Night Watch - Terry Pratchett [72]
“That’s true,” said Vimes and twisted the dead man’s head so they could see the tip of the little metal dart behind the ear. “But this is. Fred, you know everyone. Where can I get some ginger beer at this time of night?”
“Ginger beer, Sarge?”
“Yes, Fred.”
“Why do—” Colon began.
“Don’t ask, Fred. Just get half a dozen bottles, all right?”
Vimes turned to the desk on which, surrounded by a fascinated crowd, Dr. Lawn was at work on the stricken Gappy.
“How’s it going?” said Vimes, pushing though.
“Slower than it’d go if people got out of the damn light,” said Lawn, carefully moving his tweezers to a mug by Gappy’s hand and dropping a bloody fragment of glass therein. “I’ve seen worse on a Friday night. He’ll keep the use of his fingers, if that’s what you want to know. He just won’t be making any shoes for a while. Well done.”
There was approval from the crowd. Vimes looked around at the people and the coppers. There were one or two muted conversations going on; he heard phases like “bad business” and “they say that—” above the general noise.
He’d played the cards well enough. Most of the lads here lived within a street or two. It was one thing to have a go at faceless bastards in uniform, but quite another to throw stones at old Fred Colon or old Waddy or old Billy Wiglet, who you’d known since you were two years old and played Dead Rat Conkers with in the gutter.
Lawn put the tweezers down and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“That’s it,” he said wearily. “A bit of stitching and he’ll be fine.”
“And there’s some others I need you to take a look at,” said Vimes.
“You know, that comes as no surprise,” said the doctor.
“One’s got a lot of holes in his feet, one dropped through the privy roof and has got a twisted leg, and one’s dead.”
“I don’t think I can do much about the dead one,” said the doctor. “How do you know he’s dead? I realize that I may regret asking that question.”
“He’s got a broken neck from falling off a roof and I reckon he fell off because he got a steel crossbow dart in his brain.”
“Ah. That sounds like dead, if you want my medical opinion. Did you do it?”
“No!”
“Well, you’re a busy man, Sergeant. You can’t be everywhere.” The doctor’s face cracked into a grin when he saw Vimes go red, and he walked over to the corpse.
“Yes, I’d say that life is definitely extinct,” he said. “And?”
“I want you to write that down, please. On paper. With official-sounding words like ‘contusion’ and ‘abrasions.’ I want you to write that down, and I want you to write down what time you found he was dead. And then, if you don’t mind, two lads’ll take you down to look at the other two, and after you’ve treated them, thank you, I’d like you to sign another piece of paper saying you did and I called you in. Two copies of everything, please.”
“All right. Dare I ask why?”
“I don’t want anyone to say I killed him.”
“Why should anyone say that? You told me he fell off a roof!”
“These are suspicious times, Doctor. Ah, here’s Fred. Any luck?”
Corporal Colon was carrying a box. He put it down on his desk with a grunt.
“Old Mrs. Arbiter didn’t like being knocked up in the middle of the night,” he announced. “I had to give her a dollar!”
Vimes didn’t dare look at Lawn’s face.
“Really?” he said, as innocently as possible. “And you got the ginger beer?”
“Six pints of her best stuff,” said Colon. “There’s three pence back on the bottles, by the way. And…er…” He shuffled uneasily. “Er…I heard they set fire to the Watch House at Dolly Sisters, Sarge. It’s very bad up at Nap Hill, too. And, er…the Chitterling Street house got all its windows broke, and up at the Leastgate house some of the lads went out to stop kids throwing stones and, er, one of them drew his sword, Sarge…”
“And?”
“He’ll probably live, Sarge.”
Doctor Lawn looked around at the crowded office, where people were still talking. Snouty was going around with a tray of cocoa. Out in the street, some of the watchmen were standing around a makeshift fire with the remnant of the crowd.
“Well, I must say I’m impressed,” he said. “Sounds like you’re the