The Fifth Elephant - Terry Pratchett [7]
“…but, in Uberwald, they are ethnic majorities,” said Lord Vetinari. “All three officers come from there originally, I believe. Their presence will speak volumes.”
“So far it hasn’t sent me a postcard,” said Vimes. “I’d rather take—”
“Sir, it will show people in Uberwald that Ankh-Morpork is a multicultural society, you see?” said Carrot.
“Oh, I see. ‘People like us.’ People you can do business with,” said Vimes, glumly.
“Sometimes,” Vetinari said, testily, “it really does seem to me that the culture of cynicism in the Watch is…is…”
“Insufficient?” said Vimes. There was silence. “All right,” he sighed, “I’d better go off and polish the knobs on my coronet, hadn’t I?”
“The ducal coronet, if I remember my heraldry, does not have knobs on. It is decidedly…spiky,” said the Patrician, pushing across the desk of small pile of papers topped by a gold-edged invitation card. “Good. I will have a…a clacks sent immediately. You will be more fully briefed later. Do give my regards to the duchess. And now, please do not let me detain you further…”
“He always says that,” muttered Vimes, as the two men hurried down the stairs. “He knows I don’t like being married to a duchess.”
“I thought you and Lady Sybil—”
“Oh, being married to Sybil is fine, fine,” said Vimes hurriedly. “It’s just the duchess bit I don’t like. Where is everyone tonight?”
“Corporal Littlebottom’s on pigeon duty, Detritus is on night patrol with Swires, and Angua’s on special duty in the Shades, sir. You remember? With Nobby?”
“Oh gods, yes. Well, when they come in tomorrow you’d better get them to report to me. Incidentally, get that bloody wig off Nobby and hide it, will you?” Vimes leafed through the paperwork. “I’ve never heard of the Low King of the Dwarfs. I thought that ‘king’ in Dwarfish just meant a sort of senior engineer.”
“Ah, well, the Low King is rather special,” said Carrot.
“Why?”
“Well, it all starts with the Scone of Stone, sir.”
“The what?”
“Would you mind a little detour on the way back to the Yard, sir? It’ll make things clearer.”
The young woman stood on a corner of the Shades. Her general stance indicated that she was, in the specialized patois of the area, a lady in waiting. To be more precise a lady in waiting for Mr. Right, or at least Mr. Right Amount.
She idly swung her handbag.
This was a very recognizable signal, for anyone with the brains of a pigeon. A member of the Thieves’ Guild would have passed carefully by on the other side of the lane, giving her nothing more than a gentlemanly and above all nonaggressive nod. Even the less-polite freelance thieves that lurked in this area would have thought twice before eyeing the handbag. The Seamstresses’ Guild operated a very swift and nonreversible kind of justice.
The skinny body of Done It Duncan however, did not have the brains of a pigeon. The little man had been watching the bag like a cat for fully five minutes, and now the very thought of its contents had hypnotized him. He could practically taste the money. He rose on his toes, lowered his head, dashed out of the alley, grabbed the bag and got several inches before the world exploded behind him and he ended up flat in the mud.
Something right by his ear started to drool. And there was a long, very long drawn out growl, not changing in tone at all, just unrolling a deep promise of what would happen if he tried to move.
He heard footsteps, and out of the corner of his eyes saw a swirl of lace.
“Oh, Done It,” said a voice. “Bag snatching? That’s a bit low, isn’t it? Even for you? You could’ve got really hurt. It’s only Duncan, miss. He’ll be no trouble. You can let him up.”
The weight was removed from Duncan’s back. He heard something pad off into the gloom of an alley.
“I done it, I done it,” said the little thief desperately, as Corporal Nobbs helped him to his feet.
“Yes, I know you did. I saw you,” said Nobby. “And you know what’d happen to you if the Thieves’ Guild spotted you? You’d be dead in the river with no time off for good behavior.”
“They hate me ’cos I’m so good,” said