From the shadows there was a rumble like a distant thunderstorm.
“I Did,” said Dorfl.
The vampire looked from the golem to Vimes.
“You gave one of them a voice?” he said.
“Yes,” said Dorfl. He reached down and picked up the vampire in one hand. “I Could Kill You,” he said. “This Is An Option Available To Me As A Free-Thinking Individual But I Will Not Do So Because I Own Myself And I Have Made A Moral Choice.”
“Oh, gods,” murmured Vimes under his breath.
“That’s blasphemy”, said the vampire.
He gasped as Vimes shot him a glance like sunlight. “That’s what people say when the voiceless speak. Take him away, Dorfl. Put him in the palace dungeons.”
“I Could Take No Notice Of That Command But Am Choosing To Do So Out Of Earned Respect And Social Responsibility—”
“Yes, yes, fine,” said Vimes quickly.
Dragon clawed at the golem. He might as well have kicked at a mountain.
“Undead Or Alive, You Are Coming With Me,” said Dorfl.
“Is there no end to your crimes? You’ve made this thing a policeman?” said the vampire, struggling as Dorfl dragged him away.
“No, but it’s an intriguing suggestion, don’t you think?” said Vimes.
He was left alone in the thick velvety gloom of the Royal College.
And Vetinari will let him go, he reflected. Because this is politics. Because he’s part of the way the city works. Besides, there’s the matter of evidence. I’ve got enough to prove it to myself, but…
But I’ll know, he told himself.
Oh, he’ll be watched, and maybe one day when Vetinari is ready a really good assassin will be sent with a wooden dagger soaked in garlic, and it’ll all be done in the dark. That’s how politics works in this city. It’s a game of chess. Who cares if a few pawns die?
I’ll know. And I’ll be the only one who knows, deep down.
His hands automatically patted his pockets for a cigar.
It was hard enough to kill a vampire. You could stake them down and turn them into dust and ten years later someone drops a drop of blood in the wrong place and guess who’s back? They returned more times than raw broccoli.
These were dangerous thoughts, he knew. They were the kind that crept up on a Watchman when the chase was over and it was just you and him, facing one another in that breathless little pinch between the crime and the punishment.
And maybe a Watchman had seen civilization with the skin ripped off one time too many and stopped acting like a Watchman and started acting like a normal human being and realized that the click of the crossbow or the sweep of the sword would make all the world so clean.
And you couldn’t think like that, even about vampires. Even though they’d take the lives of other people because little lives don’t matter and what the hell can we take away from them?
And, too, you couldn’t think like that because they gave you a sword and a badge and that turned you into something else and that had to mean there were some thoughts you couldn’t think.
Only crimes could take place in darkness. Punishment had to be done in the light. That was the job of a good Watchman, Carrot always said. To light a candle in the dark.
He found a cigar. Now his hands did the automatic search for matches.
The volumes were piled up against the walls. The candlelight picked up gold lettering and the dull gleam of leather. There they were, the lineages, the books of heraldic minutiae, the Who’s Whom of the centuries, the stockbooks of the city. People stood on them to look down.
No matches…
Quietly, in the dusty silence of the College, Vimes picked up a candelabrum and lit his cigar.
He took a few deep luxuriant puffs, and looked thoughtfully at the books. In his hand, the candles spluttered and flickered.
The clock ticked its arrhythmic tock. It finally stuttered its way to one o’clock, and Vimes got up and went into the Oblong Office.
“Ah, Vimes,” said Lord Vetinari, looking up.
“Yes, sir.”
Vimes had managed a few hours’ sleep and had even attempted to shave.
The Patrician shuffled some papers on his desk. “It seems to have been a very busy night last night…”
“Yes, sir.” Vimes stood to attention. All uniformed men knew in their very soul how to act in circumstances like this. You stared straight ahead, for one thing.
“It appears that I have Dragon King of Arms in the cells,” said the Patrician.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve read your report. Somewhat tenuous evidence, I feel.”
“Sir?”
“One of your witnesses isn’t even alive, Vimes.”
