Snuff

One or two people came up to him, shook him frantically by the hand and ran away just as quickly, and it seemed to Vimes that the world was dragging around after him. Nervousness was so saturating the atmosphere that he felt that any time soon he should shout “BOO!” at the top of his voice.
    But Vimes was merely waiting…Waiting for the evening.

T he coaches started to arrive at Ankh-Morpork’s Opera House very early. This was going to be an important occasion: it was said that not only the Patrician would be there, but that he would be accompanied by Lady Margolotta, ruler of all Uberwald, plus the dwarf ambassador, and the black ruby viceroy of Diamond King of Trolls, who arrived in the city with almost as many courtiers, secretaries, bodyguards, chefs and advisors as had been brought by the ambassador from the dwarfs.
    In an unsophisticated way, the people of Ankh-Morpork were very sophisticated and the streets buzzed more busily than usual. Something like this was important. Great matters of state would be settled over the canapés. The fate of millions and suchlike would be most likely decided by a quiet word in a corner somewhere and thereafter the world would be a slightly different place, you see if it isn’t.
    Unless you had a gold-edged invitation to the Opera House that evening this was no occasion to be fashionably late, in case you were left fashionably standing fashionable at the back, craning unfashionably to see over the heads of other people.

T oward sunset Vimes lounged outside the lockup, happy to acknowledge the fraternal salute of the pilot of a small boat that sailed past. Then he strolled along the lane until he reached the pub and took a seat on the bench outside. He took out his snuffbox, looked at it for a moment and decided that on an occasion like this Sybil would have probably allowed him a cigar.
    Through the smoke of the first luxurious pull he stared at the village green and most especially at that pillar of what seemed to be broken wickerwork. Somehow, soundlessly, it was speaking to him, calling to him, just as it had when he had first seen it. After a few more thoughtful puffs he wandered toward the pub door. Jiminy beamed at him from under the freshly painted sign of the Commander’s Arms, where he was enjoying the pint that the parsimonious publican drinks every day when cleaning the pipes. It’s old beer, obviously, but what’s beer but liquid bread, eh? And bread can’t do you no harm.
    â€œYou look a bit preoccupied, commander,” said the publican. “A mite pensive, as it were?”
    Vimes nodded toward the tottering spire. “How important is that, my friend?”
    The barman glanced at the stack as if he couldn’t care less. “Well, you know, it’s just a load of old wicker hurdles, that’s all. They just stack them there after the annual sheep fair so they don’t get in the way. A bit of a landmark, you might say, but not that much.”
    â€œOh,” said Vimes. He stared at the tower. Nothing really, then, but nevertheless it spoke to him.
    Vimes stared at the heap for a while and then followed Jiminy into the bar.
    â€œHow much brandy do you have in here?”
    â€œNot much call for it, but I’d say five or six bottles and a small barrel.” Jiminy stared intently at Vimes. Vimes knew Jiminy for what he was: nothing else but a man who knew enough to always be on the winning side.
    Vimes puffed his cigar again. “Put two of them aside for me, will you? And you’d better make sure you’ve got good beer on tap, because pretty soon you’re going to have a lot of customers.”
    He left the barman bustling as he went back outside and he continued to stare, his mind elsewhere, and in many places. Of course it’ll work, he told himself. They’ve all got watches and I know they’ll have synchronized them, even if they don’t know how to spell synchronize. It’s a shout like any other, and I’ve trained most of them and I reckon that they know that if somebody says to them, “Do you know who I am?” they know enough to say, “Yes, you’re nicked!” and he smiled inwardly when he thought that among the officers drafted in from the city were two trolls, two vampires, a werewolf and a dwarf. That’s what they probably call symbolic, he thought. He pulled out his own watch again, just as the early seekers of an evening pint