‘What about Drumknott? He isn’t a prisoner, is he?’
Vimes glanced up at Sergeant Angua, who shrugged.
‘All right. There’s no law against that, and we can’t have people saying he’s dead,’ he said. He unhooked a speaking tube from a brass and leather construction on his desk and hesitated.
‘Have they got that problem sorted out, Sergeant?’ he said, ignoring William.
‘Yes, sir. The pneumatic message system and the speaking tubes are definitely separated now.’
‘Are you sure? You do know Constable Keenside had all his teeth knocked out yesterday?’
‘They say it can’t happen again, sir.’
‘Well, obviously it can’t. He hasn’t got any more teeth. Oh, well …’ Vimes picked up the tube, held it away from him for a moment and then spoke into it.
‘Put me through to the cells, will you?’
‘Wizzip? Wipwipwip?’
‘Say again?’
‘Sneedle flipsock?’
‘This is Vimes!’
‘Scitscrit?’
Vimes put the tube back on its cradle and stared at Sergeant Angua.
‘They’re still working on it, sir,’ she said. ‘They say rats have been nibbling at the tubes.’
‘Rats?’
‘I’m afraid so, sir.’
Vimes groaned and turned to William. ‘Sergeant Angua will take you to the cells,’ he said.
And then William was on the other side of the door.
‘Come on,’ said the sergeant.
‘How did I do?’ said William.
‘I’ve seen worse.’
‘Sorry to mention Corporal Nobbs, but—’
‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ said Sergeant Angua. ‘Your powers of observation will be the talk of the station. Look, he’s being kind to you because he hasn’t worked out what you are yet, okay? Just be careful, that’s all.’
‘And you have worked out what I am, have you?’ said William.
‘Let’s just say I don’t rely on first impressions. Mind the step.’
She led the way down into the cells. William noted, without being so crass as to write it down, that there were two watchmen on duty at the bottom.
‘Are there usually guards down here? I mean, the cells have locks, don’t they?’
‘I hear you’ve got a vampire working for you,’ said Sergeant Angua.
‘Otto? Oh, yes. Well, we’re not prejudiced about that sort of thing …’
The sergeant did not answer. Instead she opened a door off the main cell corridor and called out: ‘Visitor for the patients, Igor.’
‘Right with you, Thargent.’
The room within was brightly lit by an uncanny, flickering blue light. Jars lined shelves on one wall. Some had strange things moving in them — very strange things. Other things just floated. Blue sparks sizzled on some complex machine, all copper balls and glass rods, in the corner. But what mainly drew William’s attention was the great big eye.
Before he could actually scream a hand reached up and what he’d thought was a huge eyeball was revealed as the largest magnifying glass he’d ever seen, swivelling up on a metal bracket attached to the forehead of its owner. But the face it revealed was barely an improvement, when it came to mouth-desiccating horror.
The eyes were on different levels. One ear was larger than the other. The face was a network of scars. But that was nothing compared to the deformed hairstyle; Igor’s greasy black hair had been brushed forward into an overhanging quiff in the manner of some of the city’s noisier young musicians, but to a length that could take out the eye of any innocent pedestrian. By the looks of the … organic nature of Igor’s work area, he would then be able to help put it back.
There was a fish tank bubbling on one bench. Inside it some potatoes were idly swimming backwards and forwards.
‘Young Igor here is part of our forensic department,’ said Sergeant Angua. ‘Igor, this is Mr de Worde. He wants to see the patients.’
William saw the quick glance Igor gave the sergeant, who added, ‘Mister Vimes says it’s okay.’
‘Right this way, then,’ said Igor, lurching past William into the corridor. ‘Always nice to get visitors down here, Mr de Worde. You will find we keep a very relaxed thell down here. I’ll just go and get the keys.’
‘Why does he only lisp the occasional s?’ said William, as Igor limped towards a cupboard.
‘He’s trying to be modern. You never met an Igor before?’
‘Not one like that, no! He’s got two thumbs on his right hand!’
‘He’s from Uberwald,’ said the sergeant. ‘Igors are very much into self-improvement. Fine surgeons, though. Just don’t shake hands with one in a thunderstorm—’
‘Here we are, then,’ said Igor, lurching back. ‘Who first?’
‘Lord Vetinari?’ said William.
‘He’s still athleep,’ said Igor.
‘What, after all this time?’
‘Not surprithing. It was a nasty blow he had—’ Sergeant Angua coughed loudly.
‘I thought he fell off a horse,’ said William.
‘Well, yes … and caught himthelf a blow when he hit the floor, I’ve no doubt,’ said Igor, glancing at Angua.
He turned the key.
Lord Vetinari lay on a narrow bed. His face looked pale but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully.
‘He’s not woken up at all?’ said William.
‘No. I look in on him every fifteen minutes or tho. It can be like that. Sometimeth the body just says: thleep.’
‘I heard he hardly ever sleeps,’ said William.
‘Maybe he’s taking the opportunity,’ said Igor, gently closing the door.
He unlocked the next cell.
Drumknott was sitting up in bed, his head bandaged. He was drinking some soup. He looked startled when he saw them, and nearly spilled it.
‘And how are we?’ said Igor, as cheerfully as a face full of stitches can allow.
‘Er, I’m feeling much better …’ The young man looked from one face to another, uncertain.
‘Mr de Worde here would like to talk to you,’ said Sergeant Angua. ‘I’ll go and help Igor sort out his eyeballs. Or something.’
William was left in an awkward silence. Drumknott was one of those people with no discernible character.
‘You’re Lord de Worde’s son, aren’t you?’ said Drumknott. ‘You write that news sheet.’
‘Yes,’ said William. It seemed he’d always be his father’s son. ‘Um. They say Lord Vetinari stabbed you.’
‘So they say,’ said the clerk.
‘You were there, though.’
‘I knocked on the door to take him his copy of the paper as he’d requested, his lordship opened it, I walked into the room … and the next thing I know I was waking up here with Mr Igor looking at me.’
‘That must have come as a shock,’ said William, with a momentary flash of pride that the Times had figured in this in some small way.
‘They say I’d have lost the use of my arm if Igor hadn’t been so good with a needle,’ said Drumknott earnestly.
‘But your head’s bandaged, too,’ said William.
‘I think I must have fallen over when … when whatever it was happened,’ said Drumknott.
My gods, thought William, he’s embarrassed.
‘I have every confidence that there has been a mistake,’ Drumknott went on.
‘Has his lordship been preoccupied lately?’
‘His lordship is always preoccupied. It’s his job,’ said the clerk.
‘Do you know that three people heard him say that he’d killed you?’
‘I cannot explain that. They must have been mistaken.’
The words were clipped sharp. Any moment now, William told himself … ‘Why do you think—’ he began, and was proved right.