Snuff

say, behavior that will bode ill for him in his career—”
    The clerk got no further than that because Vimes interrupted with, “What career? He has no career! He’s a copper all by himself, except maybe for some pigs. He’s a good lad at heart, doesn’t scare easy, and he writes with a clear, round hand and can spell, too, which in my book makes him automatically sergeant material. As for bloody jurisdiction, murder is the crime of crimes. According to the Omnians it was the third crime ever committed! * I know of no society anywhere in the world that doesn’t consider it a crime to be pursued with vigor, understand? And as for the law, don’t try to talk to me about the law. I am not above the law, but I stand right underneath it, and I hold it up! And currently I work with Mr. Feeney, and we have an accessory to murder in his cell, and justice, not convenience, will be served.”
    â€œWell done, Sam,” said Sybil loyally, giving the small but distinctive clap that people give when they want other people to join in.
    Mr. Stoner, on the other hand, simply said, “Well done, sir, but nevertheless my instructions are to arrest you. The magistrates have sworn me in as a policeman, you see, and young Upshot has been relieved of his duties.” He winced, because of the sudden freeze.
    Vimes stood up and said, “I don’t think I’m going to allow you to arrest me today, Mr. Stoner! I dare say Sybil will allow you a cup of tea, should you want it, but I’m going to see Chief Constable Upshot.” And he stood up, unlocked the door and walked out of the room, out of the Hall and, at a reasonable speed, headed down to the lockup.
    Halfway down, Willikins overtook him, saying, “I couldn’t help hearing all that garbage, commander, on account of how I was listening at the door as per section five of the gentleman’s gentleman’s code. What a nerve! You’ll need me to watch your back!”
    Vimes shook his head. “I don’t think a civilian should get involved, Willikins.”
    Willikins had to run faster, because Vimes was speeding up, but he managed to gasp out, “That is a hell of a thing for you to say to me, commander.” And hurried on regardless.

S omething was going on at the lockup—it looked to Vimes as though it might be a domestic disturbance, a ruckus, possibly a fracas or even a free-for-all, in which case it was definitely unlucky for some. A happy thought occurred: yes, maybe it was an affray, always a useful word because nobody is quite certain what it means, but it sounds dangerous.
    Vimes burst out laughing as soon as he saw what was going on. Feeney was standing in front of the lockup, his face beetroot red and his ancestral truncheon in his hands. Quite possibly it had already been used on the small mob trying to assault the lockup, because there was a man lying on the floor clutching his groin and groaning. However, Vimes’s lengthy experience told him that the man’s carefully targeted misfortune had a lot to do with Mrs. Upshot, who was in a semicircle of men, all of them ready to jump back as soon as she waved her broomstick at them. “Don’t you dare say my lad Feeney ain’t a copper! He is a copper, and so was his dad, and his granddad and his great-granddad before him.” She paused for a moment and went on, grudgingly, “Pardon me, I tell a lie, he was a criminal, but anyway that’s nearly like being a copper!”
    The broomstick made a whooshing sound as she swung it backward and forward. “I know you lot! Some of you is gamekeepers, and some of you is smugglers, and a few of you is bastards, excuse my Klatchian!” By now she had caught sight of Vimes, and pausing only to bring her broomstick down like a mallet on the foot of a man who made a step in the wrong direction, she pointed her finger at Vimes and yelled, “See him? Now he is a gentleman, and also a great copper! You can tell a real copper, like my Henry, gods bless his soul, and Commander Vimes too, ’cos they’ve got proper badges what have been used to open thousands of beer bottles, I dare say, and believe me one of them would hurt you if they tried to stick it up your nose. The flimsy bits of cardboard you boys is waving makes me laugh! Come any further, Davey Hackett,” she said to the nearest man, “and I will shove this broomstick in your ear, trust me, I