Snuff

children’s books, by the look of it. They were grubby – this was, after all, the home of goblins – but Vimes turned to the first page of the first book and was not surprised to see an unfeasibly large red apple, currently somewhat soiled by the pressure of many dirty hands.
    A voice in the gloom, a female voice, said, ‘Not all questions are answered, commander, but fortunately some answers are questioned. I’m attempting to teach the goblin children. Of course, I had to bring in an apple for the young ones to see,’ the woman in the shadows added. ‘Not many knew what one was, and certainly not what they were called. Troll language is unbelievably complex compared with what these poor devils have got. Good day to you too, Mr Upshot. Not cowering away from the truth in your lock-up?’
    Vimes had spun round when he first heard that voice, and was now staring with his mouth open. ‘You? Aren’t you the, er …’
    ‘The poo lady, yes, Commander Vimes. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how people remember?’
    ‘Well, you must admit that it does – how can I put it? – stick in the mind, Miss Felicity Beedle.’
    ‘Very well done, commander, considering that we’ve met only once!’
    And now Vimes noticed that with her there was a goblin, a young one by the size of it, but more noticeable because it was staring directly at him with a keen and interested gaze, quite uncharacteristic of the goblins that he had seen so far, apart from the wretched Stinky. Feeney, on the other hand, was taking great care not to catch the lady’s eye, Vimes noticed.
    He smiled at Miss Beedle. ‘Madam, I reckon I see your name at least once every day. When I was putting my lad to bed yesterday, do you know what he said? He said, “Dad, do you know why cows do big wet sloppy poos and horses do them all nice and soft and smelling of grass? Because it’s weird, isn’t it? That you get two different kinds of poo when they’re both about the same size and it’s the same grass, isn’t it, Dad? Well, the poo lady says it’s because cows have room in ants, and the ants help them get, sort of, more food out of their food, but because horses don’t have room in ants, they don’t sort of chew all that much, so that their poo is still very much like grass and doesn’t smell too bad.”’
    Vimes saw that the woman was grinning, and went on, ‘I believe that tomorrow he is going to ask his mother if he may chew his dinner very hard one day, and the next day not do it very much, and see if he gets different smells. What do you think of 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.’
    ‘You 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 Street 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”.’
    ‘I’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?’
    ‘Tears of the Mushroom is my star pupil. You’re wonderful, aren’t you, Tears of the