All eyes turned to Willikins, except those of Vimes—because there in the shadows, keeping his distance from the mob, was that bloody lawyer again. Not with the mob, obviously, a respectable lawyer could not be part of a mob, oh no, he was just there watching.
Feeney glared at the rest of the men, because tripping can come so easily to a man. “I appreciate your man’s assistance, commander, but this is my manor, if you know what I mean, and I will have my say.”
Feeney was panting heavily, but his gaze swept backward and forward to find the first man to move or even look like someone about to move some time in the future. “I am a policeman! Not always a good one or a clever one, but I am a policeman and the man in my lockup is my prisoner, and I’ll defend him to the death, and if it’s the death of some bastards who stood in front of my old mum with crossbows they didn’t know how to use, well, so be it!” He lowered his voice to less than a scream. “Now, I know you, just like my father did, and granddad too—well some of you at least—and I know you ain’t as bad as all that—”
He stopped for a moment, staring. “What are you doing here, Mr. Stoner? Standing there next to a mob? Have you been making a few pockets jingle?”
“That statement is actionable, young man,” said Stoner.
Vimes carefully made his way to Stoner and whispered, “I won’t say you’re pushing your luck, Mr. Stoner, because your luck ran out the moment you set eyes on me.” He tapped the side of his nose. “A word to the wise: I’ve got big feet too.”
Oblivious to this, Feeney went on, “What I want you all to know is that a few nights ago a goblin girl up on the hill was chopped up while she was pleading for her life. That’s bad. Very bad! And one reason is that a man who can chop up a goblin girl will chop up your sister one day. But I will help my…” Feeney hesitated and then said, “colleague, Commander Vimes, and will bring those responsible to justice. And that ain’t all, oh dear me not by a long chalk, because you see I know, just like you do, that three years ago a load of goblins were grabbed in the night and rounded up to be sent down the river. My poor old dad did what he was told and turned a blind eye, but I ain’t doing the same thing. I don’t know if any of you helped, and right now that don’t concern me overmuch, ’cos folks around here tend to do what they’re told, although maybe some like doing what they’re told more than others.”
Feeney turned around, making certain that all knew they were included. “And I know something else! I know that late yesterday, when we were actually on the way to Hangnails, a bunch of goblins from Overhang were grabbed and put on an ox boat down the river to—”
“What! Why haven’t you told me all this before?” Vimes shouted.
Feeney didn’t look in his direction, keeping his gaze on the mob. “What before? Sorry, commander, but it’s been all go and I only found out just before this bunch arrived, since when it’s all got busy. The boat probably came past here while we were still opening barrels in Hangnails. This lot wanted me to hand over my—your—our prisoner, and then of course my old mum got involved, as it were, and you know it’s always difficult when it involves an old mum. I never told anyone to move, did I?!”
This was to a man in some distress who was almost bent double with his hands on his groin.
“I’m very sorry, er, Feeney, er, Constable, er, Chief Constable Upshot, but I really need the privy, if it’s all the same to you, please, thanking you very much?”
Vimes looked down at the crouching man and said, “Oh, dear me, it’s you, Mr. Stoner! Willikins! Do take him somewhere where he can go about his business, will you? But be sure to bring him back here. And if it turns out that he didn’t really need to do any business, do him the courtesy of making sure that he does.” He wanted to say a great deal more at this time, but this was, after all, Feeney’s patch and the lad was surprisingly good at it, when it came to pushing people who pushed old mums.
And the boy hadn’t finished yet; his mood had simply moved from molten steel to cold, hard iron. “Before I tell you what happens next, gentlemen, I’d like to draw your attention to the goblin sitting up there in the tree, watching you all. All you who are locals know Stinky, and you know sometimes you give him a kick, or sometimes he blags a cigarette off you, and sometimes he runs you a little errand, yes?”
There was a sense of sweating relief among the crowd that the worst appeared to be over now. In fact it had only just begun. “Commander Vimes would like you to know, and so indeed would I, that the law applies to everybody, and that means it applies to goblins as well.”