“No, sir. Neither is the suspect, sir. Technically.”
“He is, however, an important civic figure. An authority.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lord Vetinari shuffled some of the papers on his desk. One of them was covered in sooty fingermarks. “It also appears I have to commend you, Commander.”
“Sir?”
“The Heralds at the Royal College of Arms, or at least at what remains of the Royal College of Arms, have send me a note saying how bravely you worked last night.”
“Sir?”
“Letting all those heraldic animals out of the pens and raising the alarm and so on. A tower of strength, they’ve called you. I gather most of the creatures are lodging with you at the present time?”
“Yes, sir. Couldn’t stand by and let them suffer, sir. We’d got some empty pens, sir, and Keith and Roderick are doing well in the lake. They’ve taken a liking to Sybil, sir.”
Lord Vetinari coughed. Then he stared up at the ceiling for a while. “So you, er, assisted in the fire.”
“Yes, sir. Civic duty, sir.”
“The fire was caused by a candlestick falling over, I understand, possibly after your fight with Dragon King of Arms.”
“So I believe, sir.”
“And so, it seems, do the Heralds.”
“Anyone told Dragon King of Arms?” said Vimes innocently.
“Yes.”
“Took it well, did he?”
“He screamed a lot, Vimes. In a heart-rending fashion, I am told. And I gather he uttered a number of threats against you, for some reason.”
“I shall try to fit him into my busy schedule, sir.”
“Bingely bongely beep!!” said a small bright voice. Vimes slapped a hand against his pocket.
Lord Vetinari fell silent for a moment. His fingers drummed softly on his desk. “Many fine old manuscripts in that place, I believe. Without price, I’m told.”
“Yes, sir. Certainly worthless, sir.”
“Is it possible you misunderstood what I just said, Commander?”
“Could be, sir.”
“The provenances of many splendid old families went up in smoke, Commander. Of course, the Heralds will do what they can, and the families themselves keep records but frankly, I understand, it’s all going to be patchwork and guesswork. Extremely embarrassing. Are you smiling, Commander?”
“It was probably a trick of the light, sir.”
“Commander, I always used to consider that you had a definite anti-authoritarian streak in you.”
“Sir?”
“It seems that you have managed to retain this even though you are Authority.”
“Sir?”
“That’s practically Zen.”
“Sir?”
“It seems I’ve only got to be unwell for a few days and you manage to upset everyone of any importance in this city.”
“Sir.”
“Was that a ‘yes, sir’ or a ‘no, sir’, Sir Samuel?”
“It was just a ‘sir’, sir.”
Vimes glanced at a piece of paper. “Did you really punch the president of the Assassins’ Guild?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t have a dagger, sir.”
Vetinari turned away abruptly. “The Council of Churches, Temples, Sacred Groves, and Big Ominous Rocks is demanding…well, a number of things, several of them involving wild horses. Initially, however, they want me to sack you.”
“Yes, sir?”
“In all I’ve had seventeen demands for your badge. Some want parts of your body attached. Why did you have to upset everybody?”
“I suppose it’s a knack, sir.”
“But what could you hope to achieve?”
“Well, sir, since you ask, we found out who murdered Father Tubelcek and Mr. Hopkinson and who was poisoning you, sir.” Vimes paused. “Two out of three’s not bad, sir.”
Vetinari riffled through the papers again. “Workshop owners, assassins, priests, butchers…you seem to have infuriated most of the leading figures in the city.” He sighed. “Really, it seems I have no choice. As of this week, I’m giving you a pay raise.”
Vimes blinked. “Sir?”
“Nothing unseemly. Ten dollars a month. And I expect they need a new dart-board in the Watch House? They usually do, I recall.”
“It’s Detritus,” said Vimes, his mind unable to think of anything other than an honest reply. “He tends to split them.”
“Ah, yes. And talking of splits, Vimes, I wonder if your forensic genius could help me with a little conundrum we found this morning.” The Patrician stood up and headed for the stairs.
