Snuff

footman, who was making a face like a man having to handle a dead rat. At least, it was presumably the local copper; he looked like the local copper’s son. Seventeen years old, Vimes reckoned, and he smelled of pigs. He stood where the footman had deposited him, and stared.
    After a while Vimes said, “Can I help you, officer?”
    The young man blinked. “Er, am I addressing Sir Samuel Vimes?”
    â€œWho are you?”
    This query appeared to take the young man by surprise, and after a while Vimes took pity on him and said, “Look, son, the correct drill is to say who you are and then ask me if I am me, so to speak. After all, I don’t know who you are. You’re not wearing a uniform I recognize, you have shown me no warrant card or badge and you don’t have a helmet. I assume, nevertheless, and for the purposes of concluding this interview before lunchtime, that you are the chief constable in this vicinity? What’s your name?”
    â€œEr, Upshot, sir, Feeney Upshot…er, Chief Constable Upshot?”
    Vimes felt ashamed of himself, but this kid was representing himself as a police officer and even Nobby Nobbs would have laughed.
    Aloud, he said, “Well, Chief Constable Upshot, I am Sir Samuel Vimes, amongst other things, and I was thinking only just now that I should talk to you.”
    â€œEr, that’s good, sir, because I was thinking only just now that it was about time I should arrest you on suspicion of causing the death of Jethro Jefferson, the smith.”
    Vimes’s expression did not change. So, what do I do now? Nothing, that’s what. You have the right to remain silent, I’ve said that to hundreds of people, knowing it for the rubbish that it is, and I’m absolutely certain of one other thing, that I certainly haven’t laid anything more than an educational hand on that damned blacksmith and therefore it’s going to be very interesting to find out why this little twerp thinks he can feel my collar for doing so.
    A copper should always be willing to learn, and Vimes had learned from Lord Vetinari that you should never react to any comment or situation until you had decided exactly what you were going to do. This had the dual attraction of preventing you from saying or doing the wrong thing while at the same time making other people extremely nervous.
    â€œSorry about that, sir, but it took me an hour to get the pigs out and make the lockup comfortable, sir, it still smells a bit of disinfectant, sir, and pig, if it comes to that, but I whitewashed the walls and there’s a chair and a bed you can curl up on. Oh, and so you don’t get bored I found the magazine.” He looked hopefully at Vimes, whose expression had not changed, merely calcified, but after a suitably long stare Vimes said, “Which magazine?”
    â€œSir? I didn’t know there was more than one. We’ve always had it. It’s about pigs. It’s a bit worn now, but pigs is always pigs.”
    Vimes stood up. “I’m going to go for a walk, chief constable. You can follow me if you like.”
    â€œSorry, sir, but I’ve arrested you!”
    â€œNo, son, you haven’t,” said Vimes, heading toward the front door.
    â€œBut I definitely told you that you were arrested, sir!” It was almost a wail.
    Vimes opened the front door and started down the steps with Feeney trotting along behind him. A couple of gardeners who would otherwise have turned away leaned on their brooms at the sight, suspecting a cabaret.
    â€œWhat in the world have you got on you that tells me you are an official policeman?” enquired Vimes over his shoulder.
    â€œI have the official truncheon, sir. It’s a family heirloom!”
    Sam Vimes stopped walking and turned. “Well, my lad, if it’s official then you’d better let me look at it, hadn’t you? Come on, hand it over.” Feeney did so.
    It was just an oversized blackjack, with the word “law” inexpertly burnt into it with maybe a poker. Good weight, though. Vimes tapped it in his palm and said, “You’ve given me to understand that you believe that I’m potentially a murderer and you’ve handed your weapon to me! Don’t you think that’s unwise?”

V imes saw the landscape drift past as he floated over the terrace and landed on his back in a flower bed, staring at the sky. Feeney’s concerned face, somewhat