Snuff

well, the lad is a policeman, after all, and it isn’t as if he doesn’t already have a clothing problem. He said, “I would say there are about a hundred, lad, all heavily armed, as far as I can see, except for a couple of broken-down ones right at the front; could be chieftains, I suppose. Beards you could keep a rabbit in, and, by the look of it, may have. It looks as if they are waiting for something.”
    There was a pause before Feeney said, “It’s been an education, working with you, sir.”
    â€œLook,” said Vimes, “if I have to turn and run, just hang on, okay? Running is another skill a policeman sometimes needs.”
    He turned to the crowd of impassive goblins and said, “I am Commander Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch! How can I help you?”
    â€œJust ice!” The cry caused things to drop from the ceiling. It echoed around the cave and echoed again, as cavern after cavern picked up the shout, spun it around, and sent it back. Light rose as torches were kindled. It took Vimes a few moments to realize this, because the light he had seen, some curious artificial light that was probably in his head, had been brighter, and mixed strangely with the smoky orange that was now filling the cave.
    â€œWell, sir, it looks as though they’re pleased to see us, yes?”
    Feeney’s relief and hope should have been bottled and sold to despairing people everywhere. Vimes just nodded, because the ranks were pulling apart, leaving a pathway of sorts, at the end of which there was, inarguably, a corpse. It was a mild relief to see that it was a goblin corpse, but no corpse is good news, particularly when seen in a grimy low light and especially for the corpse. And yet something inside him exulted and cried Hallelujah! , because here was a corpse and he was a copper and this was a crime and this place was smoky and dirty and full of suspicious-looking goblins and here was a crime . His world. Yes, here was his world.

I n the Ankh-Morpork City Watch forensic laboratory Igor was brewing coffee, to the accompaniment of distant rumblings, strange flashes of light and the smell of electricity. At last he pulled the big red lever and frothing brown liquid gurgled into a pot, to be subsequently delivered into two mugs, one of which carried the slogan “Igorth htitch you up,” while the other was emblazoned with “Dwarfs do it slightly lower down.” He handed that one to Sergeant Cheery Littlebottom, whose previous experience as an alchemist meant that she sometimes did duty in the lab. But at this point the cosiness of morning coffee was interrupted by Nobby Nobbs, towing Sergeant Colon behind him. “The sergeant has had a bit of a shock, Igor, so I thought you might be able to help him.”
    â€œWell, I could give him another one,” Igor volunteered, as Fred Colon slumped into a chair, which creaked ominously under his weight. The chair had straps on it.
    â€œLook,” said Nobby, “I’m not mucking about! You’ve heard of the tobacco that counts? Well, he just had a cigar that cries. I’ve put it in this ’ere evidence bag, as per standing instructions.”
    Cheery took the bag and peered inside. “It’s got egg sandwiches in it! Honestly, Nobby, has anyone explained to you what forensic means?” On the basis that she probably couldn’t make things actually worse, Cheery emptied the sandwiches on to the table, where they were joined by one cigar with mayonnaise. She wiped this down with some care and looked at it. “Well, Nobby? I don’t smoke and I don’t know much about cigars, but this one appears to be quite happy at the moment.”
    â€œYou have to hold it to your ear,” said Nobby helpfully.
    Cheery did so, and said, “All I can hear is the crinkling of the tobacco, which I suspect hasn’t been properly kept.” The dwarf held the cigar away from her face and looked at it suspiciously, and then wordlessly she handed it to Igor, who put it to his ear, or at least the one that he was currently using, because you never know with Igors. They looked at one another and Igor broke the silence. “There are such things, I believe, as tobacco weevils?”
    â€œI’m sure there are,” said Cheery, “but I doubt very much if they…chuckle?”
    â€œChuckle? It sounded to me like somebody crying,” said Igor, as he squinted at the bulging