Jingo - Terry Pratchett [41]
“That stuff with the special oil in it cost me nearly four dollars,” said Snowy. Yet, somehow, it all seemed slightly…irrelevant now. Death happens to other people. The other person in this case had been him. That is, the one down there. Not the one standing here looking at it. In life, Snowy hadn’t even been able to spell “metaphysical,” but he was already beginning to view life in a different way. From the outside, for a start.
“Four dollars,” he repeated. “I never even had time to try it!”
IT WOULDN’T HAVE WORKED, said Death, patting the man on a fading shoulder. BUT, IF I MIGHT SUGGEST THAT YOU LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, IT WILL NO LONGER BE NECESSARY.
“No more dandruff?” said Snowy, now quite transparent and fading fast.
EVER, said Death. TRUST ME ON THIS.
Commander Vimes ran down darkened streets, trying to buckle on his breastplate as he ran.
“All right, Cheery, what’s happening?”
“They say a Klatchian killed someone, sir. There’s a mob up in Scandal Alley and it’s looking bad. I was on the desk and I thought you ought to be told, sir.”
“Right!”
“And anyway I couldn’t find Captain Carrot, sir.”
A little bit of acid ink scribbled its subtle entry on the ledger of Vimes’s soul.
“Oh, gods…so who’s the officer in charge?”
“Sergeant Detritus, sir.”
It seemed to the dwarf that she was suddenly standing still. Commander Vimes had become a rapidly disappearing blur.
With the calm expression of someone who was methodically doing his duty, Detritus picked up a man and used him to hit some other men. When he had a clear area around him and a groaning heap of former rioters, he climbed the heap and cupped his hands round his mouth.
“Listen to me, youse people!”
A troll shouting at the top of his voice could easily be heard above a riot. When he seemed to have their attention he pulled a scroll out of his breastplate and waved it over his head.
“Dis is der Riot Act,” he said. “You know what dat means? It means if’n I reads it out and youse don’t disb…disp…go away, der Watch can use deadly force, you unnerstand?”
“What did you just use, then?” moaned someone from underneath his feet.
“Dat was you helpin’ der Watch,” said Detritus, shifting his weight.
He unrolled the scroll.
Although there was some scuffling in alleyways and shouts from the next street, a ring of silence expanded outward from the troll. An almost genetic component of the citizens of Ankh-Morpork was their ability to spot an opportunity for amusement.
Detritus held the document at arm’s length. And then a few inches from his face. He tried turning it round a few times.
His lips moved uneasily.
Finally, he leaned down and showed it to Constable Visit.
“What dis word?”
“That’s ‘Whereby,’ sergeant.”
“I knew dat.”
He straightened up again.
“‘Whereby…it is…’” Beads of the troll equivalent of sweat began to form on Detritus’s forehead. “‘Whereby it is…ack-no-legg-ed…’”
“Acknowledged,” whispered Constable Visit.
“I knew dat.” Detritus stared at the paper again, and then gave up. “Youse don’t want to stand here listenin’ to me all day!” he bellowed. “Dis is der Riot Act and you’ve all got to read it, right? Pass it round.”
“What if we don’t read it?” said a voice in the crowd.
“You got to read it. It legal.”
“And then what happens?”
“Den I shoot you,” said Detritus.
“That’s not allowed!” said another voice. “You’ve got to shout ‘Stop! Armed watchman!’ first.”
“Sure, dat suits me,” said Detritus. He shrugged one huge shoulder to bring his crossbow under his arm. It was a siege bow, intended to be mounted on the cart. The bolt was six feet long. “It harder to hit runnin’ targets.”
He released the safety catch.
“Anyone finishing readin’ dat thing yet?”
“Sergeant!”
Vimes pushed his way through the crowd. And it was a crowd now. Ankh-Morpork was always a good audience.
There was a clang as Detritus saluted.
“Were you proposing to shoot these people in cold blood,