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it was good to hand the lads something to be proud of for a change. All in all, it was
definitely a Result.
He stared at the plinth. He didn't remember what statue had once been there. It
celebrated generations of graffiti artists now.
A piece of troll graffiti adorned it, obliterating everything done by the artists who used
mere paint. He read:
MR SHINE
HIM DIAMOND
Mine sign, city scrawl, he thought. Things go bad, and people are moved to write on
the walls...
'Commander!'
He turned. Captain Carrot, armour gleaming, was hurrying towards him, his face as
usual radiating an expression of 100 per cent pure Keen.
'I thought I told every officer not on prisoner duty to get some sleep, captain,' said
Vimes.
'Just clearing up a few things, sir,' said Carrot. 'Lord Vetinari sent a message down to
the Yard. He wants a report. I thought I'd better tell you, sir.'
'I was just thinking, captain,' said Vimes expansively. 'Should we put up a little
plaque? Something simple? It could say something like "Battle of Koom Valley Not
Fought Here, Grune the 5th, Year of the Prawn." Could we get them to do a bloody
stamp? What do you think?'
'I think you need to get some sleep yourself, commander,' said Carrot. 'And
technically, it isn't Koom Valley Day until Saturday.'
'Of course, monuments to battles that didn't take place might be stretching things a
bit, but a stamp-'
'Lady Sybil really worries about you, sir.' Carrot broadcast concern.
The fizz in Vimes's head subsided. As if awakened by the reference to Sybil, the
creditors of his body queued up to wave their overdue IOUs; feet: dead tired and in
need of a bath; stomach: gurgling; ribs: on fire; back: aching; brain: drunk on its own
poisons. Bath, sleep, eat good ideas. But still must do things
'How's our Mr Pessimal?' he said.
'Igor's fixed him up, sir. He's a bit amazed at all the fuss. Now, I know I can't order
you to go and see his lordship-'
'No, you can't, because I am a commander, captain,' said Vimes, still fuzzily
intoxicated on exhaustion.
'-but he can and he has, sir. And your coach will be waiting for you outside the palace
when you come out. That's Lady Sybil's orders, sir,' said Carrot, appealing to higher
authority.
Vimes looked up at the ugly bulk of the palace. Suddenly, clean sheets seemed such
a sweet idea. 'Can't face him like this,' he murmured.
'I had a word with Secretary Drumknott, sir. Hot water, a razor and a big cup of coffee
will be waiting in the palace.'
'You thought of everything, Carrot'
'I hope so, sir. Now off you-'
'But I thought of something, eh?' said Vimes, swaying cheerfully. 'Better dead drunk
than just dead, eh?'
'It was a classic ruse, sir,' said Carrot reassuringly. 'One for the history books. Now,
off you go, sir. I'm going to have a look for Angua. She hasn't slept in her bed.'
'But at this time of the month-'
'I know, sir. She hasn't slept in her basket, either.
In a dank cellar that once was an attic and was now half full of mud, the vurms
poured out of a small hole where wooden planks had long since rotted away.
A fist punched up. Soggy timber split and crumbled.
Angua pulled herself up into this new darkness, then reached down to help Sally,
who said, 'Well, here's another fine mess.
'Let's hope so,' said Angua. 'I think we need to go up at least one more level. There's
an archway here. Come on.'
There had been too many dead ends, forgotten, stinking rooms and false hopes, and
altogether too much slime.
After a while the smell had become almost tangible and then it managed to become
just another part of the darkness. The women wandered and scrambled from one
dripping, fetid room to another, testing the muddy walls for hidden doors, searching
for even a pinprick of light in the ceilings hanging with interesting but horrible
growths.
Now, they heard music. Five minutes' wading and slithering brought them to a
blocked-in doorway, but since it had been filled using the more modern Ankh-
Morpork mortar of sand, horse dung and vegetable peelings, several bricks had
already fallen out. Sally removed most of the rest with one punch.
'Sorry about that,' she said. 'It's a vampire thing.'
The cellar behind the demolished wall had some barrels in it and looked as if it was
regularly used. There was a proper door, too.
Dull, repetitive music filtered down between the boards of the ceiling. There was a
trap door in them.
'O-kay,' said Angua. 'There's people up there, I can smell them-'
'I can count fifty-seven hearts beating,' said Sally.
Angua gave her a Look. 'You know, that's one particular talent I'd keep to myself, if I
was you,' she said.
'Sorry, sergeant.'
'It's not the sort of thing people want to hear,' Angua went on. 'I mean, I personally
am quite capable of cracking a man's skull in my jaws, but I don't go around telling
everyone.'
'I shall make a note of it, sergeant,' said Sally, with a meekness that was quite
possibly feigned.
'Good. Now what do we look like? Swamp monsters?'
'Yes, sergeant. Your hair looks dreadful. Just like a great lump of
green slime.'
'Green?'
'I'm afraid so.'
'And my emergency dress is back down there somewhere,' said
Angua. 'It's past dawn, too. Can you, er, go bats now?'
'In daylight? One hundred and fifty-five disorientated bits of me? No! But you could
get out as a wolf, couldn't you?'
'I'd kind of prefer not to be a slime monster coming through thefloor, if it's all the
same to you,' said Angua.
'Yes, I can see that. It does not pay to advertise.' Sally flicked away a lump of ooze.
'Ugh, this stuff is foul.'
'So the best we can hope for is that when we make a run for it no one will recognize
us,' said Angua, pulling a lump of wobbly green stuff from her hair. 'At least we- Oh,
no'
'What's wrong?' said Sally.
'Nobby Nobbs! He's up there! I can smell him!' She pointed urgently at the boards
overhead.
'You mean Corporal Nobbs? The little man with the spots?' said Sally.
'We're not under a Watch House, are we?' said Angua, looking around in panic.
'I don't think so. Someone's dancing, by the sound of it. But look, how can you smell
one human in the middle of all this?'
'It never leaves you, believe me.' The smells of old cabbage, acne ointment and non-
malignant skin disease became transmuted, in Corporal Nobbs, into a strange odour
that lay across the nose like a saw blade on a harp. It wasn't bad as such, but it was
like its host: strange, ubiquitous and hellishly difficult to forget.
'Well, he's a fellow officer, isn't he? Won't he help us?' said Sally.
'We are naked, lance-constable!'
'Only technically. This mud really sticks.'
'I mean underneath the mud!' said Angua.
'Yes, but if we had clothes on we'd be naked underneath them, too!' Sally pointed
out.
'This is not the time for logic! This is the time for not seeing Nobby grinning at me!'
'But he's seen you when you're wolf-shaped, hasn't he?' said Sally. 'So?' snapped
Angua.
'Well, technically you're naked then, aren't you?'
'Never tell him that!'
Nobby Nobbs, a shadow in the warm red gloom, nudged Sergeant Colon.
'You don't have to keep your eyes shut, sarge,' he said. 'It's all legit. It's an artistic
celebration of the female body, Tawneee says. Anyway, she's got clothes on.'
'Two tassels and a folded hanky is not clothes, Nobby,' said Fred, sinking down in his
seat. The Pink PussyCat! Now, fair's fair, he'd been in the army and Watch and you [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]