Feet of Clay

rose, a flame and a pot,” he said. “Er…bakers use fire and the pot’s for water, I suppose…”
    “And a pun on the name,” said Dragon.
    “But, unless he’s called Rosie, I…” Then Vimes blinked. “A rose is a flower. Oh, good grief. Flower, flour. Flour, fire and water? The pot looks like a guzunder to me, though. A chamber pot?”
    “The old word for baker was pistor ,” said Dragon. “Why, Commander, we should make a Herald of you yet! And the motto?”
    “ Quod Subigo Farinam ,” said Vimes, and wrinkled his forehead. “‘Because’…‘farinaceous’ means to do with corn, or flour, doesn’t it?…oh, no…‘Because I Knead The Dough’?”
    Dragon clapped his hands. “Well done, sir!”
    “This place must simply rock on those long winter evenings,” said Vimes. “And that’s heraldry, is it? Crossword clues and plays on words?”
    “Of course there is a great deal more,” said the Dragon. “These are simple. We more or less have to make them up. Whereas the escutcheon of an old family, such as the Nobbses…”
    “ Nobbs! ” said Vimes, as the penny dropped. “That’s it! You said ‘Nobbs’! Before—when you were talking about old families!”
    “Ah-ha. What? Oh, indeed. Yes. Oh, yes. A fine old family. Although now, sadly, in decay.”
    “You don’t mean Nobbs as in…Corporal Nobbs?” said Vimes, horror edging his words.
    A book thumped open. In the orange light Vimes had a vague upside-down glimpse of shields, and a rambling, unpruned family tree.
    “My word. Would that be a C. W. St. J. Nobbs?”
    “Er…yes. Yes!”
    “Son of Sconner Nobbs and a lady referred to here as Maisie of Elm Street?”
    “Probably.”
    “Grandson of Slope Nobbs?”
    “That sounds about right.”
    “Who was the illegitimate son of Edward St. John de Nobbes, Earl of Ankh, and a, ah-ha, a parlormaid of unknown lineage?”
    “Good gods!”
    “The Earl died without issue, except that which, ah-ha, resulted in Slope. We had not been able to trace the scion—hitherto, at any rate.”
    “Good gods!”
    “You know the gentleman?”
    Vimes regarded with amazement a serious and positive sentence about Corporal Nobbs that included the word “gentleman.” “Er…yes,” he said.
    “Is he a man of property?”
    “Only other people’s.”
    “Well, ah-ha, do tell him. There is no land or money now, of course, but the title is still extant.”
    “Sorry…let me make sure I understand this. Corporal Nobbs… my Corporal Nobbs…is the Earl of Ankh? ”
    “He would have to satisfy us as to proof of his lineage but, yes, it would appear so.”
    Vimes stared into the gloom. Thus far in his life, Corporal Nobbs would have been unlikely to satisfy the examiners as to his species.
    “Good gods!” Vimes said yet again. “And I suppose he gets a coat of arms?”
    “A particularly fine one.”
    “Oh.”
    Vimes hadn’t even wanted a coat of arms. An hour ago he’d have cheerfully avoided this appointment as he had done so many times before. But…
    “Nobby?” he said. “Good gods!”
    “Well, well! This has been a very happy meeting,” said Dragon. “I do so like to keep the records up to date. Ah-ha. Incidentally, how is young Captain Carrot getting along? I’m told his young lady is a werewolf. Ah-ha.”
    “Really,” said Vimes.
    “Ah-ha.” In the dark, Dragon made a movement that might have been a conspiratorial tap on the side of the nose. “We know these things!”
    “Captain Carrot is doing well,” said Vimes, as icily as he could manage. “Captain Carrot always does well.”
    He slammed the door when he went out. The candle flames wavered.

    Constable Angua walked out of an alleyway, doing up her belt.
    “That went very well, I thought,” said Carrot, “and will go some way to earning us the respect of the community.”
    “Pff! That man’s sleeve! I doubt if he even knows the meaning of the word ‘laundry’,” said Angua, wiping her mouth.
    Automatically, they fell into step—the energy-saving policeman’s walk, where the pendulum weight of the leg is used to propel the walker along with the minimum of effort. Walking was important, Vimes had always said, and because Vimes had said it Carrot believed it. Walking and talking. Walk far enough and talk to enough people and sooner or later you had an answer.
    The respect of the community , thought Angua. That was a Carrot phrase. Well, in fact it was a Vimes phrase, although Sir Samuel usually spat after he