“Yes, sir? What is it?” said Vimes, following him down.
“It’s in the Rats Chamber, Vimes.”
“Really, sir?”
Vetinari pushed open the double doors. “Voila,” he said.
“That’s some kind of musical instrument, isn’t it, sir?”
“No, Commander, the word means ‘What is that in the table?’” said the Patrician sharply.
Vimes looked into the room. There was no one there. The long mahogany table was bare.
Except for the axe. It had embedded itself in the wood very deeply, almost splitting the table along its entire length. Someone had walked up to the table and brought an axe down right in the center as hard as they could and then left it there, its handle pointing towards the ceiling.
“That’s an axe,” said Vimes.
“Astonishing,” said Lord Vetinari. “And you’ve barely had time to study it. Why is it there?”
“I really couldn’t say, sir.”
“According to the servants, Sir Samuel, you came into the palace at six o’clock this morning…”
“Oh, yes, sir. To check that the bastard was safely in a cell, sir. And to see that everything was all right, of course.”
“You didn’t come into this room?”
Vimes kept his gaze fixed somewhere on the horizon. “Why should I have done that, sir?”
The Patrician tapped the axe handle. It vibrated with a faint thumping noise. “I believe some of the City Council met in here this morning. Or came in here, at least. I’m told they hurried out very quickly. Looking rather disturbed, I’m told.”
“Maybe it was one of them that did it, sir.”
That is, of course, a possibility,’ said Lord Vetinari. “I suppose you won’t be able to find one of your famous Clues on the thing?”
“Shouldn’t think so, sir. Not with all these fingerprints on it.”
“It would be a terrible thing, would it not, if people thought they could take the law into their own hands…”
“Oh, no fear of that, sir. I’m holding on tightly to it.”
Lord Vetinari plunked the axe again. “Tell me, Sir Samuel, do you know the phrase ‘Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?’?”
It was an expression Carrot had occasionally used, but Vimes was not in the mood to admit anything. “Can’t say that I do, sir,” he said. “Something about trifle, is it?”
“It means ‘Who guards the guards themselves?’ Sir Samuel.”
“Ah.”
“Well?”
“Sir?”
“Who watches the Watch? I wonder?”
“Oh, that’s easy, sir. We watch one another.”
“Really? An intriguing point…”
Lord Vetinari walked out of the room and back into the main hall, with Vimes trailing behind. “However,” he said, “in order to keep the peace, the golem will have to be destroyed.”
“No, sir.”
“Allow me to repeat my instruction.”
“No, sir.”
“I’m sure I just gave you an order, Commander. I distinctly felt my lips move.”
“No, sir. He’s alive, sir.”
“He’s just made of clay, Vimes.”
“Aren’t we all, sir? According to them pamphlets Constable Visit keeps handing out. Anyway, he thinks he’s alive, and that’s good enough for me.”
The Patrician waved a hand towards the stairs and his office full of paper. “Nevertheless, Commander, I’ve had no less than nine missives from leading religious figures declaring that he is an abomination.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve given that viewpoint a lot of thought, sir, and reached the following conclusion: arseholes to the lot of ’em, sir.”
The Patrician’s hand covered his mouth for a moment. “Sir Samuel, you are a harsh negotiator. Surely you can give and take?”
“Couldn’t say, sir.” Vimes walked to the main doors and pushed them open.
“Fog’s lifted, sir,” he said. “There’s a bit of cloud but you can see all the way across the Brass Bridge—”
“What will you use the golem for?”
“Not use, sir. Employ. I thought he might be useful for to keep the peace, sir.”
“A Watchman?”
“Yes, sir,” said Vimes. “Haven’t you heard, sir? Golems do all the mucky jobs.”
Vetinari watched him go, and sighed. “He does so like a dramatic exit,” he said.
“Yes, my lord,” said Drumknott, who had appeared noiselessly at his shoulder.
“Ah, Drumknott.” The Patrician took a length of candle out of his pocket and handed it to his secretary. “Dispose of this somewhere safely, will you?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“It’s the candle from the other night.”
