Thud! - Terry Pratchett [59]
“Wasn’t anyone supposed to be reading them?” Vimes demanded.
There was another thundering silence.
“I rather think you were, dear,” said Sybil, paying attention to her darning.
“But I’m in charge!” Vimes protested.
“Yes, dear. That’s the point, really.”
“But I can’t spend all my time shuffling bits of paper!”
“Then get someone else to do it, dear,” said Sybil.
“Can I do that?” said Vimes.
“Yes, sir,” said Carrot. “You’re in charge.”
Vimes looked at the imp, which gave him a willing grin.
“Can you go through all of my in-tray—”
“…floor…” murmured Sybil.
“—and tell me what’s important?”
“Happy to, Insert Name Here! Only one question, Insert Name Here. What is important?”
“Well, the fact that the honey wagons are carting a whole lot more muck out of the city is pretty damn important, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t know, Insert Name Here,” said the imp. “I do not, in fact, think as such. But I surmise that, if I had drawn your attention to such a fact a month ago, you would have told me to stick my head up a duck’s bottom.”
“That’s true,” said Vimes, nodding. “I probably would. Captain Carrot?”
“Sir!” said Carrot, sitting up straight.
“What’s the situation on the street?”
“Well, troll gangs have been wandering around the city all day. Dwarfs, too. Now a lot of the dwarfs are hanging around in the square, sir, and a fair number of trolls are congregating in the Plaza of Broken Moons.”
“How many are we talking about here?” said Vimes.
“About a thousand, all told. They’ve been drinking, of course.”
“Just in the mood for a fight, then.”
“Yes, sir. Just drunk enough to be stupid but too sober to fall over,” said Carrot.
“Interesting observation, Captain,” said Vimes thoughtfully.
“Yes, sir. The word is that they’ll start at nine. Arrangements have been made, I gather.
“Then I think before it gets dark there should be a load of coppers in the Cham, right between them, don’t you?” said Vimes. “Get the word out to the Watch houses.”
“I’ve done that, sir,” said Carrot.
“And get some barricades sorted out.”
“All arranged, sir.”
“And call out the Specials?”
“I put the word out an hour ago, sir.”
Vimes hesitated. “I’ve got to be there, Captain.”
“We should have enough men, sir,” said Carrot.
“But you won’t have enough commander,” said Vimes. “If Vetinari hauls me over the coals tomorrow because there was a major riot in the city center, I don’t want to tell him I was having a quiet evening at home.” He turned to his wife. “Sorry, Sybil.”
Lady Sybil sighed. “I think I shall have to have a word with Havelock about the hours he makes you keep,” she said. “It’s not doing you any good, you know.”
“It’s the job, dear. Sorry.”
“It’s just as well I got the cook to make up a flask of soup, then.”
“You did?”
“Of course. I know you, Sam. And there’re some sandwiches in a bag. Captain Carrot, you are to make sure he eats the apple and the banana. Dr. Lawn says he must eat at least five pieces of fruit or vegetables every day!”
Vimes stared woodenly at Carrot and Sally, trying to project the warning that the first officer to crack a smile or even mention this to anyone, ever ever ever, would have a very hard time of it indeed.
“And, incidentally, tomato ketchup is not a vegetable,” Sybil added. “Not even the dried stuff ’round the top of the bottle. Well, what are you all waiting around for?”
“There’s something I didn’t want to mention in front of her ladyship,” said Carrot as they hurried down to the Yard. “Er… Hitherto is dead, sir.”
“Who’s Hitherto?”
“Lance Constable Horace Hitherto, sir? Got walloped on the back of the head last night? When we were at that meeting? When there was that, er, ‘disturbance’? Got sent to the Free Hospital?”
“Oh, gods…” said Vimes. “It seems like a week ago. He’d only been with us a couple of months!”
“They said at the hospital his brain died, sir. I’m sure they did their best.”
Did we do ours? Vimes wondered. But it was a bloody melee, and the cobblestone came out of nowhere. Could have hit me, could