Thud! - Terry Pratchett [117]
“One might say—magically fast?” said Ridcully.
“As it were,” said Vimes, fidgeting. He really hated having to do this. And what had he sat on?
“Mmm,” said Ridcully. “But without, I imagine, any significant hocus-pocus? You appear uncomfortable, sir!”
Vimes triumphantly held up a large onion. “Sorry,” he said, tossing it aside. “No, definitely no pocus. Possibly a little hocus. I just need an edge. They’ve got a day’s start on me.”
“I see. You will be traveling alone?”
“No, there will have to be eleven of us. Two coaches.”
“My word! And disappearing in a puff of smoke to reappear elsewhere is—”
“Out of the question. I just need—”
“An edge,” said the wizard. “Yes. Something magical in its cause but not in its effect. Nothing too obvious.”
“And no chance of anyone being turned into a frog or anything like that,” said Vimes quickly.
“Of course,” said Ridcully. He clapped his hands together. “Well, Commander, I’m afraid we can’t help you. Meddling in things like this is not what wizarding is all about!” He lowered his voice and went on: “We will particularly not be able to help you if you have the coaches, empty, around the back in, oh, call it about an hour?”
“Oh? Er…right,” said Vimes, trying to catch up. “You’re not going to make them fly or anything, are you?”
“We’re not going to do anything, Commander!” said Ridcully jovially, slapping him on the back. “I thought that was agreed! And I think also that you should leave now, although, of course, you have, in fact, not been here. And neither have I. I say, this spying business is pretty clever, eh?”
When Vimes was gone, Mustrum Ridcully sat back, lit his pipe, and, as an afterthought, used the last of the match to light the candle lantern on the potting table. The gardener could get pretty acerbic if people messed about with his shed, so perhaps he ought to tidy up a bit—
He stared at the floor, where a tumbled hosepipe and a fallen onion made what looked, at a casual glance, like a large eyeball with a tail.
The rain cooled Vimes down. It had cooled down the streets, too. You have to be really keen to riot in the rain. Besides, news of last night had got around. No one was sure, of course, and such were the effects of Fluff and Big Hammer that a large if elementary school of thought had been left uncertain about what really happened. They woke up feeling bad, right? Something must have happened. And tonight the rain was setting in, so maybe it was better to stay in the pub.
He walked through the wet, whispering darkness, mind ablaze.
How fast could those dwarfs travel? Some of them sounded pretty old. But they’d be tough and old. Even so, the roads in that direction were none too good, and a body could only stand so much shaking.
And Sybil was taking Young Sam. That was stupid, except that it…wasn’t stupid, not after dwarfs had broken into your home. Home was where you had to feel safe. If you didn’t feel safe, it wasn’t home. Against all common sense, he agreed with Sybil. Home was where they were together. She’d already sent off an urgent clacks to some old chum of hers who lived near the valley; she seemed to think it was going to be some kind of family outing.
There was a group of dwarfs hanging around on a corner, heavily armed. Maybe the bars were all full, or maybe they needed cooling down, too. No law against hanging around, right?
Wrong, growled Vimes as he drew nearer. Come along, boys. Say something wrong. Lay hold of a weapon. Move slightly. Breathe loudly. Give me something that could be stretched to “in self-defense.” It’d be my word against yours, and believe me, lads, I’m unlikely to leave you capable of saying a single damn thing.
The dwarfs took one clear look at the approaching vision, haloed in torchlight and mist, and took to their heels.
Right!
The entity known as the Summoning Dark sped through streets of eternal night, past misty buildings of memory that wavered at its passage. It was getting there, it was getting there. It was having to change the habits of millennia, but it was finding ways