Snuff
wave. Exhibit three, who was holding a toolbox (terrific weapon if swung accurately) scurried past with speed and barely glanced in Vimesâs direction. He looked young and rather weedy, but nevertheless you can get a good momentum on one of those boxes. Then there was another elderly man, wearing a blacksmithâs apron, but the wrong build, so Vimes marked him down as a farrier. Yes, that would be it, short and wiry, would easily be able to get under a horse. The man presented a reasonable attempt at a forelock salute, and Vimes was unable to make out any dangerous bulges concealed by the apron. He couldnât help this algebra; it was what you did when you did the job. Even if you didnât expect trouble, you, well, expected trouble.
And then the room froze.
There had been some desultory conversation in the vicinity of Jiminy but it stopped now as the real blacksmith came in. Bugger. All Vimesâs warning bells rang at once, and they werenât tinkly bells. They clanged. After a brief glower round the room the man headed for the bar on the course that would take him past, or probably over, or even through Sam Vimes. As it was, Vimes carefully pulled his mug out of harmâs way so that the manâs undisguised attempt to âaccidentallyâ spill it failed.
âMr. Jiminy,â Vimes called out, âa round of drinks for these gentlemen, all right?â
This caused a certain amount of cheerfulness among the other newcomers, but the smith slammed a hand like a shovel down on the wood so that glasses jumped.
âI donât care to drink with them as grinds the faces of the poor!â
Vimes held his gaze, and said, âSorry, I didnât bring my grinder with me today.â It was silly, because a couple of sniggers from hopeful drinkers at the bar merely stoked whatever fires the blacksmith had neglected to leave at work, and made him angry.
âWho are you to think youâre a better man than me?â
Vimes shrugged, and said, âI donât know if I am a better man than you.â But he was thinking: you look to me like a big man in a small community, and you think youâre tough because youâre strong and metal doesnât sneak up behind you and try to kick you in the goolies. Good grief, you donât even know how to stand right! Even Corporal Nobbs could get you down and be kicking you industriously in the fork before you knew what was happening.
Like any man fearing that something expensive could get broken, Jiminy came bustling across the floor and grabbed the smith by one arm, saying, âCome on, Jethro, letâs have no trouble. His grace is just having a drink the like of which any man is entitled toâ¦â
This appeared to work, although aggression smouldered on Jethroâs face and indeed in the surrounding air. By the look on the faces of the other men, this was a performance they were familiar with. It was a poor copper who couldnât read a pub crowd, and Vimes could probably write a history, with footnotes. Every community has its firebrand, or madman, or self-taught politician. Usually they are tolerated because they add to the gaiety of nations, as it were, and people say things like âItâs just his way,â and the air clears and life goes on. But Jethro, now sitting in the far corner of the bar nursing his pint like a lion huddled over his gazelle, well, Jethro, in the Vimes lexicon of risk, was a man likely to explode. Of course the world sometimes needed blowing up, just so long as it didnât happen where Vimes was drinking.
Vimes was becoming aware that the pub was filling up, mostly with other sons of the soil, but also with people who, whether they were gentlemen or not, would expect to be called so. They wore colorful caps and white trousers and spoke continuously.
There was also further activity outside; horses and carriages were filling the lane. Hammering was going on somewhere and Jiminyâs wife was now manning or, more correctly, womaning the bar while her husband ran back and forth with his tray. Jethro remained in his corner like a man biding his time, occasionally glaring daggers, and probably fists as well with an option on boots, if Vimes so much as looked at him.
Vimes decided to take a look out of the grubby pub window. Regrettably, the pub was that most terrifying of things, picturesque, which meant that the window consisted of small round panes fixed in place with
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