“It’s not burned down, my lord? But I saw the candle end in the holder…”
“Oh, of course I cut off enough to make a stub and let the wick burn for a moment. I couldn’t let our gallant policeman know I’d worked it out for myself, could I? Not when he was making such an effort and having so much fun being…well, being Vimes. I’m not completely heartless, you know.”
“But, my lord, you could have sorted it out diplomatically! Instead he went around upsetting things and making a lot of people very angry and afraid—”
“Yes. Dear me. Tsk, tsk.”
“Ah,” said Drumknott.
“Quite so,” said the Patrician.
“Do you wish me to have the table in the Rats Chamber repaired?”
“No, Drumknott, leave the axe where it is. It will make a good…conversation piece, I think.”
“May I make an observation, my lord?”
“Of course you may,” said Vetinari, watching Vimes walk through the palace gates.
“The thought occurs, sir, that if Commander Vimes did not exist you would have had to invent him.”
“You know, Drumknott, I rather think I did.”
“Atheism Is Also A Religious Position,” Dorfl rumbled.
“No it’s not!” said Constable Visit. “Atheism is a denial of a god.”
“Therefore It Is A Religious Position,” said Dorfl. “Indeed, A True Atheist Thinks Of The Gods Constantly, Albeit In Terms Of Denial. Therefore, Atheism Is A Form Of Belief. If The Atheist Truly Did Not Believe, He Or She Would Not Bother To Deny.”
“Did you read those pamphlets I gave you?” said Visit suspiciously.
“Yes. Many Of Them Did Not Make Sense. But I Should Like To Read Some More.”
“Really?” said Visit. His eyes gleamed. “You really want more pamphlets?”
�
��Yes. There Is Much In Them That I Would Like To Discuss. If You Know Some Priests, I Would Enjoy Disputation.”
“All right, all right,” said Sergeant Colon. “So are you going to take the sodding oath or not, Dorfl?”
Dorfl held up a hand the size of a shovel. “I, Dorfl, Pending The Discovery Of A Deity Whose Existence Withstands Rational Debate, Swear By The Temporary Precepts Of A Self-Derived Moral System—”
“You really want more pamphlets?” said Constable Visit.
Sergeant Colon rolled his eyes.
“Yes,” said Dorfl.
“Oh, my god!” said Constable Visit, and burst into tears. “No one’s ever asked for more pamphlets before!”
Colon turned when he realized Vimes was watching. “It’s no good, sir,” he said. “I’ve been trying to swear him in for half an hour, sir, and we keep ending up arguing about oaths and things.”
“You willing to be a Watchman, Dorfl?” said Vimes.
“Yes.”
“Right. That’s as good as a swear to me. Give him his badge, Fred. And this is for you, Dorfl. It’s a chit to say you’re officially alive, just in case you run into any trouble. You know…with people.”
“Thank You,” said Dorfl solemnly. “If Ever I Feel I Am Not Alive, I Will Take This Out And Read It.”
“What are your duties?” said Vimes.
“To Serve The Public Trust, Protect The Innocent, And Seriously Prod Buttock, Sir,” said Dorfl.
“He learns fast, doesn’t he?” said Colon. “I didn’t even tell him the last one.”
“People won’t like it,” said Nobby. “’S not going to be popular, a golem as a Watchman.”
“What Better Work For One Who Loves Freedom Than The Job Of Watchman? Law Is The Servant of Freedom. Freedom Without Limits Is Just A Word,” said Dorfl ponderously.
“Y’know,” said Colon, “if it doesn’t work out, you could always get a job making fortune cookies.”
“Funny thing, that,” said Nobby. “You never get bad fortunes in cookies, ever noticed that? They never say stuff like: ‘Oh dear, things are going to be really bad.’ I mean, they’re never misfortune cookies.”
Vimes lit a cigar and shook the match to put it out. “That, Corporal, is because of one of the fundamental driving forces of the universe.”
“What? Like, people who read fortune cookies are the lucky ones?” said Nobby.
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