Snuff

could be considered homely, depending on what kind of home you had in mind, the eyes were as human as you could imagine. They had a depth that not even the brightest animal could achieve. He reached for his wallet, and Miss Beedle said sharply, “Money won’t do!”
    He ignored her and finished pulling out the picture of Young Sam that he took everywhere and carefully passed it to Tears of the Mushroom, who took it as if holding a rare and delicate object—which, from the point of view of Vimes, it certainly was. She looked at it, then down at the boy himself, who gave her a cheery smile, and her eyes confirmed that the grimace on her face was in fact an answering smile. For Young Sam, the goblin cave was an interesting fairyland. You had to admire his ability not to be immediately frightened of anything.
    Tears of the Mushroom looked back at the picture and then back at Young Sam and then at the face of Vimes. She tucked the picture carefully into her apron and pulled out her hand, holding a small, iridescent pot. She held it out to Vimes, her hand trembling slightly, and he found himself taking it gingerly in both hands. Then Tears of the Mushroom said in her strange voice, like a living filing cabinet, “Hearts have given.” Which almost brought Vimes to his knees.
    He thought: it could just as well have been her head grinning on the pub wall! Someone is going to burn!
    In the back of his mind a cheerful voice said, “Well done, Commander Vimes, at last you are singing from my hymn sheet!”
    He ignored it, feeling the little pot; it was as smooth as skin. Whatever it was made to contain, and he wasn’t going to ask, the contents were masked by a carved latticework of flowers and mushrooms.

I n the cool depths of his cellar, Mr. Jiminy the publican was preparing for the evening rush when he heard a sound in the darkness among the barrels. He dismissed it as being yet another rat until a hand was clamped over his mouth.
    â€œExcuse me, sir, I have reason to believe that you can help me with my inquiries.” The man struggled, but Vimes knew every trick when it came to apprehending a suspect. He hissed, “You know who I am, sir, and I know what you are. We’re both coppers and we’ve been around the houses. You said that the barman sees everything, hears everything and says nothing, and I’m a fair man, Mr. Jiminy, but I’m investigating a murder. A murder, sir, the capital crime, and maybe something much, much worse. So excuse me if I take the view that those who aren’t behind me are standing in my way, with all that that entails.”
    Jiminy was running out of breath now, and squirming feebly. “Oh, too much of the booze and too little walking the beat, I fancy,” said Vimes. “Now, I would not ask a man to break the barman’s solemn oath, so when I take my hand away, we’ll sit down peacefully and play a little game of charades. I’m letting go…now.”
    The barman wheezed a curse, and added, “You didn’t need to do that, commander. I’ve got a bad chest, you know!”
    â€œNot as bad as it might otherwise be, Mr. Jiminy. And now a word on the subject of being too clever.”
    The publican glared as Vimes went on, “I’m strictly a copper. I don’t kill people unless they’re trying to kill me. You may be aware of my batman, Mr. Willikins. You saw him the other day. Regrettably he’s more direct, and also extremely loyal. A few years ago, to save my family, he killed an armed dwarf with a common ice knife. And he has other talents: among them, I have to say, is that he can iron a shirt as crisply as any man I know. And, as I say, very loyal indeed. C’mon, Jiminy. I’m a copper and you’re a copper. You’re still a copper whatever you say—the stain never leaves you. You know what I can do and I know what you can do and you’re smart enough to choose the right side.”
    â€œAll right, you don’t need to rub it in,” Jiminy grumbled. “We both know about the ins and outs.” His voice was suddenly and almost theatrically helpful as he crooned, “How may I help you, officer, just like the good citizen that I am?”
    Vimes carefully pulled out of his coat the little pot. It was indeed about the size of a snuffbox. The incongruity was not lost on Vimes: in one pocket he held the glorious gem, quite likely the repository of goblin