Snuff

have us under in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, I’m certain of it!”
    â€œAnd you didn’t go forward to see, Mr. False?” said Vimes.
    The man looked startled. “Commander, I breed complicated chickens, sir, extremely complicated chickens. I don’t know anything about fighting! Chickens never get all that aggressive! I’m really sorry, sir, but I didn’t go to see in case I saw, sir, see? And if I saw, sir, then I’m sure people would see me, sir, and since I reasoned that they would be people who were alive after other people might possibly be dead, sir, and maybe had a responsibility for said deaths, sir, I made certain that they didn’t see me, sir, if you see what I mean? Besides, I have no weapons, weak lungs and a wooden toe. And I’m alive, at the moment.”
    In truth, Vimes thought there was an inescapable logic to all this, so he said, “Don’t worry about it, Mr. False, I bet you’ve got enough to do with your complicated chickens. So, no weapons at all, then?”
    â€œI’m very sorry to disappoint you, commander, but I’m not a strong man. It was all I could do to drag my toolbox on board!”
    Vimes’s face stayed blank. “Toolbox? You have a toolbox?”
    Mr. False clutched the wall again as the barge bounced off something it shouldn’t have, and said, “Well, yes, of course. If we manage to get off at Quirm I’ve got a site that I must make ready for a hundred chicken houses, and if you want a job done properly these days then you have to do it yourself, right?”
    â€œYou’re telling an expert,” said Vimes as another crash sent them both staggering. “I wonder if I could take a look at this toolbox of yours?”
    There are times in the symphony of the world, when its aural kaleidoscope of crashes, thunderbolts, screams and storms suddenly merges into one great hallelujah! And the contents of the chicken farmer’s innocent toolbox, which contained nothing not made of ordinary iron and steel and wood, nevertheless gleamed in the eyes of Commander Sam Vimes like the hosts of heaven. Mallets, hammers, saws, oh my! There was even a large spiral awl! What could Willikins have managed with a toy like that ? Hal-le-lu-jah! Oh, and here was a crowbar! Vimes balanced it in his hand, and felt the Street rise until it touched his feet. The complicated chicken man had heard a woman screaming…
    Vimes spun around as the tarpaulin was pushed aside and Feeney dropped into the barge in a flurry of spray. “I know you didn’t give me the signal, commander, but I thought I’d better tell you the water is going down.”
    Vimes saw Mr. False close his eyes and groan, but turned back to Feeney and said, “Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it? The water? Going down?”
    â€œNo, it isn’t, sir!” yelled Feeney. “It’s still raining hard and the water level is going down , and that means that upstream of us enough broken trees and bushes and mud and other junk are piling up to make a dam which is getting bigger and bigger and growing out sideways as the water builds up behind it, sir. Can you see what I mean?”
    Vimes did. “Damn slam?”
    Feeney nodded. “Damn right! We have two choices: would you rather die on the river or under it? What are your orders, please, sir?”
    Another collision shook the barge, and Vimes stared at darkness. In this terrible twilight somebody was managing to stop this boat from foundering. A woman had screamed and Vimes had a crowbar. Almost absent-mindedly he reached down into the open toolbox and picked up a sledgehammer, handing it to Feeney. “There you go, lad. I know you’ve got your official firewood, but things might get up close and personal. Chalk it up to the dreadful algebra of necessity, but try not to hit me with it.”
    He heard the voice of Feeney saying, more frantically this time, “What are we going to do, commander?!”
    And Vimes blinked and said, “Everything!”

T he wind caught the tarpaulin as Vimes pulled it open, and it flapped off across the river, leaving the complicated chicken farmer living in hope and broken eggs. They pulled themselves out into the darkness, their shadows dancing to the rhythm of the lightning. How the hell was the pilot navigating in all this? Lamps up front? Surely they could do nothing on a night like this except show up the