Snuff (34 page)

S
ay what you like, the food in the Quirm Watch House canteen was pretty damn good, even if they did use a shade too much avec, thought Vimes; avec on
everything
.

Vimes, well fed and cleaned up and with some
very
important paperwork stuffed down the inside of his freshly laundered and immaculately ironed shirt, walked with Chief Constable Upshot down the quayside toward the
Black-Eyed Susan
. The lieutenant and two of the guards accompanied him to his cabin, where the dwarf butler demonstrated to him the cleanliness of the bed and the crispness of the sheets.

“Honored to have you sleeping in them, commander. You will find that the
Susan
gives a very smooth ride, although she can sometimes bounce around a little, very much like her namesake, but least said, soonest mended. And, of course, there is a berth next door for officer Feeney. You gentlemen might like to see the
Susan
get under way, perhaps?”

They did. The
Susan
had two oxen, just like the
Wonderful Fanny
, but with no heavy cargo and only about ten passengers she was the express of Old Treachery. Her paddle wheels, highly geared indeed, left a line of white water all down the valley behind her.

“What happens now, commander?” said Feeney, leaning on the rail as they watched Quirm disappearing in the wake behind them. “I mean, what are we going to do next?”

Vimes was smoking a cigar with great pleasure. Somehow this seemed the time and the place. Snuff was all very well, but a good cigar had time and wisdom and personality. He would be unhappy to see this one go.

“I don't need to do anything now,” he said, turning to look at the sunset. And I don't often see sunsets these days either, he thought. Mostly I see midnights; and I don't need to chase Stratford, either. I know him like I know myself. He mentally paused, momentarily shocked at the implication.

Aloud he continued, “You saw those two Quirmian officers get on the boat, didn't you? I arranged that. They will, of course, make certain that we have an undisturbed voyage. The crew have also been told that there may be some attempt by a murderer to board the boat. According to the lieutenant, Captain Harbinger can vouch for all of his crew as having sailed with him loyally for many years. Personally, of course, I'll make certain the door to my berth is locked, and I'd suggest you do the same thing, Feeney.

“Greed is at the center of this, greed and hellish poisons. They're both killers and greed is the worst, by a long way. You know, usually when I'm talking to young officers such as yourself I say that in a certain type of case, you should always follow the money, you should ask ‘Who stands to lose? Who stands to gain?' ” Vimes regretfully tossed the butt of his cigar into the water. “But sometimes you should follow the arrogance…You should look for those who can't believe that the law would ever catch them, who believe that they act out of a right that the rest of us do not have. The job of the officer of the law is to let them know that they are wrong!”

The sun was setting. “I do believe, Commander Vimes, that you have something in you that would turn the wheels of this boat all by itself if a man could but harness it!” said Feeney admiringly. “And I remember reading somewhere that you would arrest the gods for doing it wrong.”

Vimes shook his head. “I'm sure I never said anything of the sort! But law is order and order is law and it must be the highest thing. The world runs on it, the heavens run on it and without order, lad, one second cannot follow another.”

He could feel himself swaying. Lack of sleep can poison the mind, drive it in strange directions. Vimes felt Feeney's hand on his shoulder. “I'll help you along to your cabin, commander. It's been a
very
long day.”

V
imes didn't remember getting undressed and into bed, or rather into bunk, but he clearly had done so and, according to the little bits of white foam on the cabin's tiny washbasin, he had cleaned his teeth as well. He had slept the sleep of the dead except for the bit where bits fall off and you crumble into dust, and all he could recall was cool blackness and, rising now to the surface, a certainty, as if a message had been left in the blackness to await the return of thought.
He is after you, Blackboard Monitor Vimes. You know this because you recognize what was in his eyes. You know that type. They want to die from the day they are born, but something twists and so they kill instead. He will find you, and so will I. I hope the three of us meet in darkness.

As the message drained away Vimes stared at the opposite wall, in which the door now opened, after a cursory knock, to reveal the steward bearing that which is guaranteed to frighten away all nightmares, to wit, a cup of hot tea.
*

“No need to get up, commander,” came the cheerful greeting of the steward, as he carefully placed the cup of tea in a little indentation that some foresighted person had designed into the tiny cabin so that said teacup would not slide around. “The captain would like to inform you that we'll be docking in about twenty minutes, although of course you'll be welcome to stay aboard and finish your breakfast while we clean the scuppers and take on fresh oxen and, of course, pick up mail and fodder and a few more passengers. In the galley, I have today…” and here the steward enthusiastically rattled off a menu of belly-stuffing proportions, concluding triumphantly with, “a bacon sandwich!”