There was a certain amount of nodding at that and Feeney continued, “But if the law applies to goblins then goblins have rights and if goblins have rights then it would be right to have a goblin policeman attached to the Shire force.”
Vimes looked at Feeney with amazement and a not inconsiderable amount of admiration. That had got them: they had all been nodding and he had led them by the nod and before they knew it they were nodding at a goblin officer.
“Well, gentlemen, I am intending to make Stinky a probationary special constable, just so he can keep me up to date with what’s happening up on the hill. He’ll have a badge, and anyone giving him a kick from now on will be assaulting a police officer in the course of his duty. I think the penalty for doing that is not just being hanged, but also to let you bounce up and down for a bit afterward. This is an internal force decision, which does not require the authority of any magistrate. Is that not so, Commander Vimes?”
Vimes was amazed at how his mouth responded without any reference to his brain. “Yes, Chief Constable Upshot, as per section 12, part 3 of the Laws and Ordinances of Ankh-Morpork, generally considered a model for police procedure,” he added confidently, knowing that no one present would have ever clapped eyes on them and would quite likely not be able to read them even if they had.
Inside Vimes winced. He’d got away with having dwarfs, trolls and finally even werewolves and vampires in the Watch, albeit on certain obvious conditions, but that had been the result of leverage over the years. Vetinari always said, “What is normal? Normal is yesterday and last week and last month taken together.” And, Vimes supposed, they had slipped things in one at a time to allow normal to gradually evolve—although Mr. Stinky, or rather Probationary Special Constable Stinky, had really better confine his policing activities to the cave. Yes, not such a bad idea at that, indeed if only he could get them to leave chickens alone maybe normal would have a chance. After all, people seemed quite easy about having their rights and liberties taken away by those they looked up to, but somehow a space on the perch was a slap in the face, and treated as such.
And now Feeney, getting out of breath, was nearly talked out. “I can’t force any of you to tell me anything, but is there any one of you anxious to help me with my inquiries?”
Vimes tried not to let anyone see his expression, least of all Feeney. Of course, Captain Carrot had once been like that and—was it possible?—maybe even young Sam Vimes had been like that too, but surely anyone could see that you never expect people who are part of a crowd to put up their hand and pipe up, “Yes, constable! I’d be very happy to tell you everything I know, and I’d like these fine gentlemen here to be my witnesses.”
What you did do after a performance like that was just wait, wait until somebody sidles up and whispers something when you are alone, or just tilts his head in the right direction, or, and this had happened to Vimes, writes three initials in the spilled beer on a bar top and industriously wipes it clean within two seconds. Some bright spark would think: you never know your luck; after all, Feeney could be a coming man, right? And a happy relationship might come in handy, one day.
Vimes blew away the pink cloud of embarrassment. “Well, gentlemen, speaking as commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, it seems to me that your senior police officer is being considerably lenient with you. I would not be, so be grateful for him. How many of these…” and here Vimes inserted a sneer, “gentlemen do you really know
, Chief Constable Upshot?”
“Oh, about half of them, commander, that’s to say their names, families, home addresses and similar. The rest of them are from other places. I can’t say that they’re all angels, but they’re mostly not too bad.”
This sensible little speech in the circumstances earned Feeney a few smirks and a certain relieved look all round, and, happily, an opening for Vimes, who said, “So which one of them had an arrow ready in his crossbow, do you think, Mr. Feeney?”
But before Feeney had time to open his mouth Vimes had spun round to confront the returning Mr. Stoner, whose digestion had let him down. Willikins, whose instincts seldom failed, was still keeping an eye on him. Loudly and cheerfully Vimes said, “I see that my good friend Mr. Stoner is back, and he’s a lawyer and I’m a policeman and we know how to talk to one another. Do come this way, Mr. Stoner.”
He grabbed the unwilling lawyer gently but firmly by the arm and led him some way from the crowd, who watched, Vimes was pleased to see, with immediate deep suspicion.
“You are a lawyer, are you not, Mr. Stoner? Not a criminal lawyer by any chance?”
