Feet of Clay - Terry Pratchett [119]
The vampire looked puzzled, and then turned his head and stared at the candles. “You…put something in the candles? Really?”
“We…knew garlic…would smell but…our alchemist reckoned that…if you get…holy water…soak the wicks…water evaporates…just leaves holiness.”
The pressure was released. Dragon King of Arms sat back on his haunches. His face had changed, shaping itself forward, giving him an expression like a fox.
Then he shook his head. “No,” he said, and this time it was his turn to grin. “No, that’s just words. That wouldn’t work…”
“Bet…your…unlife?” rasped Vimes, rubbing his neck. “A better way…than old Carry went, eh?”
“Trying to trick me into an admission, Mr. Vimes?”
“Oh, I had that,” said Vimes. “When you looked straight at the candles.”
“Really? Ah-ah. But who else saw me?” said Dragon.
From the shadows there was a rumble like a distant thunderstorm.
“I Did,” said Dorfl.
The vampire looked from the golem to Vimes.
“You gave one of them a voice?” he said.
“Yes,” said Dorfl. He reached down and picked up the vampire in one hand. “I Could Kill You,” he said. “This Is An Option Available To Me As A Free-Thinking Individual But I Will Not Do So Because I Own Myself And I Have Made A Moral Choice.”
“Oh, gods,” murmured Vimes under his breath.
“That’s blasphemy”, said the vampire.
He gasped as Vimes shot him a glance like sunlight. “That’s what people say when the voiceless speak. Take him away, Dorfl. Put him in the palace dungeons.”
“I Could Take No Notice Of That Command But Am Choosing To Do So Out Of Earned Respect And Social Responsibility—”
“Yes, yes, fine,” said Vimes quickly.
Dragon clawed at the golem. He might as well have kicked at a mountain.
“Undead Or Alive, You Are Coming With Me,” said Dorfl.
“Is there no end to your crimes? You’ve made this thing a policeman?” said the vampire, struggling as Dorfl dragged him away.
“No, but it’s an intriguing suggestion, don’t you think?” said Vimes.
He was left alone in the thick velvety gloom of the Royal College.
And Vetinari will let him go, he reflected. Because this is politics. Because he’s part of the way the city works. Besides, there’s the matter of evidence. I’ve got enough to prove it to myself, but…
But I’ll know, he told himself.
Oh, he’ll be watched, and maybe one day when Vetinari is ready a really good assassin will be sent with a wooden dagger soaked in garlic, and it’ll all be done in the dark. That’s how politics works in this city. It’s a game of chess. Who cares if a few pawns die?
I’ll know. And I’ll be the only one who knows, deep down.
His hands automatically patted his pockets for a cigar.
It was hard enough to kill a vampire. You could stake them down and turn them into dust and ten years later someone drops a drop of blood in the wrong place and guess who’s back? They returned more times than raw broccoli.
These were dangerous thoughts, he knew. They were the kind that crept up on a Watchman when the chase was over and it was just you and him, facing one another in that breathless little pinch between the crime and the punishment.
And maybe a Watchman had seen civilization with the skin ripped off one time too many and stopped acting like a Watchman and started acting like a normal human being and realized that the click of the crossbow or the sweep of the sword would make all the world so clean.
And you couldn’t think like that, even about vampires. Even though they’d take the lives of other people because little lives don’t matter and what the hell can we take away from them?
And, too, you couldn’t think like that because they gave you a sword and a badge and that turned you into something else and that had to mean there were some thoughts you couldn’t think.
Only crimes could take place in darkness. Punishment had to be done in the light. That was the job of a good Watchman, Carrot always said. To light a candle in the dark.
He found a cigar. Now his hands did the