Feet of Clay - Terry Pratchett [37]
“Oh, I see. Ooo, that’s nasty.”
“He’ll feel all right in ten minutes.” Angua skimmed the beermat across the alley.
“What was he saying about a baron?”
“I wasn’t really listening,” said Angua carefully.
Cheery shivered in the fog, but not just from the cold. “He sounded like he came from Uberwald, like us. There was a baron who lived near us and he hated people to leave.”
“Yes…”
“The whole family were werewolves. One of them ate my second cousin.”
Angua’s memory spun in a hurry. Old meals came back to haunt her from the time before she’d said, no, this is not the way to live. A dwarf, a dwarf…No, she was pretty sure she’d never…The family had always made fun of her eating habits…
“That’s why I can’t stand them,” said Cheery. “Oh, people say they can be tamed but I say, once a wolf, always a wolf. You can’t trust them. They’re basically evil, aren’t they? They could go back to the wild at any moment, I say.”
“Yes. You may be right.”
“And the worst thing is, most of the time they walk around looking just like real people.”
Angua blinked, glad of the twin disguises of the fog and Cheery’s unquestioning confidence. “Come on. We’re nearly there.”
“Where?”
“We’re going to see someone who’s either our murderer or who knows who the murderer is.”
Cheery stopped. “But you’ve got only a sword and I haven’t even got that!”
“Don’t worry, we won’t need weapons.”
“Oh, good.”
“They wouldn’t be any use.”
“Oh.”
Vimes opened his door to see what all the shouting was about down in the office. The corporal manning—or in this case dwarfing—the desk was having trouble.
“Again? How many times have you been killed this week?”
“I was minding my own business!” said the unseen complainer.
“Stacking garlic? You’re a vampire, aren’t you? I mean, let’s see what jobs you have been doing…Post sharpener for a fencing firm, sunglasses tester for Argus Opticians…Is it me, or is there some underlying trend here?”
“Excuse me, Commander Vimes?”
Vimes looked round into a smiling face that sought only to do good in the world, even if the world had other things it wanted done.
“Ah…Constable Visit, yes,” he said hurriedly. “At the moment I’m afraid I’m rather busy, and I’m not even sure that I have got an immortal soul, ha-ha, and perhaps you could call again when…”
“It’s about those words you asked me to check,” said Visit reproachfully.
“What words?”
“The ones Father Tubelcek wrote in his own blood? You said to try and find out what they meant?”
“Oh. Yes. Come on into my office.” Vimes relaxed. This wasn’t going to be another one of those painful conversations about the state of his soul and the necessity of giving it a wash and brush-up before eternal damnation set in. This was going to be about something important.
“It’s ancient Cenotine, sir. It’s out of one of their holy books, although of course when I say ‘holy’ it is a fact that they were basically misguided in a…”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” said Vimes, sitting down. “Does it by any chance say ‘Mr. X did it, aargh, aargh, aargh’?”
“No, sir. That phrase does not appear anywhere in any known holy book, sir.”
“Ah,” said Vimes.
“Besides, I looked at other documents in the room and the paper does not appear to be in the deceased’s handwriting, sir.”
Vimes brightened up. “Ah-ha! Someone else’s? Does it say something like ‘Take that, you bastard, we’ve been waiting ages to get you for what you did all those years ago’?”
“No, sir. That phrase also does not appear in any holy book anywhere,” said Constable Visit, and hesitated. “Except in the Apocrypha to The Vengeful Testament of Offler,” he added conscientiously. “These words are from the Cenotine Book of Truth,” he sniffed, “as they called it. It’s what their false god…”
“Could I just perhaps have the words and leave out the comparative religion?” said Vimes.
“Very well, sir.” Visit looked hurt, but unfolded a piece of paper and sniffed disparagingly.