Part 34 (1/2)
The big red sun was moving through bars of cloud.
”Oh, let him, dear, if it gives the poor soul any pleasure,” said Lady Sybil, shutting the window. ”Now, Sam, what happened at the tower?”
”I don't really want to worry you, Sybil...”
”Well, now that you've got me really really worried, you may as well tell me. All right?” worried, you may as well tell me. All right?”
Vimes gave in and explained the little that he knew.
”Someone's killed them?”
”Possibly.”
”The same people that ambushed us back in that gorge?”
”I don't think so.”
”This isn't turning out to be much of a holiday, Sam.”
”It's not being able to do do anything that makes me sick,” said Vimes. ”Back in Ankh-Morpork...well, I'd have leads, contacts, some kind of a map. Everyone here is...well, hiding something, I think. The new king thinks I'm a fool, the werewolves treated me as if I was something the cat dragged in...the only person who's been halfway civil was a vampire!” anything that makes me sick,” said Vimes. ”Back in Ankh-Morpork...well, I'd have leads, contacts, some kind of a map. Everyone here is...well, hiding something, I think. The new king thinks I'm a fool, the werewolves treated me as if I was something the cat dragged in...the only person who's been halfway civil was a vampire!”
”Not the cat,” said Sybil.
”What?” said Vimes, mystified.
”Werewolves hate cats,” said Sybil. ”I distinctly remember that. Definitely not cat people.”
”Hah. No. Dog people. They don't like words like bath or vet bath or vet, either. I reckon if you threw a stick at the baron he'd leap out of his chair to catch it-”
”I suppose I ought to tell you about the carpets,” said Sybil, as the coach rocked around a corner.
”What, isn't he house-trained?”
”I meant the carpets in the emba.s.sy. You know I said I'd measure up for them? But the measurements aren't right, on the first floor...”
”I don't want to sound impatient, dear, but is this a carpet moment?”
”Sam?”
”Yes, dear?”
”Just stop thinking like a husband and start listening like a...a copper, will you?”
Vimes marched into the emba.s.sy and summoned Detritus and Cheery.
”You two are coming with us to the ball tonight,” he said. ”It'll be posh. Have you got anything to wear apart from your uniform, Sergeant?”
”No, sir.”
”Well, go and see Igor. There's a good man with a needle if I ever saw one. How about you, Cheery?”
”I do, er, have a gown,” said Cheery, looking down shyly.
”You do?”
”Yes, sir.”
”Oh. Well. Good. I'm putting the two of you on the emba.s.sy staff, too. Cheery, you're...you're Military Attache.”
”Oh,” said Detritus, disappointed.
”And, Detritus, you're Cultural Attache.”
The troll brightened up considerably. ”You will not regret dis, sir!”
”I'm sure I won't,” said Vimes. ”Right now, I'd like you to come with me.”
”Is dis a cultural matter, sir?”
”Broadly. Perhaps.”
Vimes led the troll and Sybil up the stairs and into the office, where he stopped in front of a wall.
”This one?” he said.
”Yes,” said his wife. ”It's hard to notice until you measure the rooms, but that wall really is rather thick-”
Vimes ran his hands along the paneling, looking for anything that might go click click. Then he stood back.
”Give me your crossbow, Sergeant.”
”Here we are, sir.”
Vimes staggered under its weight, but managed to get it pointed at the wall.
”Is this wise, Sam?” said Sybil.
Vimes stood back to take aim, and the floorboard moved under his heel. A panel in the wall swung gently.
”You scared der h.e.l.l out of it, sir,” said Detritus loyally.
Vimes carefully handed the crossbow back, and tried to look as though he'd meant things to happen this way.
He'd expected a secret pa.s.sage. But this was a tiny workroom. There were jars on shelves, with labels...NEW SUET STRATA, AREA 21, 21, GRADE A FAT, THE BIG HOLE GRADE A FAT, THE BIG HOLE. There were lumps of crumbling rock, with neat cardboard tags attached to them saying things like LEVEL LEVEL #3, #3, SHAFT SHAFT 9, 9, DOUBLE-PICK MINE DOUBLE-PICK MINE.