Unseen Academicals (13 page)

‘I didn’t touch ’im!’

‘I know. But you have to keep solid with your mates, right? Jumbo and, of course, Carter, and, oh yes, Andy Shank, your mates, who aren’t here. Look, you are not under arrest–yet–you are helping the Watch with their inquiries. That means you can use the privy, if you’re feeling brave. If you’re feeling suicidal, use the canteen. But if you try to run off I will hunt you down.’ She sniffed and added, ‘Like a dog. Understand?’

‘Can’t I go and see how Nutt is gettin’ on?’

‘No. Kipper’s still down there now. That’s Constable Haddock to you.’

‘Everyone calls him Kipper.’

‘Maybe, but not when it’s you talking to me.’ The sergeant twirled the favour around on the table in an absent-minded way. ‘Has Mister Nutt got any next of kin? That means relatives.’

‘I know what it means. He talks about people in Uberwald. That’s all I know,’ Trev lied instinctively. Saying that someone had spent his youth chained to an anvil was not going to help here. ‘He gets on all right with the other guys in the vats.’

‘How come he’s in there?’

‘We never ask. There’s usually some bad story.’

‘Anyone ever ask
you?
’

He stared at her. That was coppers for you. They came over all friendly, and just when you dropped your guard they stuck a pickaxe in your brain.

‘Was that an official copper question, or were you just bein’ nosy?’

‘Coppers are never nosy, Mister Likely. However, sometimes we ask tangential questions.’

‘So it wasn’t official?’

‘Not really…’

‘Then shove it where the sun does not shine.’

Sergant Angua smiled a copper’s smile. ‘You’ve got no card in your hand that you dare play, and you come out with something like that. From Andy, yes, I’d expect it, but Kipper says you’re smart. How smart does someone have to be to be as stupid as you?’

There was a tentative knock at the door and then a watchman put his head around it. Someone was shouting in the background in a large, authoritative voice. ‘—I mean, you deal with this sort of thing all the time, don’t you? For heavens’ sake, it’s not that hard—’

‘Yes, Nobby?’

‘We’ve got a bit of a situation, sarge. That stiff that went to the Lady Sibyl? Doctor Lawn’s here and he says the man’s got up and gone home!’

‘Did they get an Igor to look at him?’

‘Yes. Sort of…er…’

The watchman was elbowed out of the way by an expansive man in a long green rubber robe who was clearly trying to balance angry and friendly at the same time. He was tailed by Constable Haddock, who was clearly trying to mollify him, and definitely failing.

‘Look, we try to help, all right?’ said Doctor Lawn. ‘You people say you’ve got a murder case and I’ll pull old Igor off his slab and hang the overtime. But you tell Sam Vimes from me that I’d like him to send his boys down when they’re not busy for a bit of first-aid tuition, to wit, the difference between dead and sleeping. It’s a fine line sometimes, but it’s generally possible to spot the clues. The profession has always tended to consider walking about to be among the more reliable, although in this city we’ve learned to look on that as just a very good start. But when we pulled back the sheet he sat up and asked Igor if he had a sandwich, which is generally conclusive. Apart from a fever, he was fine. Strong heartbeat, which suggests he’s got one. Not a scratch on him, but he could certainly do with a good dinner. He must have been hungry because he ate the sandwich Igor made for him. On the subject of dinners, frankly I could do with mine!’

‘You let him go?’ said Sergeant Angua, horrified.

‘Of course! I can’t keep a man in hospital for being inconveniently alive!’

She turned to Constable Haddock. ‘And you let him go, Kipper?’

‘It looked like a case of doctor’s orders, sarge,’ said Haddock, giving Trev a wretched look.

‘He was covered in blood! He was really messed up!’ Trev exploded.

‘A prank, then?’ Angua tried.

‘I’d have sworn there wasn’t a heartbeat, Sergeant,’ Haddock volunteered. ‘Maybe he’s one of those monks from the Hub that do the hocus-pocus stuff.’

‘Then someone has been wasting Watch time,’ said Angua, glaring at Trev.

He spotted that one for the desperate throw it was. ‘What would be in it for me?’ he said. ‘Do you think I want to be here?’

Constable Haddock cleared his throat. ‘It’s match night, sarge. The desk is heaving and there are supporters roaming around all over the place and someone’s been feeding them a lot of rumours. We’re stretched, that’s all I’m saying. We’ve had a couple of big shouts already. And he did walk away, after all.’

