Snuff

hands started shaking, sir, and a few days later he was dead, sir. I reckon something snuck up on him, sir, in his head, like. It overcame him.”
    â€œHave you heard about Lord Vetinari, Feeney? I can’t say I like him all that much but sometimes he’s bang on the money. Well, there was a bit of a fracas, as we say, and it turned out that a man had a dog, a half-dead thing, according to bystanders, and he was trying to get it to stop pulling at its leash, and when it growled at him he grabbed an ax from the butcher’s stall beside him, threw the dog to the ground and cut off its back legs, just like that. I suppose people would say ‘Nasty bugger, but it was his dog,’ and so on, but Lord Vetinari called me in and he said to me, ‘A man who would do something like that to a dog is a man to whom the law should pay close attention. Search his house immediately.’ The man was hanged a week later, not for the dog, although for my part I wouldn’t have shed a tear if he had been, but for what we found in his cellar. The contents of which I will not burden you with. And bloody Vetinari got away with it again, because he was right: where there are little crimes, large crimes are not far behind.”
    Vimes stared at the rolling acres stretching out below: his fields, his trees, his fields of yellow corn…All his, even though he’d never planted a seed in his life, except for the time when he was a kid and he tried to grow mustard and cress on a flannel, which he’d then thrown up because no one had told him he should have washed the flannel first to get all the soap out. Not a good background for a landowner. But…His land, right? And he was sure that neither he nor Sybil had ever said yes to turning a lot of sad-looking goblins out of the mess they were pleased to call a home and taking them to who knew where.
    â€œNobody told us!”
    Feeney leaned back to escape that particular ball of wrath. “I wouldn’t know about that, sir.”
    Vimes stood up and stretched his arms. “I’ve heard enough, lad, and I’ve had enough too! It’s time to report to a higher authority!”
    â€œI think it’d take at least a day and a half to get a galloper to the city, sir, and you’d have to be lucky with horses.”
    Sam Vimes began to walk smartly down the hill. “I was talking about Lady Sybil, lad.”

S ybil was in a drawing room full of teacups and ladies when Vimes arrived at the Hall in a run, with Feeney lagging behind. She took one look at him and said, rather more brightly than warranted, “Oh, I see you have something to discuss with me.” She turned to the ladies, smiled and said, “Please do excuse me, ladies. I must just have a brief word with my husband.” And with that she grabbed Vimes and pulled him none too gently back into the hallway. She opened her mouth to deliver a wifely sermon on the importance of punctuality, sniffed and recoiled. “Sam Vimes, you stink! Did you fall into something rural? I’ve hardly seen you since breakfast! And why are you still dragging that young policeman behind you? I’m sure he’s got something more important to do. Didn’t he want to arrest you? Is he coming to tea? I hope he washes first.” This was said to Vimes but aimed at Feeney, who was keeping his distance and looked ready to run.
    â€œThat was a misunderstanding,” said Vimes hastily, “and I’m sure that if I ever find out where my escutcheon is there won’t be a stain on it, but Mr. Feeney here has been generously and of his own free will imparting information to me.”
    And by the time the husband and wife conversation was in full swing, containing shouted whispers on the lines of “Surely not!” and “I think he’s telling the truth,” Feeney looked ready to sprint.
    â€œAnd they didn’t put up a fight?” said Sybil. The young policeman tried to avoid her gaze, but she had the kind of gaze that came around to find you wherever you stood.
    â€œNo, your ladyship,” was all he managed.
    Lady Sybil looked at her husband and shrugged. “There would be one hell of a fight with someone who wanted to take me off to a place I didn’t want to go to,” she said, “and I thought goblins had weapons? Pretty nasty fighters, so I’ve heard. I’d have thought there’d have been a war! We would have heard about it!