‘And how do you get them out, Nobby?’
‘Well, first you get some glue, and a really long stick, and—’
Fred Colon shook his head. ‘Can’t see it happening, Nobby.’
‘All right, then, you get some paint that’s the same colour as the walls, and you glue the painting to the wall somewhere it’ll fit, and you paint over it with your wall paint so it looks just like wall.’
‘Got a convenient bit of wall in mind, then?’
‘How about inside the frame that’s there already, sarge?’
‘Bloody hell, Nobby, that’s clever,’ said Fred, stopping dead.
‘Thank you, sarge. That means a lot, coming from you.’
‘But you’ve still got to get it out, Nobby.’
‘Remember all those dust sheets, sarge? I bet in a few weeks’ time a couple of blokes in overalls will be able to walk out of the place with a big white roll under their arms and no one’d think twice about it, ’cos they’d, like, be thinkin’ the muriel had been pinched weeks before.’
There were a few moments of silence before Sergeant Colon said, in a hushed voice: ‘That’s a very dangerous mind you got there, Nobby. Very dangerous indeed. How’d you get the new paint off, though?’
‘Oh, that’s easy,’ said Nobby. ‘And I know where to get some painters’ aprons, too.’
‘Nobby!’ said Fred, shocked.
‘All right, sarge. You can’t blame a man for dreaming, though.’
‘This could be a feather in our caps, Nobby. And we could do with one now.’
‘Your water playing up again, sarge?’
‘You may laugh, Nobby, but you’ve only got to look around,’ said Fred gloomily. ‘It’s just gang fights now, but it’s going to get worse, you mark my words. All this scrapping over something that happened thousands of years ago! I don’t know why they don’t go back to where they came from if they want to do that!’
‘Most of ’em come from here now,’ said Nobby.
Fred grunted his disdain for a mere fact of geography. ‘War, Nobby. Huh! What is it good for?’ he said.
‘Dunno, sarge. Freeing slaves, maybe?’
‘Absol— Well, okay.’
‘Defending yourself from a totalitarian aggressor?’
‘All right, I’ll grant you that, but—’
‘Saving civilization against a horde of—’
‘It doesn’t do any good in the long run is what I’m saying, Nobby, if you’d listen for five seconds together,’ said Fred Colon sharply.
‘Yeah, but in the long run what does, sarge?’
‘Say that again paying attention to every word, will you?’ said Vimes.
‘He’s dead, sir. Hamcrusher is dead. The dwarfs are sure of it.’
Vimes stared at his captain. Then he glanced at Sally and said, ‘I gave you an order, Lance-Constable Humpeding. Go and get joined up!’
When the girl had hurried out, he said, ‘I hope you’re sure about it as well, captain…’
‘It’s spreading through the dwarfs like, like—’ Carrot began.
‘Alcohol?’ Vimes suggested.
‘Very fast, anyway,’ Carrot conceded. ‘Last night, they say. A troll got into his place in Treacle Street and beat him to death. I heard some of the lads talking about it.’
‘Carrot, wouldn’t we know if something like that had happened?’ said Vimes, but in the theatre of his mind Angua and Fred Colon uttered their cassandraic warnings again. The dwarfs knew something. The dwarfs were worried.
‘Don’t we, sir?’ said Carrot. ‘I mean, I’ve just told you.’
‘I mean, why aren’t his people shouting it in the streets? Political assassination and all that sort of thing? Shouldn’t they be screaming bloody murder? Who told you this?’
‘Constable Ironbender and Corporal Ringfounder, sir. They’re steady lads. Ringfounder’s up for sergeant soon. Er… there was something else, sir. I did ask them why we hadn’t heard officially, and Ironbender said… you won’t like this, sir… he said the Watch wasn’t to be told.’ Carrot watched Vimes carefully. It was hard to see the change of expression on the commander’s face, but certain small muscles set firmly.
‘On whose orders?’ said Vimes.
‘Someone called Ardent, apparently. He’s Hamcrusher’s… interpreter, I suppose you could say. He says it’s dwarf business.’
‘But this is Ankh-Morpork, captain. And murder is Murder.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And we are the City Watch,’ Vimes went on. ‘It says so on the door.’
‘Actually it mostly says “Copers are Barstuds” on the door at the moment, but I’ve got someone scrubbing it off,’ said Carrot. ‘And I—’
‘That means if anyone gets murdered, we’re responsible,’ said Vimes.
‘I know what you mean, sir,’ said Carrot carefully.
‘Does Vetinari know?’
‘I can’t imagine that he doesn’t.’
‘Me neither.’ Vimes thought for a moment. ‘What about the Times? There’s plenty of dwarfs working there.’
‘I’d be surprised if they passed it on to humans, sir. I only got to hear about it because I’m a dwarf and Ringfounder really wants to make sergeant and frankly I overheard them, but I doubt if the printing dwarfs would mention it to the editor.’
‘Are you telling me, captain, that dwarfs in the Watch would keep a murder secret?’
Carrot looked shocked. ‘Oh no, sir!’
‘Good!’
‘They’d just keep it secret from humans. Sorry, sir.’
The important thing is not to shout at this point, Vimes told himself. Do not… what do they call it… go spare? Treat this as a learning exercise. Find out why the world is not as you thought it was. Assemble the facts, digest the information, consider the implications. Then go spare. But with precision.
‘Dwarfs have always been law-abiding citizens, captain,’ he said. ‘They even pay their taxes. Suddenly they think it’s okay not to report a possible murder?’
Carrot could see the steely glint in Vimes’s eyes.
‘Well, the fact is—’ he began.
‘Yes?’
‘You see, Hamcrusher is a deep-down dwarf, sir. I mean really deep down. Hates coming to the surface. They say he lives at sub-sub-basement level…’
‘I know all that. So?’
‘So how far down does our jurisdiction go, sir?’ said Carrot.
‘What? As far down as we like!’
‘Er, does it say that anywhere, sir? Most of the dwarfs here are from Copperhead and Llamedos and Uberwald,’ said Carrot. ‘Those places have surface laws and underground laws. I know it’s not the same here but… well, it’s how they see the world. And of course Hamcrusher’s dwarfs are all deep-downers, and you know how ordinary dwarfs think about them.’
They come bloody close to worshipping them, Vimes thought, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes. It just gets worse and worse.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘But this is Ankh-Morpork and we have our own laws. There can be no harm in us just checking up on the health of brother Hamcrusher, can there? We can knock on the door, can’t we? Say we’ve got good reason to ask? I know it’s only a rumour, but if enough people believe a rumour like that we will not be able to keep a lid on it.’
‘Good idea, sir.’
‘Go and tell Angua I want her along. And… oh, Haddock. And Ringfounder, maybe. You come too, of course.’