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Vimes opened his mouth to ask, is it expensive? And shut it again with the embarrassed realization that the Ramkin fortune could almost certainly buy every vessel on Old Treachery.
Feeney, like the good copper he was becoming, noticed that slight moment of hesitation and said, “Your money won’t be good on the river, commander, believe me. The savior of the Fanny won’t have to buy his own cigars or a stateroom anywhere along Old Treachery!”
Nobby Nobbs was almost bent double with laughter and managed to choke out, “The Fanny!”
Vimes sighed. “Nobby, her name was Francesca, Fanny for short. Understand?” It didn’t work with some people; it only just did with Vimes. “And, Nobby, I want you to wait here, and as soon as Fred’s coach arrives you’re in charge of getting him up to the goblin cave on the hill, okay?”
“Yes, Mr. Vimes,” said Nobby, looking at his boots.
“And, Nobby, if you see a goblin who stinks like a latrine and glows slightly blue, well, that’s a fellow copper and don’t you forget it.”
Sybil was halfway down the lane as Vimes quickly walked up it, and Young Sam was running ahead and cannoned into his father’s legs, throwing his arms around them as best he could.
“Dad! I know how to milk a goat, Dad! You have to pull its tits, Dad, they’re all wiggly!” Vimes’s expression did not change as Young Sam went on. “And I’m learning to make cheese! And I have some badger poo now, and some weasel poo, too!”
“My word, you have been busy,” said Vimes. “Who told you the word ‘tits,’ lad?”
Young Sam beamed. “That was Willy the cowherd, Dad.”
Vimes nodded. “I’ll have a little talk to you about that later, Sam, but first I think I’ll have a word with Willy the cowherd.” He lifted up Young Sam, ignoring a twinge in his back. “I hope that washing your hands played a part in these adventures?”
“I take care of that,” said Lady Sybil, catching up. “Honestly, Sam, I let you out of my sight for hardly any time at all and here you are a hero, again! Really! Honestly, the whole river is talking about it! Fights on a riverboat? Maritime chases? Oh dear me, I don’t know where to put my face, so if you would be so kind as to let our child down carefully I’ll press said face mightily to yours!”
When Vimes surfaced for breath he growled, “It is a real bloody clacks tower, isn’t it, yes? And now The Times have got hold of all this they’ll make out I’m some kind of hero, the damn fools!”
With the suction released, Lady Sybil said, “No, Sam—well maybe a little of that, but you would be amazed at how fast news travels along the river. Apparently you were standing on the wheelhouse roof of the Wonderful Fanny fighting with a murderer, and he shot a crossbow at you and it bounced off! I’m told there’s going to be a large artist’s impression in tomorrow’s paper! Once again, I won’t know where to put my face!” And then Sybil couldn’t contain herself anymore and
burst out laughing. “Frankly, Sam, you may have anything you want for dinner tonight.”
Vimes leaned over and whispered, causing his wife to slap his hand and say, “Later, perhaps!”
At this point, somewhat emboldened, Vimes said, “I couldn’t help noticing that the bridge is severely damaged?”
Sybil nodded. “Oh, yes dear, a terrible storm, wasn’t it? It took away the entire central arch and all of the three disgraces.* “I remember them from my childhood. My mother used to put her hand over my eyes when we crossed the bridge and so I took a keen interest in them, especially as one was scratching her bottom.” Her smile brightened. “But don’t worry, Sam, naked ladies are not difficult to come by.”
Vimes took comfort from her smile, and a tiny treacherous suspicion bubbled up once more. He thought he had stamped it down, but the damn thing kept coming back. And so he cleared his throat and said, “Sybil, you did discuss plans for my holiday with Vetinari, didn’t you?”
Sybil looked surprised. “Why yes, dear, of course. After all, he is technically your superior. Only technically, of course. I had a word with him on the subject at some charity do or other. I can’t remember which right now as there’re always so many. But there wasn’t any difficulty. He said that it was high time you took a decent rest from your valiant activities!”
Vimes was wise enough not to utter the words that entered his mouth, and instead said, carefully, “Er, so he didn’t actually suggest that you came down to the Shires?”
“To be honest, Sam, it was quite some time ago, but we both have your best interests at heart, as you surely know. We generally discussed the matter and that’s it, really.”
Vimes left it at that. He would never know for sure. And anyway, the ball had dropped.
Later, Samuel Vimes, all of him, had a bath in the huge bathroom with his nose only just above the surface and came out feeling exactly the same man as before but at least a lot cleaner. The affidavits were in the strongroom, and when the Ramkins design a strongroom, it’s not a room that you’ll get into in a hurry: first you needed a combination, which opened a smaller but nevertheless dangerously efficient safe, simply to remove a key which then had to be inserted in locks hidden in three separate clocks in the Hall and each key triggered a clockwork timing mechanism. Sybil told him that she had fond memories of her grandfather running split-arse, as the old man called it, down the main hall to get the key into the last lock before the clock controlling the first lock had run down and certainly before the guillotines dropped. What we have we keep, Vimes had thought as he tried it out. Well, they definitely meant it. Now, he dressed in clothes that didn’t smell of fish. What next?
It was nice to have a walk with Young Sam again. Dad self-consciously out for a walk with his lad, yes? That was the picture. Regrettably, this picture included a distant prospect of Sergeant Detritus, who was merging with the landscape, a feat that a troll officer can achieve by simply removing his armor and sticking a geranium behind his ear, whereupon he becomes, being of a rocky and stony persuasion, pretty much part of the landscape without even trying. Usually the troll officers wore super-sized versions of the standard-issue armor, because a lot of the power of a copper consists in looking like a copper.* Safety considerations didn’t matter; there were plenty of weapons which, if handled with skill, could go through steel armor, but all they would do to a naked troll was make him angry.
Right now Detritus was failing to maintain a low profile. He was a bodyguard, that was the truth of it, and he was also carrying his Peacemaker which could, as it were, do what it said on the box. Some weapons are called a Saturday Night Special; Detritus’s multi-arrow crossbow would last you all week. And somewhere, where Vimes couldn’t see him, which meant that nobody else could either, there was Willikins. There was your picture: Dad taking his lad for a walk in the presence of enough firepower to kill a platoon. Sybil had insisted, and that was that. Vimes himself being in danger was one thing, and Sybil had accepted that right from the start, but Young Sam? Never!
As they strolled up Hangman’s Hill to see the new clacks tower, Vimes told himself that Stratford would not use a bow. A bow was for expediency, but a killer…now a killer would want to be up close, where he could see. Stratford had killed the goblin girl and had gone on killing her long after she was dead. He was a boy who liked his fun. He would want Vimes to know who was killing him. Vimes, Vimes realized, knew killers too well for his own peace of mind.
As they arrived on the hill they were met by a grinning Nobby, who saluted with a variation on the theme of smartness, but with some embarrassment, because he was not alone. A young goblin woman was sitting next to him. Nobby hastily tried to shoo her away and she, apparently with reluctance, retired to a minimum safe distance, still looking adoringly at the corporal.
Despite everything, Vimes tried to suppress the urge to smile, and managed to turn it into a stiff look.
“Fraternizing with the natives, are you, Nobby?”
