Feet of Clay

‘humble’ you can’t beat Nobby Nobbs. But…I think people weren’t too sure. Killing Vetinari wasn’t an option. As I said, too many things would happen too fast. But to just gently remove him, so that he’s there and not there at the same time, while everyone tried out the idea… that was a good wheeze. That’s when someone got Mr. Carry to make poisoned candles. He’d got a golem. Golems can’t talk. No one would know. But it turned out to be a bit…erratic.”
    “You seem to wish to involve me,” said Dragon King of Arms. “I know nothing about this man other than that he’s a customer—”
    Vimes strode across the room and pulled a piece of parchment from a board. “You did him a coat of arms!” he shouted. “You even showed me when I was here! ‘The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick-maker!’ Remember?”
    There was no sound now from the hunched figure.
    “When I first met you the other day,” said Vimes, “you made a point of showing me Arthur Carry’s coat of arms. I thought it was a bit fishy at the time, but all that business with Nobby put it out of my mind. But I do remember it reminded me of the one for the Assassins’ Guild.”
    Vimes flourished the parchment.
    “I looked and looked at it last night, and then I wound my sense of humor down ten notches and let it go out of focus and looked at the crest, the fish-shaped lamp. Lampe au poisson , it’s called. A sort of bilingual play on words, perhaps? ‘A lamp of poison?’ You’ve got to have a mind like old Detritus to spot that one. And Fred Colon wondered why you’d left the motto in modern Ankhian instead of putting it into the old language, and that made me wonder so I sat up with the dictionary and worked it out and, you know, it would have read ‘Ars Enixa Est Candelam. Ars Enixa.’ That must have really cheered you up. You’d said who did it and how it was done and gave it to the poor bugger to be proud of. It didn’t matter that no one else would spot it. It made you feel good. Because we ordinary mortals just aren’t as clever as you, are we?” He shook his head. “Good grief, a coat of arms. Was that the bribe? Was that all it took?”
    Dragon slumped in his chair.
    “And then I wondered what was in it for you,” continued Vimes. “Oh, there’s a lot of people involved, I expect, for the same old reasons. But you? Now, my wife breeds dragons. Out of interest, really. Is that what you do? A little hobby to allow the centuries to fly by? Or does blue blood taste sweeter? Y’know, I hope it was some reason like that. Some decent mad selfish one.”
    “Possibly—if someone were so inclined, and I certainly make no such admission, ah-ha—they might simply be thinking of improving the race,” said the shape in the shadows.
    “Breeding for receding chins or bunny teeth, that sort of thing?” said Vimes. “Yes, I can see where it’d be more straightforward if you had the whole king business. All those courtly balls. All those little arrangements which see to it that the right kind of gal meets only the right kind of boy. You’ve had hundreds of years, right? And everyone consults you. You know where all the family trees are planted. But it’s all got a bit messy under Vetinari, hasn’t it? All the wrong people are getting to the top. I know how Sybil curses when people leave the pen gates open: it really messes up her breeding program.”
    “You are wrong about Captain Carrot, ah-ha. The city knows how to work around… difficult kings. But would it want a future king who might really be called Rex?”
    Vimes looked blank. There was a sigh from the shadows. “I am, ah-ha, referring to his apparently stable relationship with the werewolf.”
    Vimes stared. Understanding eventually dawned. “You think they’d have puppies? ”
    “The genetics of werewolves are not straightforward, ah-ha, but the chance of such an outcome would be considered unacceptable. If someone were thinking on those lines.”
    “By gods, and that’s it? ”
    The shadows were changing. Dragon was still slumped in his chair, but his outline seemed to be blurring.
    “Whatever the, ah-ha, motives, Mr. Vimes, there is no evidence other than supposition and coincidence and your will to believe that links me with any attempt on Vetinari’s, ah-ha, life…”
    The old vampire’s head was sunk even further in his chest. The shadows of his shoulders seemed to be getting longer.
    “It was sick, involving the golems,”