Snuff

that, madam?”
    Miss Beedle laughed. It was a very enjoyable laugh. “Well, commander, it would seem that your son combines your analytical thinking with the inherited Ramkin talent for experimentation. You must be very proud? I certainly hope you are.”
    â€œYou can bet on that, madam.” The child standing in Miss Beedle’s shadow was smiling too, the first smile he’d seen on a goblin. But before he could say anything, Miss Beedle directed a disapproving look at Feeney and went on, “I only wish I could find you in better company, commander. I wonder if you know where my friend Jethro is, officer?”
    Even in the lamplight, Feeney looked furious, but if you read people, and Vimes was a ferocious reader, it was clear the fury was spiced with shame and dread. Then Vimes looked down at the little bench, where there were a few tools and some more brightly covered books. It was the streets that had taught Vimes that there were times when you would find it best to let a nervous person get really nervous, and so he picked up a book as if the previous dreadful exchange had not taken place, and said, “Oh, here’s Where’s My Cow? ! Young Sam loves it. Are you teaching it to the goblins, Miss?”
    With her eyes still on the agitated Feeney, Miss Beedle said, “Yes, for what it’s worth. It’s hard work. Incidentally, technically I’m Mrs. Beedle. My husband was killed in the Klatchian war. I went back to ‘Miss’ because, well, it’s more authory, and besides, it wasn’t as though I’d had much time to get accustomed to ‘Mrs.’ ”
    â€œI’m sorry about that, madam, Had I known I’d have been a lot less flippant,” said Vimes.
    Miss Beedle gave him a wan smile. “Don’t worry, flippant sometimes does the trick.” Beside the teacher the little goblin said, “Flip-ant? The ant is turned over?”
    â€œTears of the Mushroom is my star pupil. You’re wonderful, aren’t you, Tears of the Mushroom?”
    â€œWonderful is good,” said the goblin girl, as though tasting every word. “Gentle is good, the mushroom is good. Tears are soft. I am Tears of the Mushroom, this much is now said.”
    It was a strange little speech: the girl spoke as if she were pulling words out of a rack and then tidily putting them back in their places as soon as they had been said. It sounded very solemn and it came from an odd, flat, pale face. In a way, Tears of the Mushroom looked handsome, if not exactly pretty, in what looked like a wraparound apron, and Vimes wondered how old she was. Thirteen? Fourteen, maybe? And he wondered if they would all look as smart as this if they got their hands on some decent clothing and did something about their godawful hair. The girl’s hair was long and braided and pure white. Amazingly, in this place, she looked like a piece of fragile porcelain.
    Not knowing what to say, he said it anyway: “Pleased to meet you, Tears of the Mushroom.” Vimes held out his hand. The goblin girl looked at it, then looked at him, and then turned to Miss Beedle, who said, “They don’t shake hands, commander. For people who seem so simple they’re astoundingly complicated.”
    She turned to Vimes. “It would seem, commander, that providence has brought you here in time to solve the murder of the goblin girl, who was an excellent pupil. I came up here as soon as I heard, but the goblins are used to undeserved and casual death. I’ll walk with you to the entrance, and then I’ve got a class to teach.”
    Vimes tugged at Feeney to make him keep up as they followed Miss Beedle and her charge toward the surface and blessed fresh air. He wondered what had become of the corpse. What did they do with their dead? Bury them, eat them, throw them on the midden? Or was he just not thinking right, a thought which itself had been knocking at his brain for some time. Without thinking, he said, “What else do you teach them, Miss Beedle? To be better citizens?”
    The slap caught him on the chin, probably because even in her anger Miss Beedle realized that he still had his steel helmet on. It was a corker, nonetheless, and out of the corner of his stinging gaze he saw Feeney take a step back. At least the boy had some sense.
    â€œYou are the gods’ own fool, Commander Vimes! No, I’m not teaching them to be fake humans, I’m teaching them