Thud (38 page)

“I do, sir, and I respect you for it, although there are those that think you are a damn silly fool.”

“Well…” Vimes said, trying to put “damn silly fool” behind him, “the fact is, I must get to Koom Valley very fast. Er…very fast indeed.”

“One might say—
magically
fast?” said Ridcully.

“As it were,” said Vimes, fidgeting. He really hated having to do this. And what
had
he sat on?

“Mmm,” said Ridcully. “But without, I imagine, any significant hocus-pocus? You appear uncomfortable, sir!”

Vimes triumphantly held up a large onion. “Sorry,” he said, tossing it aside. “No, definitely no pocus. Possibly a little hocus. I just need an edge. They’ve got a day’s start on me.”

“I see. You will be traveling alone?”

“No, there will have to be eleven of us. Two coaches.”

“My word! And disappearing in a puff of smoke to reappear elsewhere is—”

“Out of the question. I just need—”

“An edge,” said the wizard. “Yes. Something magical in its cause but not in its effect. Nothing too obvious.”

“And no chance of anyone being turned into a frog or anything like that,” said Vimes quickly.

“Of course,” said Ridcully. He clapped his hands together. “Well, Commander, I’m afraid we can’t help you. Meddling in things like this is not what wizarding is all about!” He lowered his voice and went on: “We will
particularly
not be able to help you if you have the coaches, empty, around the back in, oh, call it about an hour?”

“Oh? Er…right,” said Vimes, trying to catch up. “You’re not going to make them fly or anything, are you?”

“We’re not going to do anything, Commander!” said Ridcully jovially, slapping him on the back. “I thought that was agreed! And I think also that you should leave now, although, of course, you have, in fact, not been here. And neither have I. I say, this spying business is pretty clever, eh?”

When Vimes was gone, Mustrum Ridcully sat back, lit his pipe, and, as an afterthought, used the last of the match to light the candle lantern on the potting table. The gardener could get pretty acerbic if people messed about with his shed, so perhaps he ought to tidy up a bit—

He stared at the floor, where a tumbled hosepipe and a fallen onion made what looked, at a casual glance, like a large eyeball with a tail.

T
he rain cooled
Vimes down. It had cooled down the streets,
too. You have to be really keen to riot in the rain. Besides, news of last night had got around. No one was
sure
, of course, and such were the effects of Fluff and Big Hammer that a large if elementary school of thought had been left uncertain about what really happened. They woke up feeling bad, right?
Something
must have happened. And tonight the rain was setting in, so maybe it was better to stay in the pub.

He walked through the wet, whispering darkness, mind ablaze.

How fast could those dwarfs travel? Some of them sounded pretty old. But they’d be
tough
and old. Even so, the roads in that direction were none too good, and a body could only stand so much shaking.

And Sybil was taking Young Sam. That was stupid, except that it…wasn’t stupid, not after dwarfs had broken into your home. Home was where you had to feel safe. If you didn’t feel safe, it wasn’t home. Against all common sense, he agreed with Sybil. Home was where they were together. She’d already sent off an urgent clacks to some old chum of hers who lived near the valley; she seemed to think it was going to be some kind of family outing.

There was a group of dwarfs hanging around on a corner, heavily armed. Maybe the bars were all full, or maybe they needed cooling down, too. No law against hanging around, right?

Wrong, growled Vimes as he drew nearer. Come along, boys. Say something wrong. Lay hold of a weapon. Move slightly. Breathe loudly. Give me something that could be stretched to “in self-defense.” It’d be my word against yours, and believe me, lads, I’m unlikely to leave you capable of saying a single damn
thing
.

The dwarfs took one clear look at the approaching vision, haloed in torchlight and mist, and took to their heels.

Right!

T
he entity known
as the Summoning Dark sped through streets
of eternal night, past misty buildings of memory that wavered at its passage. It was getting there, it was getting there. It was having to change the habits of millennia, but it was finding ways in, even if they were no bigger than keyholes. It had never had to work this hard before, never had to move this fast. It was…exhilarating.

