Feet of Clay

and a badge and that turned you into something else and that had to mean there were some thoughts you couldn’t think.
    Only crimes could take place in darkness. Punishment had to be done in the light. That was the job of a good Watchman, Carrot always said. To light a candle in the dark.
    He found a cigar. Now his hands did the automatic search for matches.
    The volumes were piled up against the walls. The candlelight picked up gold lettering and the dull gleam of leather. There they were, the lineages, the books of heraldic minutiae, the Who’s Whom of the centuries, the stockbooks of the city. People stood on them to look down.
    No matches…
    Quietly, in the dusty silence of the College, Vimes picked up a candelabrum and lit his cigar.
    He took a few deep luxuriant puffs, and looked thoughtfully at the books. In his hand, the candles spluttered and flickered.

    The clock ticked its arrhythmic tock. It finally stuttered its way to one o’clock, and Vimes got up and went into the Oblong Office.
    “Ah, Vimes,” said Lord Vetinari, looking up.
    “Yes, sir.”
    Vimes had managed a few hours’ sleep and had even attempted to shave.
    The Patrician shuffled some papers on his desk. “It seems to have been a very busy night last night…”
    “Yes, sir.” Vimes stood to attention. All uniformed men knew in their very soul how to act in circumstances like this. You stared straight ahead, for one thing.
    “It appears that I have Dragon King of Arms in the cells,” said the Patrician.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I’ve read your report. Somewhat tenuous evidence, I feel.”
    “Sir?”
    “One of your witnesses isn’t even alive, Vimes.”
    “No, sir. Neither is the suspect, sir. Technically.”
    “He is, however, an important civic figure. An authority.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Lord Vetinari shuffled some of the papers on his desk. One of them was covered in sooty fingermarks. “It also appears I have to commend you, Commander.”
    “Sir?”
    “The Heralds at the Royal College of Arms, or at least at what remains of the Royal College of Arms, have send me a note saying how bravely you worked last night.”
    “Sir?”
    “Letting all those heraldic animals out of the pens and raising the alarm and so on. A tower of strength, they’ve called you. I gather most of the creatures are lodging with you at the present time?”
    “Yes, sir. Couldn’t stand by and let them suffer, sir. We’d got some empty pens, sir, and Keith and Roderick are doing well in the lake. They’ve taken a liking to Sybil, sir.”
    Lord Vetinari coughed. Then he stared up at the ceiling for a while. “So you, er, assisted in the fire.”
    “Yes, sir. Civic duty, sir.”
    “The fire was caused by a candlestick falling over, I understand, possibly after your fight with Dragon King of Arms.”
    “So I believe, sir.”
    “And so, it seems, do the Heralds.”
    “Anyone told Dragon King of Arms?” said Vimes innocently.
    “Yes.”
    “Took it well, did he?”
    “He screamed a lot, Vimes. In a heart-rending fashion, I am told. And I gather he uttered a number of threats against you, for some reason.”
    “I shall try to fit him into my busy schedule, sir.”
    “Bingely bongely beep!!” said a small bright voice. Vimes slapped a hand against his pocket.
    Lord Vetinari fell silent for a moment. His fingers drummed softly on his desk. “Many fine old manuscripts in that place, I believe. Without price, I’m told.”
    “Yes, sir. Certainly worthless, sir.”
    “Is it possible you misunderstood what I just said, Commander?”
    “Could be, sir.”
    “The provenances of many splendid old families went up in smoke, Commander. Of course, the Heralds will do what they can, and the families themselves keep records but frankly, I understand, it’s all going to be patchwork and guesswork. Extremely embarrassing. Are you smiling, Commander?”
    “It was probably a trick of the light, sir.”
    “Commander, I always used to consider that you had a definite anti-authoritarian streak in you.”
    “Sir?”
    “It seems that you have managed to retain this even though you are Authority.”
    “Sir?”
    “That’s practically Zen.”
    “Sir?”
    “It seems I’ve only got to be unwell for a few days and you manage to upset everyone of any importance in this city.”
    “Sir.”
    “Was that a ‘yes, sir’ or a ‘no, sir’, Sir Samuel?”
    “It was just a ‘sir’, sir.”
    Vimes glanced at a piece of paper. “Did you really punch the