The Fifth Elephant - Terry Pratchett [89]
She took the paper and read it.
“Er…it appears to be a ransom note, sir. From…the Sons of Agi Hammerthief. They say they have the Scone and will…they say they’ll destroy it, sir.”
“Where’s the money?” said Vimes.
“No money, sir. They say Rhys must renounce all claim to be Low King.”
“There are no other conditions,” said Dee. “The note turned up on my desk. But everyone puts paperwork on my desk these days.”
“Who are the Sons of Agi Hammerthief?” said Vimes, looking at Dee. “And why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“We don’t know. It is just a made-up name. Some…malcontents, we assume. And I was told you would ask me questions.”
“But this isn’t a real crime anymore, is it?” said Vimes. “This is politics. Why can’t the king just renounce all claim, get the Scone back, and then say he had his fingers crossed? If it’s done under duress—”
“We take our ceremonies seriously, Your Excellency. If Rhys renounces the throne, he cannot change his mind the next day. If he allows the Scone to be destroyed, then the kingship has no legitimacy and there will—”
“—be trouble,” said Vimes. And it’ll spread to Ankh-Morpork, he added to himself. At the moment it’s only riots.
“Who’ll become king if he abdicates?”
“Albrecht Albrechtson, as everyone knows.”
“And that will be trouble, too,” said Vimes. “Civil war, from what I hear.”
“The king says,” said Dee quietly, “that he intends to step down nevertheless. Better any king than chaos. Dwarfs do not like chaos.”
“It’s going to be chaos either way, though,” said Vimes.
“There have been rebellions against kings before. Dwarfdom survives. The crown continues. The lore abides. The Stone remains. There is…a sanity to come back to.”
Oh, my gods, thought Vimes. Thousands of dwarfs die but that’s all right if a lump of rock survives. “I’m not a policeman here. What can I do?”
“This hasn’t happened!” shrieked Dee, his nerve cracking. “But everyone knows foreigners from Ankh-Morpork do not mind their own business!”
“Ah…you mean…given that you don’t want people to know about this…it would look bad if you appeared to be too excited…but you can’t be blamed if a stupid flatfoot pokes his nose into things…?”
Dee waved his hands in the air. “This wasn’t my idea!”
“Look, the security you have got here would disgrace a child’s piggy bank. I can think of two or three ways of getting the Scone out of here. What about the secret passage into this room?”
“I know of no secret passage into this room!”
“Oh, good. At least we’ve ruled out something. Go and wait by the boat. Corporal Littlebottom and I have to talk about some things.”
Dee left reluctantly. Vimes waited until the dwarf was visible in the glow of the candles beyond the weighing bridge.
“What a mess,” he said. “Locked-room mysteries are even worse when they leave the room unlocked.”
“You’re thinking that Dozy might have worn bags of sand under his robes, aren’t you, sir,” said Cheery.
No, thought Vimes. I wasn’t. But now I know how a dwarf would solve this.
“Possibly,” he said aloud. “Grubby white sand can’t be uncommon. You’d add a bit of sand every day, yes? Just enough not to trigger the scales. Finally you’ve got…how much does the Scone weigh?”
“About sixteen pounds, sir.”
“All right. Dump the sand on the floor, shove the Scone under your robes, and…it might just work.”
“Risky, sir.”
“But no one thinks anyone is really going to try to steal the Scone. Would you try to tell me that four guards sitting in that little guardhouse on a twelve-hour shift will be alert all the time? That’s enough for a hand of poker!”
“I suppose they rely on the fact that they’d know when a boat came up, sir.”
“Right. Big mistake. And you know what? I bet that when a boat’s just gone down, that’s the time they’re least alert. Cheery, if a human could get in here, they could get into the Scone room. They’d have to be nimble and a good swimmer, but they could do it.”
“The guards on the gates were pretty keen, sir.”
“Well, yes. Guards always are, just after a theft. Smart as foxes and sharp as knives, just in case