Night Watch - Terry Pratchett [77]
He put a hand on Ferret’s shoulder and gently walked him around into the next cellar, where Todzy and Muffer were sitting gagged, bound and livid with rage. On a table nearby was a box containing six bottles of ginger beer. The corks were heavily wired down.
Ferret stared at Vimes, who inserted a finger in his mouth, blew up his cheeks and flicked out the finger with a loud pop.
Waddy hissed between his teeth.
Fred Colon opened his mouth but Vimes clamped his hand over it.
“No, don’t,” he said. “Funny thing, Gerald, but Fred here just screams out loud at times for no reason at all.”
“You tricked me!” Ferret wailed.
Vimes patted him on the shoulder.
“Trick?” he growled. “How so, Gerald?”
“You made me think you were doing the ginger-beer trick!”
“Ginger-beer trick?” said Vimes, his brow wrinkling. “What’s that?”
“You know! You brought the stuff down here!”
“We don’t drink alcohol on duty, Gerald. What’s wrong with a little ginger beer? We don’t know any tricks with the stuff, Gerald. What tricks do you know? Seen any good tricks lately, Gerald? Do tell!”
At last it dawned on the Ferret that he should stop talking. It was about half an hour too late. The expressions on what could be seen of the faces of Todzy and Muffer suggested that they wanted a very personal word with him.
“I demand protective custody,” he managed.
“Just when I’m letting you go, Gerald?” said Vimes. “As you said in your statement…what was it, Fred? Something about just obeying orders? All that stuff about mixing with the mobs and throwing things at coppers and soldiers, you didn’t want to do that, I know. You didn’t like being round in Cable Street watching people being beaten up and being told what to confess to, ’cos it’s plain to me that you’re not that sort. You’re small fry, I understand that. I say we’ll call it quits, how about you?”
“Please! I’ll tell you all I know!” Ferret squeaked.
“You mean you haven’t?” Vimes roared. He spun around and grabbed a bottle.
“Yes! No! I mean, if I sit quiet I’m sure I’ll remember some more!”
Vimes held his gaze for a moment, and then dropped the bottle back in the crate.
“All right,” he said. “It’ll be a dollar a day, meals extra.”
“Right you are, sir!”
Vimes watched Ferret scuttle back into his cell and shut the door behind him. Vimes turned to Fred and Waddy.
“Go and wake up Marilyn,” he said. “Let’s deliver the other three.”
The rain was falling steadily and a thin mist filled Cable Street.
The wagon came out of nowhere. Fred had urged Marilyn into something approaching a canter down the street, and when the horse came around the corner she was trying to keep ahead of the heavy, rumbling cart behind.
As the hurry-up wagon passed the station, the rear door was flung open and two bodies tumbled out onto the wet cobbles.
The guards rushed forward. One or two of them fired after the retreating cart, and the arrows clattered harmlessly off the black iron strips.
The other men approached the tied-up bodies with some care. There were groans, punctuated by swearwords. And, pinned to one man, some paperwork.
They read the note. They did not laugh.
Vimes unharnessed the old horse, rubbed her down, and checked on her feed. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the feed bins seemed to be filling up in the last day or two. Guilty consciences were at work, maybe.
Then he walked out into the cool night air. The lights were on in the Watch House. It was a beacon, now that the street lamps had been doused. Beyond the walls of the yard the real night had closed in, the old night with its tendrils of fog and crawling shadows. He relaxed and wore it like an overcoat.
A shadow near the gate was deeper than it ought to be.
He felt for his cigar case again, cursed, and pulled a cigar out of his shirtsleeve. He cupped his hands when he lit it, but kept his eyes tight shut to hold the night vision.
Then he looked up and blew a smoke ring. Yes. Everyone thought black didn’t show up at night. They were wrong.
He walked over to shut the gate and then pulled out his sword