“No, your grace, I specialize mostly in land and property matters.”
“Ah, far less dangerous,” said Vimes, “and I suppose you’re a member of the Ankh-Morpork bar, presided over by my old chum Mr. Slant?” He had said it convivially, but Vimes knew that the name of the old zombie would strike terror into any lawyer’s heart—although whether Mr. Slant still had one of his own was questionable. And now Mr. Stoner must be thinking quite quickly. If he had any sense, and read his Law Journal between the lines, he would be aware that while Mr. Slant would bow (rather stiffly) to the rich and influential, he did not like mistakes, and he did not like seeing the law being brought into disrepute by inept lawyers and laymen, believing that this particular duty should be left to senior lawyers, such as Mr. Slant, who could do it with care and panache and AM$300 an hour. And Mr. Stoner should be thinking that, since it appeared that landowners around here had made up the law to suit themselves, which was the prerogative of the legal profession as a whole, Mr. Slant would not be a happy zombie; and, as custom and practice now dictated that he should no longer walk around groaning with his hands held out directly in front of him (one of them perhaps holding a severed head for effect), he was known to vent his still considerable spleen on snotty young lawyers with ideas above their station by talking to them for some time in a calm, low voice, causing them to say afterward that the severed head was, by contrast, the vegetarian option.
Vimes watched the young man’s face as he considered his meager options and found that there was no plural.
“I did endeavor to properly advise the justices as to their situation, of course,” he said, like a man rehearsing a plea, “but I’m sorry to say that they took the view that since they own the land hereabouts, then they decide the law of said land. I have to say that they are, in themselves, quite decent people.”
Vimes was surprised at how well his temper was keeping these days. He said, “Land, I quite like land, it’s one of my favorite things for standing on. But land, and landlord, and law, well…A man might get quite confused, yes? Especially in the presence of a pretty good fee? And it’s quite easy for people to be jolly decent people when they can afford to hire thoroughly un-decent people, people that don’t even need orders, just a nod and a wink.”
At this point there was a roll of thunder, not really appropriate to the last comment, and therefore without occult significance. Nevertheless, it was a giant roll that trundled around the sky, dropping blocks of sound. Vimes looked up and saw a horizon the colors of a bruise, while all round him the air was calm and warm and insects and other creatures that he couldn’t guess at were buzzing in the undergrowth. Satisfied that he need not look for cover yet, he turned his attention back to the squirming lawyer.
“May I suggest, Mr. Stoner, that you suddenly develop a pressing reason to go to the city and possibly talk to some of the senior lawyers there? I suggest that you describe yourself as foolish, and when they see your damp trousers, that will act as corroboration, believe me. If necessary, I might find it in my heart to make a statement on your behalf, to the effect that I think you were silly and badly led rather than criminal.”
The look of gratitude read well, and so Vimes added, “Why don’t you try criminal law? It’s mostly grievous bodily harm and murderers these days. You could call it ointment for the soul. Just a couple of things, though: what do you know about goblins being sent downriver? And what do you know about the disappearance of Jefferson the blacksmith?”
It’s never nice to face a difficult question when you’re thinking about getting on a horse and travelling long distances at speed. “I can assure you, your grace,” replied the man, “that I know nothing about the disappearance of the smith, if indeed he hasn’t simply gone to work elsewhere. And goblins? Yes, I know that some were sent away some years ago, but I took up this post two years back and I cannot comment on those circumstances.” He added primly, “I have no knowledge whatsoever of any goblins being dispossessed of their accommodation lately, as the chief constable appears to believe.”
Turning his back so the craning crowd could not easily see what was happening, Vimes glared at him. “I congratulate you on your careful ignorance, Mr. Stoner.” He then grabbed the prim lawyer by the neck and said, “Listen to me, you little shit. What you tell me may strictly speaking be true, but you are a bloody stupid lawyer if you haven’t realized that a bunch of landowners cannot decide all by themselves that anything they want to do is the law. If you want to keep in with both sides, Mr. Stoner, and I imagine that you do, then you might find a moment in your busy schedule to tell your former employers that Commander Vimes knows all about them and Commander Vimes knows what to do about them. I know who they are, Mr. Stoner, because Chief Constable Upshot has given me a list of names.”
