Snuff

cigar, and added, “We should wash down the table and clean a scalpel and use the number-two tweezers and two, no, make that four sterilized surgical masks and gloves. It may be some kind of unusual insect in there.”
    â€œI held that cigar up to my ear,” said Nobby. “What kind of insect are we talking about?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” said Igor, “but generally the places in the world where tobacco is cultivated are known for some remarkably dangerous ones. For example, the yellow grass weevil of Howondaland has been known to enter the skull via the ears, lay its eggs in the victim’s brain and leave the poor victim hallucinating continuously until it has exited via the nostrils. Death inevitably ensues. My cousin Igor has a tank full of them. They’re very good at getting skulls scrupulously clean.” Igor paused. “So I’m told, that is, although I personally cannot confirm that.” He paused again, then added, “Of course.”
    Nobby Nobbs headed for the door, but, unusually, Sergeant Colon did not follow his friend. Instead, he said, “I’ll just stay with my fingers in my ears, if it’s all the same to you?”
    He craned his head to watch as Igor carefully pulled the cigar apart, and said conversationally, “They say that the cigars made in foreign parts are rolled on the thighs of young women. Personally I call that disgusting.”
    There was a tinkle and a glint * and something dropped onto the table. Cheery leaned cautiously forward. It looked like a small expensive vial for the most delicate alchemical experiments and yet, she thought later, it seemed to have movement in it, movement while staying still. Igor looked over her shoulder and said, “Oh.”
    They looked at the vial in silence, silence that was soon broken by Sergeant Colon. “That looks shiny,” he said. “Is it worth anything?”
    Cheery Littlebottom raised her eyebrows at Igor, who shrugged. He said, “Priceless, I should think, if you could find a buyer with enough money and the, how shall I put it, right taste in ornamentation.”
    â€œIt’s an unggue pot,” Cheery said carefully. “A goblin ceremonial pot, sarge.”
    The dawn of understanding began to flow across Sergeant Colon’s gas giant of a face. “Ain’t they the things they make to store all their piss and shit in?” he said, backing away.
    Igor cleared his throat and looked at Cheery as he said, icily, “Not this type, if I’m right, and at least not down here on the Plains. Those that feel themselves protected in the high mountains make pots, and also use the unggue brushes and, of course, the unggue masks.” He looked expectantly, but without any real hope, at the sergeant. Cheery, who had known him for longer, said, “I understand, sarge, that the goblins on the Plains think the ones in the mountains are rather strange. As for this pot,” she hesitated, “I rather fear that this is a particularly special one.”
    â€œWell, it looks like the little buggers got that right,” said Fred cheerfully, and, to Cheery’s horror, he snatched up the tiny pot. “It’s mine, that’s why, far too good for a stinking goblin, but how come it makes a noise?”
    Sergeant Littlebottom looked at Igor’s expression, and, to prevent trouble in the Forensic Department, she grabbed the sergeant’s arm and dragged him out of the door, slamming it behind them.
    â€œSorry about this, sergeant, but I could see that Igor was becoming a little bit agitated.”
    Sergeant Colon brushed himself down with as much dignity as he could muster, and said, “If it’s valuable, then I want it, thank you so very much. After all, it was given to me in good faith. Right?”
    â€œWell, of course that is so, sergeant, but you see, it already belongs to a goblin.”
    Sergeant Colon burst out laughing. “Them? What have they got to own apart from big piles of crap?”
    Cheery hesitated. Lazy and bombastic as Fred Colon was, the record showed that, against all apparent evidence, he had been a helpful and useful officer. She needed to be tactful.
    â€œSergeant, can I say right now that I appreciate all the help you have given to me since I arrived in Pseudopolis Yard? I’ll always remember you pointing out to me all those places where a watchman could stand out of the wind and the worst of the