Part 5 (1/2)

Her Hogswatch card list ran to a second volume.

”Quite well, I believe. Anyway, she agrees that-”

There was a knocking at the door.

She sighed. ”It's Willikins's evening off,” she said. ”You'd better answer it, Sam. I know you want to...”

”I've told them not not to disturb me unless it's serious,” said Vimes, getting up. to disturb me unless it's serious,” said Vimes, getting up.

”Yes, but you think all crime is serious, Sam.”

Carrot was on the doorstep.

”It's a bit...political, sir,” he said.

”What's so political at a quarter to ten at night, Captain?”

”The Dwarf Bread Museum's been broken into, sir,” said Carrot.

Vimes looked into his honest blue eyes.

”A thought occurs to me, Captain,” he said, slowly. ”And the thought is: A certain item has gone missing.”

”That's right, sir.”

”And it's the replica Scone.”

”Yes, sir. Either they broke in just after we left, or,” Carrot licked his lips nervously, ”they were hiding while we were there.”

”Not rats, then.”

”No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Vimes fastened his cloak and took his helmet off its peg.

”So someone has stolen a replica of the Scone of Stone a few weeks before the real one is due to be used in a very important ceremony,” he said. ”I find this intriguing.”

”That's what I thought too, sir.”

Vimes sighed. ”I hate hate the political ones.” the political ones.”

When they'd gone, Lady Sybil sat for a while staring at her hands. Then she took a lamp into the library and pulled down a slim volume, bound in white leather on which had been embossed in gold the words OUR WEDDING OUR WEDDING.

It had been a strange event. Ankh-Morpork's high society-so high that it's stinking, Sam always said-had turned up mostly out of curiosity. She was Ankh-Morpork's most eligible spinster who'd never thought she'd be married, and he was a mere captain of the guard who tended to annoy a lot of people.

And here were the iconographs of the event. There she was, looking rather more expansive than radiant, and there Sam was, scowling at the camera with his hair hastily smoothed down. There was Sergeant Colon with his chest inflated so much his feet had almost left the ground, and n.o.bby grinning widely or perhaps just making a face, it was so hard to tell with n.o.bby.

Sybil turned over the pages with care. She had put a sheet of tissue between each one, to protect them.

In many ways, she told herself, she was was very lucky. She was very proud of Sam. He worked hard for a lot of people. He cared about people who weren't important. He always had far more to cope with than was good for him. He was the most very lucky. She was very proud of Sam. He worked hard for a lot of people. He cared about people who weren't important. He always had far more to cope with than was good for him. He was the most civilized civilized man she'd ever met. Not a gentleman, thank goodness, but a gentle man. man she'd ever met. Not a gentleman, thank goodness, but a gentle man.

She never really knew what it was he did did. Oh, she knew what the job job was, but by all accounts he didn't spend much time behind his desk. He tended to drop his clothes into the laundry basket before he eventually came to bed, so she'd only hear later from the laundry girl about the bloodstains and the mud. There were rumors of chases over rooftops, hand-to-hand and knee-to-groin fights with men who had names like Harry ”The Boltcutter” Weems... was, but by all accounts he didn't spend much time behind his desk. He tended to drop his clothes into the laundry basket before he eventually came to bed, so she'd only hear later from the laundry girl about the bloodstains and the mud. There were rumors of chases over rooftops, hand-to-hand and knee-to-groin fights with men who had names like Harry ”The Boltcutter” Weems...

There was a Sam Vimes she knew, who went out and came home again, and out there was another Sam Vimes who hardly belonged to her and lived in the same world as all those men with the dreadful names...

Sybil Ramkin had been brought up to be thrifty, thoughtful, genteel in an outdoor sort of way, and to think kindly of people.

She looked at the pictures again, in the silence of the house.

Then she blew her nose loudly and went off to do the packing and other sensible things.

Corporal Cheery Littlebottom p.r.o.nounced her name ”Cheri.” She was a she, and therefore a rare bloom in Ankh-Morpork.

It wasn't that dwarfs weren't interested in s.e.x. They saw the vital need for fresh dwarfs to leave their goods to and continue the mining work after they had gone. It was simply that they also saw no point in distinguis.h.i.+ng between the s.e.xes anywhere but in private. There was no such thing as a Dwarfish female p.r.o.noun or, once the children were on solids, any such thing as women's work.

Then Cheery Littlebottom had arrived in Ankh-Morpork, and had seen that there were men out there who did not not wear chain mail or leather underwear wear chain mail or leather underwear*, but did did wear interesting colors and exciting makeup, and these men were called ”women.” wear interesting colors and exciting makeup, and these men were called ”women.”

And in the little bullet head the thought had arisen: ”Why not me?”

Now she was being denounced in cellars and dwarf bars across the city as the first dwarf in Ankh-Morpork to wear a skirt. It was hard-wearing brown leather and as objectively erotic as a piece of wood but, as some older dwarfs would point out, somewhere under there were his knees knees.*

Worse, they were now finding that among their sons were some-they choked on the word-”daughters.” Cheery was only the frothy bit on the tip of the wave. Some younger dwarfs were shyly wearing eye shadow and declaring that, as a matter of fact, they didn't didn't like beer. A current was running through dwarf society. like beer. A current was running through dwarf society.

Dwarf society was not against a few well-thrown rocks in the direction of those bobbing on the current, but Captain Carrot had put the word on the street that this would be a.s.sault on an officer, a subject on which the Watch held views views, and however short the miscreants, their feet really would not not touch the ground. touch the ground.

Cheery had retained her beard and round iron helmet, of course. It was one thing to declare that you were female, but quite unthinkable to declare that you weren't a dwarf.

”Open and shut case, sir,” she said, when she saw Vimes come in. ”They opened the window in the back room to get in, a very neat job, and didn't shut the front door after they left. Smashed the Scone's case; there's the gla.s.s all round the stand. Didn't take anything else that I can see. Left a lot of footprints in the dust. I took a few pictures, but they're scuffed up and weren't much good in the first place. That's about it, really.”

”No dropped cigarette b.u.t.ts, wallets or bits of paper with an address on them?” said Vimes.

”No, sir. They were inconsiderate thieves.”

”They certainly were,” said Carrot grimly.

”A question that springs to mind,” said Vimes, ”is: Why does it reek even worse of cat's p.i.s.s now?”

”It is is rather sharp, isn't it,” said Cheery. ”With a hint of sulfur, too. Constable Ping said it was like this when he arrived, but there's no cat prints.” rather sharp, isn't it,” said Cheery. ”With a hint of sulfur, too. Constable Ping said it was like this when he arrived, but there's no cat prints.”

Vimes crouched down and looked at the broken gla.s.s.

”How did we find out about this?” he said, prodding a few fragments.

”Constable Ping heard the tinkle, sir. He went around the back and saw the window was opened. Then the crooks got out through the front door.”

”Sorry about that, sir,” said Ping, stepping forward and saluting. He was a cautious-looking young man, who appeared permanently poised to answer a question.