Vimes gently released the pressure and said quietly, “Very soon this will be an unfortunate place for you, Mr. Stoner.” Then, turning, so that the crowd could see, he took the bewildered lawyer’s hand, shook it lavishly and said loudly, “Thank you very much for such valuable information, sir. It’ll make my investigations a whole lot simpler, I can tell you! And I’m sure that Chief Constable Upshot will feel exactly the same way. It would be a much easier life for all of us if other upstanding folk were so quick to assist the police with their inquiries.” He looked at the stricken lawyer and said more quietly, “I am no judge, but some of those men have a certain look about them. I know the sort, probably got more teeth than brain cells, and now, Mr. Lawyer, they’re wondering how much you know and how much you’ve told me. I wouldn’t stop to pack if I was you, and I hope you’ve got a fast horse.”
The lawyer left at speed and, at a meaningful nod from Feeney, so did the mob, more or less evaporating into the scenery; and Vimes thought, another one snookered. Get the reds, get the colors, but sooner or later you’re after the black.
And now he was left with the company of only Willikins and the chief constable, who looked around like someone realizing that he might not only have bitten off more than he could chew, but also more than he could lift. He straightened up when he saw Vimes looking at him. It was time for a little reinforcement, so Vimes walked over and slapped the lad on the back. “Well, I don’t know, I’m sure! Well done, Chief Constable Upshot, and this time I’m not laughing at you, Feeney, I’m not making fun, I’m not talking you down, and I cannot believe that you are the lad I met only a few days ago! You stood up to them, right enough! A bunch of dangerous idiots! With a lawyer!”
“They shot an arrow at my old mum! Oh, they said they didn’t, ’cos they was hoping to frighten us off! They said they had no arrows! So I said, quick as a wink, well, you wouldn’t have any arrows now if you’d shot them at my old mum, would you? So that proves it, I told them, I said, that’s logic, and they didn’t know what to say!”
“Well, I’m at a loss for words myself, Feeney
, because it seems to me that I heard you say some more goblins were sent downriver yesterday. How did you find that out?”
Feeney waved a thumb in the direction of the lockup and grinned. “Here’s the key, sir, just you go and talk to our prisoner. You’ll love it, sir, he was beside himself when he knew they were coming for him and he sang like a nightingale, didn’t he just!”
“Generally, we say that they sing like a canary,” said Vimes, turning toward the stubby little building.
“Yes, sir, but this is a rural police station, sir, and I know my birds, sir, and he sang like a nightingale, right enough! A beautiful watery cadence, sir, second only to the trill of the robin in my opinion, possibly occasioned by his being really, really scared, sir. I’ll have to slosh a bucket in there in a minute.”
“Well done again, Feeney! Might I suggest at this time that you go in and see to your old mum? She’ll be worried about you. Old mums do worry, you know.”
Wee Mad Arthur was impressed. Why hadn’t anybody told him about the craw step before? Well, it was only recently that he had learned that he was, by birth, a Nac mac Feegle instead of, as he had been given to understand, the child of peaceful, shoe-making gnomes. Feegles did not wear shoes and neither were they peaceful. Like many people before and after, Wee Mad Arthur had always thought that he was in the wrong life.
When the truth had fortuitously been uncovered, it all seemed to make sense. He could be proud of being a Nac mac Feegle, albeit one who enjoyed the occasional visit to the ballet and could read a menu in Quirmian and, for that matter, read at all.
He cruised above the warm blue skies of Howondaland in great circles and enjoying himself no end. The whole continent! There were people on it, so he understood, but mostly what he was seeing from the air was either desert, mountain or, most of all, green jungle. He allowed the albatross to drift on the thermals as his keen eyes searched for what he suspected might be there. It was, in fact, not a thing, as such, but a concept: rectangular. People who planted things liked rectangular. It was orderly. It made things easy.