Part 14 (2/2)
Belatedly, his nuptial radar detected a certain chilliness from the far side of the cruet.
”Is, er, there something wrong, dear?” he said.
”Can you remember when we last had dinner together, Sam?”
”Tuesday, wasn't it?”
”That was the Guild of Merchants' annual dinner, Sam.”
Vimes's brow wrinkled. ”But you were there, too, weren't you?”
A further subtle change in the dragonhouse quotient told him that this was not a well chosen answer.
”And then you rushed off afterward because of that business with the barber in Gleam Street.”
”Sweeney Jones,” said Vimes. ”Well, he was was killing people, Sybil. The best you could say is that he didn't mean to. He was just very bad at shaving-” killing people, Sybil. The best you could say is that he didn't mean to. He was just very bad at shaving-”
”But you you didn't have to go, I'm sure.” didn't have to go, I'm sure.”
”Policing's a twenty-four-hour job, dear.”
”Only for you! Your constables do their ten hours and that's it it. But you're always always working. It's not good for you. You're always running around during the day, and when I wake up in the middle of the night there's always a cold s.p.a.ce beside me...” working. It's not good for you. You're always running around during the day, and when I wake up in the middle of the night there's always a cold s.p.a.ce beside me...”
The dots hung in the air, the ghosts of words unsaid. Little things, thought Vimes. That's how a war starts.
”There's so much to do, Sybil,” he said, as patiently as he could.
”There's always been a lot to do. And the bigger the Watch gets the more more there is to do, have you noticed that?” there is to do, have you noticed that?”
Vimes nodded. That was true. Rotas, receipts, notebooks, reports...the Watch might or might not be making a difference in the city, but it was certainly frightening a lot of trees.
”You ought to delegate,” said Lady Sybil.
”So he tells me,” muttered Vimes.
”Pardon?”
”Just thinking aloud, dear.” Vimes pushed the paperwork away. ”I'll tell you what...let's have an evening in,” he said. ”There's a nice fire in the drawing room-”
”Er...no, Sam, there isn't.”
”Hasn't young Forthright lit it?” Forthright was the Boy; it came as news to Vimes that this was an official servant position, but the Boy's job was to light the fires, clean the privies, help the gardener and take the blame.
”He's gone off to be a drummer boy in the Duke of Eorle's regiment,” said Lady Sybil.
”Him too? He seemed a bright lad! Isn't he too young?”
”He said he was going to lie about his age.”
”I hope he lies about his musical ability. I've heard him whistling.” Vimes shook his head. ”Whatever possessed him to do such a daft thing?”
”He thinks the uniform will impress the girls.”
Sybil gave him a gentle smile. An evening at home suddenly began to seem very inviting.
”Well, it won't take a genius to find the woodshed,” said Vimes. ”And then we can bolt the doors and-”
One of the aforesaid doors shook to the sound of frantic knocking.
Vimes caught Sybil's gaze.
”Go on, then. Answer it,” she sighed, and sat down.
The door admitted Corporal Littlebottom, seriously out of breath.
”You...got to come quick, sir...it's...murder this...time!”
Vimes looked helplessly at his wife.
”Of course you must go,” she said.
Angua brushed out her hair in front of the mirror.
”I don't like this,” said Carrot. ”It's not a proper way to behave.”
She patted him on the shoulder. ”Don't worry worry,” she said. ”Vimes explained it all. You're acting as though we're doing something wrong wrong.”
”I like being a watchman,” said Carrot, still in the mournful depths. ”And you've got to wear a uniform. If you don't don't wear a uniform it's like spying on people. He wear a uniform it's like spying on people. He knows knows I think that.” I think that.”
Angua looked at his short red hair and honest ears.
”I've taken a lot of the work off his shoulders,” Carrot went on. ”He doesn't have to go on patrol at all all, but he still tries to do everything.”
”Perhaps he doesn't want you to be quite so helpful?” said Angua, as tactfully as possible.
”It's not as if he's getting any younger, either. I've tried to point that out.”
”That was kind of you.”
”And I've never worn worn plainclothes.” plainclothes.”
”On you they'll never be very plain,” said Angua, pulling on her coat. It was a relief to be out of that armor. As for Carrot, there was no disguising him. The size, the ears, the red hair, the expression of muscular good-naturedness...
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