Vimes cleared his throat and said gloomily, “I don't suppose you have any muesli, do you?” After all, Sybil was only twenty minutes away.

The steward looked puzzled. “Well, yes, we would have the ingredients, of course, but I didn't peg you as a
rabbit food
man?”

Vimes thought about Sybil again. “Well, perhaps today my little nose is twitching.”

Luxurious though the cabin was, roomy it was not. Vimes managed to shave with a razor donated by the steward, “with the compliments of the captain, commander,” and a thoughtfully placed basin, soap, flannel and minute towel, which at least helped him to deal with the form of ablution his old mother had called “washing the bits that showed.” He paid attention to them, nevertheless, taking some pains in the knowledge that this little wooden world would evaporate very soon and he would be back in the world of Sam Vimes, husband and father. Periodically, however, as he made himself respectable, he turned back to himself in the shaving mirror and said, “Fred Colon!”

The luxury cabin had turned out to be wonderful to sleep in, although so small that in reality it would only be suitable for a fastidious corpse. But eventually, when every part of Vimes he could reach had been decently, if erratically, scrubbed and the steward had brought him a hermit-sized portion of fruits and nuts and grains, he looked around to see what he might have left behind and saw a face in the shaving mirror. It was his own, although it must be said the phenomenon is not unusual in shaving mirrors. The Vimes in the mirror said,
You know he doesn't just want to kill you. That wouldn't be good enough for a bastard like that, not by a long way. He wants to destroy you and will try everything until he does
.

“I know,” said Vimes, and added, “You're not a demon, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” said his mirror image. “I
might
be made up of your subconscious mind and a momentary case of muesli poisoning occasioned by a fermenting raisin. Watch where you walk, commander. Watch everywhere.” And then it was gone.

Vimes stepped away from the mirror and turned around slowly. It
must
have been my face, he said to himself, otherwise it would have been the other way round, wouldn't it?

He walked down the gangway into reality and what turned out to be Corporal Nobby Nobbs, beyond whom reality does not get much more real.

“Good to see you, Mr. Vimes! My word, you're looking fit! Your holiday must be doing you a lot of good. Got any bags?” This was asked in the absolute certainty that Vimes would have
no
bags, but a show of willing is always worth a try.

“Is everything all right?” said Vimes, ignoring this.

Nobby scratched his nose and a bit fell off. Oh yes, thought Vimes, I'm back, all right!

“Well, the usual stuff that happens is happening, but we're on top of it. Could I draw your attention to the hill over there? They were very careful not to harm the trees, and Lady Sybil herself promised a lingering death to anyone who upset the goblins.”

Mystified, Vimes scanned the skyline and saw Hangman's Hill. “Hells bells! It's a clacks tower, it's a bloody
clacks
tower! Sybil will go totally librarian about it!”

“As a matter of fact, Mr. Vimes, Lady Sybil was all for it by the time she'd read all of Captain Carrot's note. He said this was no time for you to be out of touch. You know that, sir, very persuasive officer, which is how come he got the clacks company to rush up here toot sweet with a temporary tower. Worked all night, so they did, and got it lined up on the Grand Trunk sweet as a nut!”

This time Nobby picked his nose, briefly inspected the contents for interest or value, then flicked them away and went on, “Only one thing, sir, the
Ankh-Morpork Times
wants to interview you about how you are a great hero what saved someone's wonderful fanny—”

There was a pause while they waited for Feeney to stop choking with laughter and get his breath back and then Vimes said, “Corporal Nobby Nobbs, this here is Chief Constable Upshot. I call him chief constable because he's the only law in these parts, that is until now. This is
his
patch, and so you will respect it, okay? Who else came with you from the Smoke?”

“Sergeant Detritus, Mr. Vimes, but he's up at the Hall, guarding her ladyship and Young Sam with delicate surreptition.”

A part of Vimes had unknowingly been holding its breath. Detritus and Willikins? Together they could face an army. He shook himself. “But not Fred Colon?”

“No, Mr. Vimes, as I understand it we were on our way when the second clacks came through, but I reckon that he'll be here pretty soon.”

“Gentlemen, I'm going home,” said Vimes, “but, Mr. Feeney, how soon will another boat go down to Quirm?”

