Snuff

down to the lockup, which turned out to be on a small quay by the river. The area had all the semi-nautical detritus that a man might expect and there was a swing bridge, presumably to allow the bigger boats to pass. The sun shone and nothing was happening, in a slow sort of way. And then there was the much spoken of lockup. It looked like a giant pepperpot built of stone. A flowering creeper grew up it, and, next to the door and restrained by a chain, there was an enormous pig. When it saw their approach it got on its hind legs, and, tottering somewhat, begged.
    â€œThis is Masher,” said Feeney. “His father was a wild boar, his mother was surprised. See those fangs? No one gives me much trouble when I threaten to let Masher off his lead, do they, Masher?” He disappeared behind the lockup and returned immediately with a bucket of swill, into which Masher tried to bury himself, with hugely contented noises—as huge, in fact, as his fangs. Vimes was staring at them when a friendly looking woman wearing an apron bustled out of a thatched cottage, stopped when she saw Vimes and dropped a curtsy. She looked hopefully at Feeney. “Who would this fine gentleman be, son?”
    â€œIt’s Commander Vimes, Mum…You know, the duke.”
    There was a pause while the woman clearly wished that she had been wearing a better dress, hairdo, and shoes, and had cleaned the privy, the kitchen, the scullery, and had tidied up the garden, painted the front door and cleaned the inside of the roof.
    Vimes prevented her spin from making a hole in the ground by holding out his hand, and saying, “Sam Vimes, madam, pleased to make your acquaintance,” but this only caused her to run indoors in a panic.
    â€œMy mum is very keen on the aristocracy,” Feeney confided as he unlocked the door of the lockup with an unfeasibly large key.
    â€œWhy?” said Vimes, mystified. It was reasonably comfortable in the lockup. Granted, the pigs had left a fragrant memory behind them, but for a boy from Ankh-Morpork this counted as fresh air. Feeney sat down beside him on a well-scrubbed bench. “Well, sir, when my granddad was young, Lord Ramkin gave him a whole half-dollar for opening a gate, just to let the hunt go by. According to my dad, he said, ‘no canting hypocrite going on about the rights of man ever gave me as much as a quarter-farthing so I say here’s to Lord Ramkin, who gave me a whole half-dollar when he was as pissed as a fart, and never asked for it back when he were sober. That’s what I call a gentleman.’ ”
    Vimes squirmed inside, knowing that the supposedly generous old drunkard would have had more money than you could ever imagine, and here was a working man pathetically grateful for a handout from the old piss-artist. He snarled in his soul to a man long dead. But the part of him that had been married to Sybil for years whispered, But he didn’t have to give the man anything, and in those days a whole half-dollar was probably more money than the old man could imagine! Once Sybil, in one of their very infrequent arguments, had surprised him by blurting out, “Well, Sam, my family got its start in life, its grub stake if you like, by piracy. You should like that, Sam! Good honest manual labor! And look what it led to! The trouble with you, Sam Vimes, is that you’re determined to be your very own class enemy.”
    â€œIs there something wrong, commander?” said Feeney.
    â€œEverything,” said Vimes. “For one thing, no policeman swears allegiance to the civil power, he swears allegiance to the law. Oh, politicians can change the law, and if the copper doesn’t like it then he can quit, but while he is in the job it’s up to him to act in accordance with the law as laid down.” He leaned his back against the stone wall. “You do not swear to obey magistrates! I’d like to see what it was that you signed—” Vimes stopped talking because the little metal plate in the lockup door slid open to reveal Feeney’s mother, looking very nervous.
    â€œI’ve made Bang Suck Duck, Feeney, with swede and chips, and there’s enough for the duke as well, if he would be so condescending as to accept it?”
    Vimes leaned forward and whispered, “Does she know you’ve arrested me?”
    Feeney shuddered. “No, and, sir, please, please don’t tell her, because I think she’d never let me