Feet of Clay

… would bloody well do his job, of course, because he didn’t know how to do anything else. But realizing that made it all the worse.

Outside the palace the fog was thick and yellow. Vimes nodded to the guards on the door, and looked out at the clinging, swirling clouds.

It was almost a straight line to the Watch House in Pseudopolis Yard. And the fog had brought early night to the city. Not many people were on the streets; they stayed indoors, barring the windows against the damp shreds that seemed to leak in everywhere.

Yes … empty streets, a chilly night, dampness in the air …

Only one thing was needed to make it perfect. He sent the sedan men on home and walked back to one of the guards. ‘You’re Constable Lucker, aren’t you?’

‘Yessir, Sir Samuel.’

‘What size boots do you take?’

Lucker looked panicky. ‘What, sir?’

‘It’s a simple question, man!’

‘Seven and a halfs, sir.’

‘From old Plugger in New Cobblers? The cheap ones?’

‘Yessir!’

‘Can’t have a man guarding the palace in cardboard boots!’ said Vimes, with mock cheerfulness. ‘Off with them, Constable. You can have mine. They’ve still got wyvern — well, whatever it is wyverns do — on them, but they’ll fit you. Don’t stand there with your mouth open. Give me your boots, man. You can keep mine.’ Vimes added: ‘I’ve got lots.’

The constable watched in frightened astonishment as Vimes pulled on the cheap pair and stood upright, stamping a few times with his eyes shut. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I’m in front of the palace, right?’

‘Er … yes, sir. You’ve just come out of it, sir. It’s this big building here.’

‘Ah,’ said Vimes brightly, ‘but I’d know I was here, even if I hadn’t!’

‘Er …’

‘It’s the flagstones,’ said Vimes. ‘They’re an unusual size and slightly dished in the middle. Hadn’t you noticed? Your feet, lad! That’s what you’ll have to learn to think with!’

The bemused constable watched him disappear into the fog, stamping happily.

Corporal the Right Honourable the Earl of Ankh Nobby Nobbs pushed open the Watch-House door and staggered inside.

Sergeant Colon looked up from the desk, and gasped. ‘You okay, Nobby?’ he said, hurrying around to support the swaying figure.

‘It’s terrible, Fred. Terrible!’

‘Here, take a seat. You’re all pale.’

‘I’ve been elevated, Fred!’ moaned Nobby.

‘Nasty! Did you see who did it?’

Nobby wordlessly handed him the scroll Dragon King of Arms had pressed into his hand, and flopped back. He took a tiny length of home-made cigarette from behind his ear and lit it with a shaking hand. ‘I dunno, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘You do your best, you keep your head down, you don’t make any trouble, and then something like this happens to you.’

Colon read the scroll slowly, his lips moving when he came to difficult words like ‘and’ and ‘the’. ‘Nobby, you’ve read this? It says you’re a lord!’

‘The old man said they’d have to do a lot of checking up but he thought it was pretty clear what with the ring and all. Fred, what am I gonna do?’

‘Sit back and eat off ermine plates, I should think!’

‘That’s just it, Fred. There’s no money. No big house. No land. Not a brass farthing!’

‘What, nothing?’

‘Not a dried pea, Fred.’

‘I thought all the upper crust had pots of money.’

‘Well, I’m the crust on its uppers, Fred. I don’t know anything about lording! I don’t want to have to wear posh clothes and go to hunt balls and all that stuff.’

Sergeant Colon sat down beside him. ‘You never suspected you’d got any posh connections?’

‘Well … my cousin Vincent once got done for indecently assaulting the Duchess of Quirm’s housemaid …’

‘Chambermaid or scullery maid?’

‘Scullery maid, I think.’

‘Probably doesn’t count, then. Does anyone else know about this?’

‘Well, she did, and she went and told …’

‘I mean about your lordshipping.’

‘Only Mr Vimes.’

‘Well, there you are,’ said Sergeant Colon, handing him back the scroll. ‘You don’t have to tell anyone. Then you don’t have to go around wearing golden trousers, and you needn’t hunt balls unless you’ve lost ’em. You just sit there, and I’ll fetch you a cup of tea, how about that? We’ll see it through, don’t you worry.’

‘You’re a toff, Fred.’

‘That makes two of us, m’lord!’ Colon waggled his eyebrows. ‘Get it? Get it?’

‘Don’t, Fred,’ said Nobby wearily.

The Watch-House door opened.

Fog poured in like smoke. In the midst of it were two red eyes. The parting shreds revealed the massive figure of a golem.

‘Umpk,’ said Sergeant Colon.

The golem held up its slate:

I HAVE COME TO YOU.

‘Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I’ve, er, yeah, I can see that,’ said Colon.

Dorfl turned the slate around. The other side read:

I GIVE MYSELF UP FOR MURDER. IT WAS I WHO KILLED THE OLD PRIEST. THE CRIME IS SOLVED.

Colon, once his lips had stopped moving, scurried behind the suddenly very flimsy defences of his desk and scrabbled through the papers there.

‘You keep it covered, Nobby,’ he said. ‘Make sure it don’t run off.’

‘Why’s it going to run off?’ said Nobby.

Sergeant Colon found a relatively clean piece of paper.