Snuff

be considered to be a tiny bit guilty when all is said and done, and while all was being said and all was being done, someone really intent on getting Vimes into difficulties would have left the corpse of the blacksmith there, wouldn’t they?
    â€œFound something, sir,” said Willikins, straightening up.
    â€œYou what?”
    â€œFound something, sir, felt along the ground, as you might say.”
    â€œBut it’s soaked with blood, man!”
    This didn’t seem to worry Willikins. “Never minded blood, commander, leastways when it wasn’t mine.” There was some scrabbling, then light appeared: Willikins had shifted the trap door of a dark lantern. He handed it to Vimes and then held something small to the glow. “It’s a ring, sir. Looks like it’s been made of stone.”
    â€œWhat? You mean it’s a stone with a hole in it?”
    He heard Willikins sigh. “No, sir, it’s polished smooth. And there’s a claw in it. Looks like goblin to me.”
    Vimes thought, all that blood. Severed claw. Goblins aren’t that big. Somebody bothered to come up here to kill a goblin. Where’s the rest of it?
    In theory, moonlight should help the search, but moonlight is deceptive, creating shadows where shadows should not be, and the wind was getting up. Dark lantern or not, there was little he could do here.

T he curtains were drawn and a few lights still burned in the Goblin’s Head. Apparently, there were licensing laws. A good copper should always be ready to test the strength of them. He led the way round to the back of the pub and knocked on the little wooden sliding panel set into the building’s back door. After a few moments Jiminy pulled the sliding panel aside and Vimes stuck his hand in the hole before the man could close it again.
    â€œNot you, please, your grace, the magistrates would have my guts for garters!”
    â€œAnd I’m sure they’ll be very decorative,” said Vimes, “but it won’t happen, because I’ll warrant that about a third of your regular customers are still imbibing intoxicating liquors at this hour, and probably at least one magistrate is among them…No, I take back that last remark. Magistrates do their drinking at home, where there are no licensing laws. I won’t say a word, but it’ll be a bad old day for the job if a thirsty copper can’t mump a night-time beverage from a former colleague.” He slapped some coins on the tiny shelf inside the little panel and added, “That should buy a double brandy for my man here, and for me the address of Mr. Jefferson, the smith.”
    â€œYou can’t treat me like this, you know.”
    Vimes looked at Willikins. “Can I?”
    The gentleman’s gentleman cleared his throat. “We are now in the world of feudal law, commander. You own the ground this public house stands on, but he has rights as strong as your own. If he has paid his rent, then you can’t even go into the property without his permission.”
    â€œHow do you know all this stuff?”
    â€œWell, commander, as you know, I’ve had one or two holidays in the Tanty in my time, and one thing about prison is there are always a lot of books about the law lying around, criminals being very keen on going through the old legal smallprint, just in case it turns out that giving a rival gang member some cement boots and dropping him in the river might be legal after all. That kind of learning sticks.”
    â€œBut I’m investigating a mysterious disappearance now. The blacksmith was very keen to see me up the hill, but when I got up there there was nothing but a load of blood all over the place. Jefferson wanted to tell me something and you must know what that smells like to a copper.” Even though I’m not sure , said Vimes to himself. “Definitely something iffy, that’s for sure.”
    The landlord shrugged. “Not my business, squire.”
    Vimes’s hand gripped the landlord’s wrist before the man could pull it away and tugged him so hard that his face was up against the woodwork.
    â€œDon’t you squire me. There’s something going down here, something wrong; I can feel it in my boots and, believe me, they are the most sensitive boots that ever were. The man who runs the village pub knows everything—I know that and so do you. If you’re not on my side you’re in my way and you