But always, when it paused by some grating or unguarded chimney, it heard the pursuit. It was slow, but it never stopped following. Sooner or later, it would catch up.

G
rag Bashfullsson
lodged in a subdivided cellar in Cheap
Street. The rent wasn’t much, but he had to admit that neither was the accommodation: he could lie on his very narrow bed and touch all four walls or, rather, three walls and a heavy curtain that separated his little space from that of the family of nineteen dwarfs that occupied the rest of the cellar. But meals were included, and they respected his privacy. It was something, to have a grag as a lodger, even if this one seemed rather young and showed his face. It still impressed the neighbors.

On the other side of the curtain, children were squabbling, a baby was crying, and there was the smell of rat-and-cabbage casserole. Someone was sharpening an axe. And someone else was snoring. For a dwarf in Ankh-Morpork, solitude was something that you had to cultivate on the inside.

Books and papers filled the space that wasn’t bed. Bashfullsson’s desk was a board laid across his knees. He was reading a battered book, its cover cracked and moldy, and the runes passing under his eye said: “It has no strength in this world. To fulfill any purpose, the Dark must find a champion, a living creature it can bend to its will…”

Bashfullsson sighed. He’d read the phrase a dozen times, hoping he could make it mean something other than the obvious. He copied the words into his notebook anyway. Then he put the notebook in his satchel, swung the satchel onto his back, went and paid Toin Footstamper two weeks’ rent in advance, and stepped out into the rain.

V
imes didn’t remember
going to sleep. He didn’t remember
sleeping. He surfaced from darkness when Carrot shook him awake.

“The coaches are in the yard, Mister Vimes!”

“Fwisup?” murmured Vimes, blinking in the light.

“I’ve told people to load them up, sir, but—”

“But what?” Vimes sat up.

“I think you’d better come and see, sir.”

W
hen Vimes
stepped out into the damp dawn, two coaches
were indeed standing in the yard. Detritus was idly watching the loading, while leaning on the Piecemaker.

Carrot hurried over when he saw the commander.

“It’s the wizards, sir,” he said. “They’ve done something.”

The coaches looked normal enough to Vimes, and he said so.

“Oh, they
look
fine,” said Carrot. He reached down and put his hand on the doorsill, and added: “But they
do
this.”

He lifted the laden coach over his head.

“You shouldn’t be able to do that,” said Vimes.

“That’s right, sir,” said Carrot, lowering the coach gently onto the cobbles. “It doesn’t get any heavier with people inside, either. And if you come over here, sir, they’ve done something to the horses, too.”

“Any idea
what
they’ve done, Captain?”

“None whatsoever, sir. The coaches were just outside the university. Haddock and I drove them down here. Very light, of course. It’s the harnesses that are worrying me. See here, sir.”

“I see the leather’s very thick,” said Vimes. “And what’re all these copper knobs? Something magical?”

“Could be, sir. Something happens at thirteen miles an hour. I don’t know what.” Carrot patted the side of the coach, which slid away.

“The thing is, sir, I don’t know how much of an edge this gives you.”

“What? Surely a weightless coach would—”

“Oh, it’ll help, sir, especially on the inclines. But horses can only go so fast for so long, sir, and once they’ve got the coach moving, it’s a rolling weight and not so much of a problem.”

“Thirteen miles an hour,” Vimes mused. “Hmm. That’s pretty fast.”

“Well, the mail coaches are getting nine or ten miles an hour average on many runs now,” said Carrot. “But the roads will get a lot worse when you get near Koom Valley.”

“You don’t think it’ll take wing, do you?”

“I think the wizards would have said so if it was going to do something like that, sir. But it’s funny you should mention it, because there’s seven broomsticks nailed underneath each coach.”

“What? Why don’t they just float out of the yard?”

“Magic, sir. I think they just compensate for the weight.”

“Good grief, yes. Why didn’t I think of that?” said Vimes sourly. “And that’s why I don’t like magic, Captain. ’cos it’s
magic
. You can’t ask questions, it’s magic. It doesn’t explain anything, it’s magic. You don’t know where it comes from, it’s magic! That’s what I don’t like about magic, it does everything by magic!”

