ally gifted...”
”A werewolf, n.o.bby. I know the word.”
”Right...well, obviously, you'd be a lot better at lurkin', an'...an' obviously it's not right, women havin' to act as decoys in police work...”
Angua hesitated, as she so often did when attempting to talk to n.o.bby on difficult matters, and waved her hands in front of her as if trying to shape the invisible dough of her thoughts.
”It's just that...I mean, people might...” she began. ”I mean...well, you know what people call men who wear wigs and gowns, don't you?”
”Yes, miss.”
”You do?”
”Yes, miss. Lawyers, miss.”
”Good. Yes. Good,” said Angua slowly. ”Now try another one...”
”Er...actors, miss?”
Angua gave up. ”You look good in taffeta, n.o.bby,” she said.
”You don't think it makes me look too fat?”