Feeney beamed. “You're in luck, commander. The Roberta E. Biscuit will be going tomorrow morning! Just the job for what I think you might want. Big and slow, but you won't mind that, because there's gambling and entertainment. Lots of tourists on it, but don't you worry, sir, your name is big on the river already. Trust me! Say the word and the captain of the
Biscuit
will make certain that there's a king-size, I mean, sorry, commander-size stateroom for you, how about that?”

Vimes opened his mouth to ask, is it expensive? And shut it again with the embarrassed realization that the Ramkin fortune could almost certainly buy every vessel on Old Treachery.

Feeney, like the good copper he was becoming, noticed that slight moment of hesitation and said, “Your money won't be good on the river, commander, believe me. The savior of the
Fanny
won't have to buy his own cigars or a stateroom anywhere along Old Treachery!”

Nobby Nobbs was almost bent double with laughter and managed to choke out, “The
Fanny
!”

Vimes sighed. “Nobby, her name was Francesca, Fanny for short. Understand?” It didn't work with some people; it only just did with Vimes. “And, Nobby, I want you to wait here, and as soon as Fred's coach arrives you're in charge of getting him up to the goblin cave on the hill, okay?”

“Yes, Mr. Vimes,” said Nobby, looking at his boots.

“And, Nobby, if you see a goblin who stinks like a latrine and glows slightly blue, well, that's a fellow copper and don't you forget it.”

S
ybil was halfway down the lane as Vimes quickly walked up it, and Young Sam was running ahead and cannoned into his father's legs, throwing his arms around them as best he could.

“Dad! I know how to milk a goat, Dad! You have to pull its tits, Dad, they're all wiggly!” Vimes's expression did not change as Young Sam went on. “And I'm learning to make cheese! And I have some badger poo now, and some weasel poo, too!”

“My word, you have been busy,” said Vimes. “Who told you the word ‘tits,' lad?”

Young Sam beamed. “That was Willy the cowherd, Dad.”

Vimes nodded. “I'll have a little talk to you about that later, Sam, but first I think I'll have a word with Willy the cowherd.” He lifted up Young Sam, ignoring a twinge in his back. “I hope that washing your hands played a part in these adventures?”

“I take care of that,” said Lady Sybil, catching up. “Honestly, Sam, I let you out of my sight for hardly any time at all and here you are a hero,
again
! Really! Honestly, the whole river is talking about it! Fights on a riverboat? Maritime chases? Oh dear me, I don't know where to put my face, so if you would be so kind as to let our child down carefully I'll press said face mightily to yours!”

When Vimes surfaced for breath he growled, “It is a
real
bloody clacks tower, isn't it, yes? And now
The Times
have got hold of all this they'll make out I'm some kind of hero, the damn fools!”

With the suction released, Lady Sybil said, “No, Sam—well maybe a little of that, but you would be amazed at how fast news travels along the river. Apparently you were standing on the wheelhouse roof of the
Wonderful Fanny
fighting with a murderer, and he shot a crossbow at you and it bounced off! I'm told there's going to be a large artist's impression in tomorrow's paper! Once again, I won't know where to put my face!” And then Sybil couldn't contain herself anymore and burst out laughing. “Frankly, Sam, you may have
anything
you want for dinner tonight.”

Vimes leaned over and whispered, causing his wife to slap his hand and say, “Later, perhaps!”

At this point, somewhat emboldened, Vimes said, “I couldn't help noticing that the bridge is severely damaged?”

Sybil nodded. “Oh, yes dear, a terrible storm, wasn't it? It took away the entire central arch and all of the three disgraces.
*
“I remember them from my childhood. My mother used to put her hand over my eyes when we crossed the bridge and so I took a keen interest in them, especially as one was scratching her bottom.” Her smile brightened. “But don't worry, Sam, naked ladies are not difficult to come by.”

Vimes took comfort from her smile, and a tiny treacherous suspicion bubbled up once more. He thought he had stamped it down, but the damn thing kept coming back. And so he cleared his throat and said, “Sybil, you did discuss plans for my holiday with Vetinari, didn't you?”

Sybil looked surprised. “Why yes, dear, of course. After all, he is technically your superior. Only technically, of course. I had a word with him on the subject at some charity do or other. I can't remember which right now as there're always so many. But there wasn't any difficulty. He said that it was high time you took a decent rest from your valiant activities!”

Vimes was wise enough not to utter the words that entered his mouth, and instead said, carefully, “Er, so he didn't actually suggest that you came down to the Shires?”

“To be honest, Sam, it was quite some time ago, but we both have your best interests at heart, as you surely know. We generally discussed the matter and that's it, really.”

Vimes left it at that. He would never know for sure. And anyway, the ball had dropped.