Snuff

soon.”
    Feeney looked from Vimes to Willikins. “Glad that’s sorted out, gentlemen,” he said, and smiled nervously. “Now, if you’re ready, commander, we’ll just go along to the livery stable and pick up a couple of horses.” With that he began to walk smartly down to the village, leaving Sam Vimes no alternative but to follow.
    Vimes said, “Horses?”
    â€œAbsolutely, commander. From what I hear we should catch up with the Fanny in an hour. To tell you the truth, we could probably outrun it, but it’s best to be on the safe side, don’t you think?”
    Feeney looked sheepish for a moment and then added, “I don’t usually ride much, sir, but I’ll try not to disgrace myself in front of you.”
    Vimes opened his mouth. Then Vimes shut his mouth, trapping the words: Lad, I’d rather ride a pig than a horse, if it’s all the same to you? I mean, pigs just run along, but horses? Most of the time I’ve got nothing against horses, and then I come down very firmly against horses, and then I’m shot up in the air again so that once more I have nothing against horses, but I know that in half a second the whole damn thing starts again, and yes before you come out with the whole business of “It’s all right if you rise up when they go down” let me say that has never ever worked for me, because then I’m either above and a little behind the horse or against the horse so firmly that I’m really glad that Sybil and I have decided to have only one child…
    Feeney was, however, in keen and chattering form. “I expect there were a lot of horses at Koom Valley, eh, sir?”
    And Vimes was stuck. “Actually, lad, the trolls have no use for them and the dwarfs are said to eat them, on the quiet.”
    â€œGosh, that must’ve been a blow to a fighting man like yourself, commander?”
    Fighting man? Maybe, Vimes thought, at least when no alternative presents itself, but how in the seven hells did you get the idea that I’m comfortable even looking at horses? And why are we still walking toward some barn that is going to be full of the wretched things, stamping and snorting and dribbling and rolling their eyes backward like they do? Well, I’ll tell you why. It’s because I’m too damn scared to tell Feeney that I’m too damn scared. Hah, the story of my life, too much of a damn coward to be a coward!
    Now Feeney pushed aside a heavy wooden gate, which, to Vimes’s susceptible ear, creaked like a fresh gallows, and he groaned as they stepped through. Yes, it was a livery stable, and it made Vimes liverish. And there they were, the inevitable hangers-on: bandy-legged, no more than one button on their coats, and a certain suggestion of rat about the nose and wishbone about the legs. You could have played crockett with them. Every one of them would have a straw in his mouth, presumably because that’s what they lived on. And, helplessly, Vimes was introduced to men who knew they had heard of him, very big policeman certainly, while Feeney painted a picture of him as just the sort of man who would insist on riding the swiftest beast that they had installed in the stalls.
    Two evil-looking mounts were led out, and Feeney generously brought the larger over to Vimes. “There you go, sir. Back in the saddle again, eh?” he said, and handed the reins to Vimes.
    While Feeney was negotiating the hire, Vimes felt something tug at his leg and he looked down into the grinning face of Special Constable Stinky, who hissed, “Big trouble, fellow po-leess-maan colleague? Big trouble for a man scared of horses. Damn right!? Hate horse, can smell fear. You take me, po-leess-maan. I fix. No worry. You need Stinky anyway, yes? You find frightened goblin? Panic panic panic! But Stinky say shut gob goblins, this man despite appearances not too much of an arsehole, yes indeed!”
    The wretched little goblin lowered his cracked voice still further, and added, so that Vimes could barely hear it, “And Stinky never ever said anything about po-leess-maan’s shirt-washing man and very cross bow, hey? Mr. Vimes? There is no race so wretched that there is not something out there that cares for them, Mr. Vimes. ”
    The words hit Vimes like a slap in the face. Had the little bugger said that? Had Vimes really heard it? The words had dropped into the conversation as if from somewhere