‘Not a problem for me,’ said the doctor. ‘Came in horizontal, went out upright. It’s the preferred way. And I’ve got to get back, sergeant. We’re going to have a busy night, too.’

The sergeant looked for someone to shout at, and there was Trev.

‘You! Trev Likely. This one’s down to you! Go and find your chum. And if there’s any more trouble, there’ll be…trouble. Is that clear?’

‘Twice, sarge.’ He couldn’t resist it, he just couldn’t, not even with the cold sweat rolling down his spine. But he felt light…uplifted…released. But some people just can’t respect an epiphany when you’re having one. It’s not a cop skill.

‘It’s sergeant to you, Likely! Here!’

Trev managed to catch the favour as it was skimmed across the room.

‘Thanks, sarge!’

‘Get out!’

He got out, and was half expecting the shadowy shape that stepped up to him when he was clear of the building. There was a faint odour in the grey air. Well, at least it wasn’t Andy. He could do without Andy right now.

‘Yes, Carter?’ he said to the fog.

‘How did you know it was me?’

Trev sighed. ‘I guessed.’ He started to walk fast.

‘Andy’ll want to know what you said.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s sorted.’

‘Sorted! How?’ Carter, always a bit overweight, had to scurry to keep up.

‘Not going to tell you.’ Oh, the joy of the moment.

‘But can I tell him we’re in the clear?’

‘It’s all sorted! Done and dusted! I blew it out. It’s fixed. All gone away. It never happened.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Carter. ‘He was pretty busted up.’

‘Hey, what can I tell you?’ Trev flung out his arms and twirled a pirouette. ‘I’m Trev Likely!’

‘Well, that’s firm, then. Hey, I bet Andy’ll let you back in the Posse now. That would be great, eh?’

‘Do you know what Nutt thought the Posse was called, Carter?’

‘No. What?’

Trev told him.

‘Well, that’s—’ Carter began, but Trev interrupted.

‘It’s funny, Carter. It’s funny, and sort of sad and hopeless. It really is.’ Trev stopped walking so abruptly that Carter collided with him. ‘And here’s a tip: Carter the Farter isn’t gonna take you anywhere. And that goes for the Fartmeister, too. Trust me.’

‘But everybody calls me Carter the Farter,’ the Fartmeister wailed.

‘Punch the next one who does. See a doctor. Cut down on carbohydrates. Keep out of confined spaces. Use aftershave,’ said Trev, speeding up again.

‘Where are you going, Trev?’

‘I’m gettin’ out of the Shove!’ Trev called over his shoulder.

Carter looked around desperately. ‘What Shove?’

‘Haven’t you heard? It’s all Shove!’

Trev wondered if he glowed as he trotted through the fog. Things were going to be different. As soon as Smeems got in, he’d go and see him about a better job or something…

A figure appeared out of the mist ahead of him. This was something of an achievement since the figure was a head shorter than him.

‘Mithter Likely?’ it said.

‘Who’s askin’?’ said Trev and added, ‘What’s askin’?’

The figure sighed. ‘I underthtand that you are a friend of the gentleman rethently admitted to the hothpital,’ it said.

‘What’s that to you?’

‘Quite a lot,’ said the figure. ‘May I athk if you know very much about the gentleman?’

‘I don’t have to talk to you,’ said Trev. ‘Everything’s been fixed, okay?’

‘Would that thith wath the cathe,’ said the figure. ‘I have to talk to you. My name ith Igor.’

‘You know, I had a feelin’ about that. Are you the one who made the sandwich for Nutt?’ asked Trev.

‘Yeth. Tuna, thpaghetti and jam, with thprinkleth. My thignature dith. Do you know anything about hith background?’

‘Not a thing, mister.’

‘Really?’

‘Look. In the vats you stir up tallow, not the past, okay? You just don’t, right? I know he’s had some bad times, an’ that’s all I’m telling you.’

‘I thought tho,’ said Igor. ‘I believe he cometh from Uberwald. Thome thtrange and dangerouth thingth come from Uberwald.’

‘This might sound a stupid question, but do you come from Uberwald, by any chance?’ said Trev.

‘Thinth you athk, yeth,’ said Igor.

Trev hesitated. You saw Igors around occasionally. The only thing
most people knew was that they could stitch you up even better than the Watch and did strange things in cellars and only tended to come out much when there were thunderstorms.

‘I think your friend may be very dangerouth,’ said Igor.

Trev tried to picture Nutt as dangerous. It was quite hard until you remembered a throw that knocked down a whole goal post half a street away. He wished he didn’t.

‘Why should I listen to you? How do I know
you
are not dangerous?’ he said.

