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“Very well, then, give me a receipt for the prisoner, which is a very important thing, and I’ll go back to the Hall to have a nap.”
Vimes stepped back as a riverboat came into view and a very small tidal wave of muddy water splashed gently on the little quayside. The boat was another one with paddle wheels; Sybil had explained all about them. An ox patiently trod its way around a treadmill in the bilges and wonderful gearing caused the paddle wheels to turn.
The pilot of this one waved at him. As it went past he saw a woman in the stern, hanging out clothing, watched by a cat. A good life, at the speed of an ox, he thought, where probably no one is ever going to try to kill you. And, just for a moment, he felt jealous, while a line of barges followed the boat past a flotilla of ducklings. Vimes sighed, got back in the coach, was driven to the Hall by Willikins and, after a very brief shower, sank into the pillows and descended into darkness.
People said that these days Ankh-Morpork was moving. Others said that while this might be true, so was a sufficiently aged cheese. And, like the hypothetical cheese, it was bursting out of its mold, in this case the outermost walls, which were, in the words of Lord Vetinari, “a corset that should be unlaced.” One of the first to let themselves spread had been Harry King, now, of course, known as Sir Harold King. He was a scallywag, a chancer, a ruthless fighter and a dangerous driver of bargains over the speed limit. Since all this was a bit of a mouthful, he was referred to as a successful businessman, since that more or less amounted to the same thing. And he had the knack of turning rubbish into money. As Captains Carrot and Angua walked along the tow path toward the reedy swamps downriver, Harry King’s flame burned ahead of them. All was grist to the mills of the King of Muck. His armies of workers swept the streets, emptied the cesspits, cleaned the chimneys, scoured the middens of the slaughterhouse district and carried away from those selfsame houses all those bits of previously living matter that could not, for the love of decency, be put in a sausage. They said that Harry King would suck the smoke out of the air if he thought he could get a good price for it. And if you wanted a job, Harry King would give you one, at a wage not very much less than you might get elsewhere in the city, and if you stole from Harry King you would get what you deserved. The mills of Harry King stank, of course, but now the city itself did not, at least not as badly as it used to, and some people were complaining about the loss of the famous Ankh-Morpork smell, rumored to be so strong that it kept away illnesses and ailments of all sorts and, moreover, put hairs on your chest and did you good.
Ankh-Morpork being what it was, there was already a Smell Preservation Society.
The two watchmen began to breathe less deeply as they approached the smoke and fumes. A small city surrounded the workings, a shanty town knocked together with Harry’s blessing by the workers themselves because, after all, that meant they wouldn’t be late for work.
The security officer at the gate opened it instantly as they approached. Harry was probably not honest, but if there was dishonesty it happened at times and places that did not concern the Watch, and faded from the memory of all concerned just as soon as the ripples of the splash had died away and the tide had gone out.
Also going out as Carrot and Angua climbed the outside steps to the large office where Harry presided over his kingdom was a man, moving horizontally at speed, with Harry King’s big hands grasping him by his collar and the seat of his pants and finally throwing him down the steps, accompanied by a shout, “You’re fired!” The watchmen stood aside as the man rolled down from step to step. “And if I see you again, the dogs is always hungry! Oh, hello, Captain Carrot,” said Harry, his voice suddenly all matey, “and the charming Miss Angua too. My word, what a lovely surprise, do come in, always a pleasure to be of assistance to the Watch!”
“Sir Harry, you really shouldn’t throw people down the steps like that,” said Carrot.
Harry King looked innocent and spread his huge hands widely, and said, “What? Are those bloody steps still there? I gave orders to have them taken away! Thank you for the advice, captain, but the way I see it is that I caught him trying to steal my money and so if he’s still alive then on the whole I reckon we’re square. Coffee? Tea? Something stronger? No, I thought not, but take a seat, no harm in that, at least.”
They sat down and Carrot said, “We need to talk about goblins.”
Harry King looked blank, but said, “Got a few of them working for me, if that’s any help. Decent workers, you might be surprised to know. A bit weird in their ways, not the fastest, but once they’ve got the hang of what you want them to do you can just leave them to it until you tell them to stop. I pay them half what I pay humans and I reckon they do twice as much work, and do it better. Be happy to hire another hundred if they turned up.”
“But you pay them far less than humans?” said Angua.
Harry gave her a pitying look. “And who else would pay them anything at all, love? Well, business is business. It’s not like I chain them down. Okay, not many people would want to employ goblins on account of the stink, but I know by the wrinkling of your pretty nose, captain, that I stink too. It goes with the job. Besides, I let them stay on my land and they make those weird little pots in their spare time, and I see to it they don’t have much of that, and when they have enough money for whatever they want, they bugger off back to where they came from. Young Slick and his granny are the only ones that’s ever stayed. Gonna make a name for himself, that one.”
“We’d like to talk to some of the goblins about the pots you mentioned, if that’s okay by you, Harry?” said Carrot.
Harry King smiled and waggled a finger at him. “Now, I’ll take that from you two, because we’ve all seen a bit of the world and know what’s what, but outside this office it’s Sir Harry, okay? Personally, I ain’t all that bothered, but her ladyship is a stickler, oh my word, yes! Nose so high in the air it brings down sparrows, I’m telling you! Still, I can’t say it does any harm.” Harry King, or possibly Sir Harold King, thought for a moment. “Out of interest, why do you want to talk about goblin pots?”
Angua hesitated,
but Carrot said, “We are both very interested in goblin folklore, Sir Harry.”
Harry King chuckled. “You know, I never could read your face, Captain Carrot. I’d hate to play poker with you! Okay, it’s not my business, I’ll take you at your word. Just you go down the steps and make your way to the sorting belts and find Billy Slick, and tell him that Harry King would deem it a favor if he would be so good as to take you to see his old granny, okay? No need to thank me, I suspect old Vimes put in a good word about me to Vetinari when the medals was being given out, if you know what I mean. They say one hand washes the other, but I bet that when it came to old Harry King it had to scrub.”
They found Billy Slick stacking old copies of the Ankh-Morpork Times onto a truck. You could always recognize a goblin, although this one, in his grubby overall, looked like any other working man in the place. The only difference was that he was a goblin working man.
Carrot tapped him gently on the shoulder and Billy looked round. “Oh, coppers.”
“We’ve come from Harry King, Billy,” said Carrot, adding quickly, “You’ve done nothing wrong. We just want to learn about unggue pots.”
“You want to learn about unggue?” Billy stared at Carrot. “I know I ain’t done nothing wrong, guv, and I don’t need you to do the telling of me and I wouldn’t touch any of those bloody pots to save my life. I’m working my way up, I am. Can’t be bothered with fairy stories.”
Angua stepped forward and said, “Mr. Slick, this is quite important. We need to find someone who can tell us about unggue pots. Do you know anyone who can help?”
Billy looked her up and down superciliously. “You’re a werewolf, ain’t ya? Can smell you a mile off. And what would you do if I said I didn’t know anybody?”
“Then,” said Carrot, “we would regrettably have to go about our business.”
Billy looked sideways at him. “Would that be the business of giving me a good kicking?”
The morning sun shone on Carrot’s enthusiastically polished breastplate. “No, Mr. Slick, it would not.”
Billy looked him up and down. “Well, there’s my granny. Maybe she’ll talk to you, maybe she won’t. I’m only telling you that much because of Mr. King. She’s right careful about who she talks to, you may bet your helmet on that. What do you want to talk about pots for, anyway? She hardly gets out of bed these days. Can’t see her doing a robbery!”
“Nor do we, Billy, we just want some information about the pots.”