“That’s the significant factor, sir, there’s no doubt about it,” said Carrot. “I’ll just see to the last of the packing, if you’ll excuse me…”

Vimes glared at the coaches. He probably shouldn’t have brought in the wizards, but where was the choice? Oh, they could probably have sent Sam Vimes all that way in a puff of smoke and the blink of an eye, but who’d actually arrive there, and who’d come back? How would he know if it was him? He was certain that people were not supposed to disappear like that.

Sam Vimes had always been, by nature, a pedestrian. That’s why he was also going to take Willikins, who knew how to drive. He’d also demonstrated to Vimes his ability to throw a common fish knife so hard that it was quite difficult to pull out of the wall. At times like this, Vimes liked to see a skill like that in a butler—

“’S’cuse me, sir,” said Detritus, behind him. “Could I have a word, pers’nal?”

“Yes. Of course,” said Vimes.

“I, er, hope what I said yesterday inna cells wasn’t goin’ too—”

“Can’t remember a word of it,” said Vimes.

Detritus look relieved. “Thank you, sir. Er…I want to take young Brick with us, sir. He’s got no kin here, doesn’t even know what clan he is. He’ll only get messed up again if I take my eye off’f him. An’ he’s never seen der mountains. Never been ouside der city, even!”

There was a pleading look in the troll’s eyes. Vimes recollected that his marriage to Ruby was happy but childless.

“Well, we don’t seem to have a weight problem,” he said. “All right. But you’re to keep an eye on him, okay?”

The troll beamed. “Yessir! I’ll see you don’t regret it, sir!”

“Breakfast, Sam!” called Sybil, from the doorway. A nasty suspicion gripped Vimes, and he hurried over to the other coach, where Carrot was strapping on the last bag.

“Who packed the food? Did Sybil pack the food?” he said.

“I think so, sir.”

“Was there…fruit?” said Vimes, probing the horror.

“I believe so, sir. Quite a lot. And vegetables.”

“
Some
bacon, surely?” Vimes was nearly begging. “Very good for a long journey, bacon. It travels well.”

“I think it’s staying at home today,” said Carrot. “I have to tell you, sir, that Lady Sybil has found out about the bacon sandwich arrangement. She said to tell you the game was up, sir.”

“I
am
the commander around here, you know,” said Vimes, with as much hauteur as he could muster on an empty stomach.

“Yes, sir. But Lady Sybil has a very quiet way of being firm, sir.”

“She
has
, hasn’t she,” said Vimes as they strolled toward the building. “I’m a very lucky man, you know,” he added, just in case Carrot may have got the wrong impression.

“Yes, sir. You are indeed.”

“Captain!”

They turned. Someone was hurrying through the gate. He had two swords strapped to his back.

“Ah, Special Constable Hancock,” said Carrot, stepping forward. “Do you have something for me?”

“Er…yes, Captain.” Hancock looked nervously at Vimes.

“This
is
official business, Andy,” said Vimes reassuringly.

“Not much to give you, sir. But I asked around, and a young lady sent at least two self-coded droppers to Bonk in the last week. That means it goes to the main tower there and gets handed over to whoever turns up with the right authorization. We don’t have to know who they are.”

“Well done,” said Carrot. “Any description?”

“Young lady with short hair is the best I could get. Signed the message ‘Aicalas.’ ”

Vimes burst out laughing. “Well, that’s about it. Thank you, Special Constable Hancock, very much.”

“Crime and the clacks is going to be a growing problem,” said Carrot sadly, when they were alone again.

“Quite likely, Captain,” said Vimes. “But here and now we know that our Sally is not being straight with us.”

“We can’t be
certain
it’s her, sir,” said Carrot.

“Oh no?” said Vimes happily. “This quite cheers me up. It’s one of the lesser-known failings of the vampire. No one knows why they do it. It goes with having big windows and easily torn curtains. A sort of undeath wish, you might say. However clever they are, they can’t resist thinking that no one will recognize their name if they spell it
backwards
. Let’s go.”