‘Oh, I am,’ said Igor, ‘believe me. And Uberwald containth thingth that I would not want to meet.’

‘I am not gonna listen to you,’ said Trev. ‘And you are pretty hard to understand in any case.’

‘Ith he thubject to thtrange moodth?’ Igor ploughed on. ‘Doth he get into a rage? Do you know anything about hith eating habitth?’

‘Yes, he likes apple pies,’ said Trev. ‘What’re you on about?’

‘I can thee you are great friendth,’ said Igor. ‘I am thorry that I have trethpathed on your time.’ ‘Trethpathed’ hanging in the air considerably added to the water drops hanging in the fog. ‘I will give you thome advith. When you need me, jutht thcream. I regret that you will find it very eathy to thcream.’ The figure turned and instantly vanished into the mist.

And Igors moved about oddly, Trev remembered. And you never saw one at a football game…

He noticed that last thought go past. What had he tried to tell himself? That someone who did not watch football was not a real person? He couldn’t think of a proper answer. He was amazed that he had even asked the question. Things were changing.

Glenda arrived in the Night Kitchen with Juliet sworn to silence, and beneficently gave Mildred and Mrs Hedges the rest of the night off. That suited them both very well, as it always does, and a little favour had been done there that she could call upon when necessary.

She took her coat off and rolled up her sleeves. She felt at home in
the Night Kitchen, in charge, in control. Behind black iron ranges she could defy the world.

‘All right,’ she said to the subdued Juliet. ‘We weren’t there today. Today did not happen. You were here helping me clean the ovens. I’ll see you get some overtime so your dad won’t suspect. Okay? Have you got that?’

‘Yes, Glenda.’

‘And while we’re here we’ll make a start on the pies for tomorrow night. It’ll be nice to get ahead of ourselves, right?’

Juliet said nothing.

‘Say “Yes, Glenda”,’ Glenda prompted.

‘Yes, Glenda.’

‘Go and chop some pork, then. Being busy takes your mind off things, that’s what I always say.’

‘Yes, Glenda, that’s what you always say,’ said Juliet.

An inflection caught Glenda’s ear, and worried her a little. ‘Do I always say that? When?’

‘Every day when you come in and put your apron on, Glenda.’

‘Mother used to say that,’ said Glenda, and tried to shake the thought out of her head. ‘And she was right, of course! Hard work never hurt anybody!’ And she tried to unthink the treacherous thought:
except her
. Pies, she thought. You can rely on pies. Pies don’t give you grief.

‘I fink that Trev likes me,’ Juliet muttered. ‘He don’t give me funny looks like the other boys. He looks like a little puppy.’

‘You want to watch out for that look, my girl.’

‘I fink I luvim, Glendy.’

Wild boar, thought Glenda, and apricots. There’s some left in the cool room. And we’ve got mutton pies with a choice of tracklements…always popular. So…pork pies, I think, and there’s some decent oysters in the pump room, so they’ll do for the wet pie. I’ll do Sea Pie and the anchovies look good, so there’s always room for a Stargazey or two, even though I feel sorry for the little fishes, but right now I’ll bake some blind pastries so that—‘What did you say?’

‘I luvim.’

‘You can’t!’

‘He saved my life!’

‘That’s no basis for a relationship! A polite thank you would have sufficed!’

‘I’ve got a feelin’ about him!’

‘That’s just silly!’

‘Well? Silly’s not bad, is it?’

‘Now you listen to me, young—Oh, hello, Mister Ottomy.’

It is in the way of the Ottomies all around the worlds to look as if they have been built out of the worst parts of two men and to be annoyingly hushen-footed on thick red rubber soles, all the better to peep and pry. And they always assume that a free cup of tea is theirs by right.

‘What a day, miss, what a day! Were you at the match?’ he enquired, glancing from Glenda to Juliet.

‘Been cleaning the ovens,’ said Glenda briskly.

‘Yes, today didn’t happen,’ Juliet added, and giggled. Glenda hated giggling.

Ottomy looked around slowly and without embarrassment, noting the absence of dirt, discarded gloves, cloths—

‘And we’ve only just finished getting everything all neat and tidy,’ Glenda snarled. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mister Ottomy? And then you can tell us all about the game.’

It has been said that crowds are stupid, but mostly they are simply confused, since as an eyewitness the average person is as reliable as a meringue lifejacket. It became obvious, as Ottomy went on, that nobody had any clear idea about anything other than that some bloke threw a goal from halfway down the street, and even then only maybe.