Jingo - Terry Pratchett [34]
Angua and Carrot stared at the arrow the gargoyle held in his hand.
“Ah, well done,” said Vimes, in the same even voice. “Where did you find it, Downspout?”
Downspout spluttered a series of guttural syllables only pronounceable by someone with a mouth shaped like a pipe.
“In the wall on the second floor of the dress shop in the Plaza of Broken Moons,” Carrot translated.
“eshk,” said Downspout.
“That’s barely halfway to Sator Square, sir.”
“Yes,” said Vimes. “A small weak man trying to pull a heavy bow, the arrow wobbling all over the place…Thank you very much, Downspout. There will be an extra pigeon for you this week.”
“nkorr,” said Downspout, and clambered back out of the window.
“Excuse me, sir?” said Angua. She took the arrow from Vimes and, closing her eyes, sniffed at it gingerly.
“Oh, yes…Ossie,” she said. “All over it…”
“Thank you, corporal. It’s as well to be sure.”
Carrot took the arrow from the werewolf and looked at it critically. “Huh. Peacock feathers and a plated point. It’s the sort of thing an amateur buys because he thinks it’ll magically improve his shot. Showy.”
“Right,” said Vimes. “You, Carrot, and you, Angua…you’re on the case.”
“Sir, I don’t understand,” said Carrot. “I am perplexed. I thought you said Fred and Nobby were investigating this?”
“Yes,” said Vimes.
“But—”
“Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs are investigating why the late Ossie tried to kill the Prince. And do you know what? They’re going to find lots of clues. I just know it. I can feel it in my water.”
“But we know he couldn’t—” said Carrot.
“Isn’t this fun?” said Vimes. “I don’t want you to get in Fred’s way. Just…ask around. Try Done It Duncan, or Sidney Lopsides, hah, there’s a man with his ear to the ground all right. Or the Agony Aunts, or Lily Goodtime. Or Mr. Slider, haven’t seen him around for a while, but—”
“He’s dead, sir,” said Carrot.
“What, Smelly Slider? When?”
“Last month, sir. He got hit by a falling bedstead. Freak accident, sir.”
“No one told me.”
“You were busy, sir. But you put some money in the envelope when Fred brought it round, sir. Ten dollars, which Fred remarked was very generous.”
Vimes sighed. Oh, yes, the envelopes. Fred was always wandering around with an envelope these days. Someone was always leaving, or some friend of the Watch was in trouble, or there was a raffle, or the tea money was low again, or some complicated explanation…so Vimes just put some money in. Simplest way.
Old Smelly Slider…
“You should’ve mentioned it,” he said reproachfully.
“You’ve been working hard, sir.”
“Any other street news you haven’t mentioned, captain?”
“Not that I can think of, sir.”
“All right. Well…see which way the wind is blowing. Very carefully. And—trust no one.”
Carrot looked worried.
“Er…I can trust Angua, can’t I?” he said.
“Well, of course you—”
“And you, presumably.”
“Me, well, obviously. That goes without say—”
“Corporal Littlebottom? She can be very helpful—”
“Cheery, yes, certainly you can trust—”
“Sergeant Detritus? I always thought he was very trust—”
“Detritus, oh yes, he—”
“Nobby? Should I—”
“Carrot, I understand what he means,” said Angua, tugging his arm.
Carrot looked a little crestfallen. “I’ve never liked…you know, underhand things,” he mumbled.
“I don’t want any written reports,” said Vimes, grateful for that small mercy. “This is…unofficial. But officially unofficial, if you see what I mean.”
Angua nodded. Carrot just stayed looking dismal.
She’s a werewolf, thought Vimes, of course she understands. And you’d think a man who is technically a dwarf’d be able to fold his head around the idea of subterfuge.
“Look, just…listen to the streets,” said Vimes. “The streets know everything. Talk to…Blind Hugh—”
“I’m afraid he passed away last month,” said Carrot.
“Did he? No one told me!”
“I thought I sent you a memo, sir.”
Vimes glanced guiltily at his overloaded desk, and then shrugged.
“Have a quiet look at things. Get to the bottom of things. And trust no—Trust practically no