Night Watch - Terry Pratchett [135]
“I do have my own informants, you know,” said Snapcase. “It has caused rather a stir, has it not? Some fellow put together a rather smart defense force, cut us off from the vital organs of the city, broke up Captain Swing’s organization, and has withstood the best attacks that could be made against him. And he is a sergeant, I hear.”
“May I suggest that a promotion is in order?” said Madam.
“I was thinking exactly the same thing,” said Snapcase, his little eyes gleaming. “And then there is the question of his men. Loyal, are they?”
“Apparently, sir,” said Madam. She exchanged a puzzled glance with Doctor Follett.
Snapcase sighed. “On the other hand, a soldier can hardly be punished for loyalty to a senior officer, especially in these difficult times. There is no reason to take formal action against them.”
Eyes met again. They all felt it, the sense of the world slipping.
“But not Keel, however,” said Snapcase, standing up and removing a snuffbox from his waistcoat. “Think about it, I pray you. What ruler could tolerate the existence of such a man? He did all that in just a few days? I dread to think what he might take it into his head to do tomorrow. These are delicate times. Are we to be hostage to every whim of a mere sergeant? We do not need someone like Keel doing things his way. Besides, you know, the Particulars could have been useful to us. Suitably reeducated, obviously.”
“I thought you said you wanted to promote him?” said Doctor Follett bluntly.
Lord Snapcase took a pinch of snuff and blinked once or twice.
“Yes,” he said. “Promote him, as they say, to glory.”
The crowd in the room was silent. One or two of its members were horrified. Some were impressed. You didn’t stay at the top in Ankh-Morpork without developing a certain pragmatic approach to life, and Snapcase seemed to have got a grip on that with commendable speed.
“The barricade is coming down?” said the Patrician, shutting the snuffbox with a click.
“Yes, my lord,” said Doctor Follett. “Because of the general amnesty,” he added, just to make sure the word was repeated. The Guild of Assassins had a code of honor as well as rules; it was an odd code, carefully constructed to fit their needs, but it was a code nonetheless. You didn’t kill the unprotected or the servants, you did it up close, and you kept your word. This was appalling.
“Capital,” said Snapcase. “Ideal time. Streets full. Much confusion. Unreconstructed elements, vital message not passed on, right hand not knowing what right hand doing, difficulties of the situation, regrettable. No, my dear Doctor, I do not intend to make any demands on your Guild. Fortunately, there are those whose loyalty to the city is a little less…conditional. Yes. And now, please, there is much to be done. I shall look forward to meeting you all later.”
The crowd was ushered politely but firmly out of the room, and the doors shut behind it.
“It seems we’re back at school,” muttered Doctor Follett as they were swept along the corridor.
“Ave! Duci novo, similis duci seneci,” murmured Mr. Slant drily, as only a zombie can manage. “Or, as we used to say at school, ‘Ave! Bossa nova, similis bossa seneca!’” He gave a little schoolmasterly laugh. He felt at home with dead languages. “Of course, grammatically that is completely—”
“And that means…?” said Madam.
“‘Here comes the new boss, same as the old boss,’” muttered Doctor Follett.
“I counsel patience,” said Slant. “He’s new in the job. He may settle into it. The city is good at working around problems. Give him time.”
“And we want someone who is decisive,” said someone in the hurrying crowd.
“We wanted someone who decides the right things,” said Madam. She elbowed her way to the front of the crowd, hurried down the main staircase, and darted into an anteroom.
Miss Palm stood up as she came in.
“Have they—” she began.
“Where’s Havelock?” Madam demanded.
“Here,” said Vetinari, detaching himself from a shadow by the curtains.
“Take my coach. Find Keel. Warn him. Snapcase wants him dead!”
“But where is—” Madam pointed a threatening,