Feet of Clay

'I thought acids sloshed about in jars,' said Vimes. 'Er … what's that on your hands?'

'Nail varnish, sir.'

'Nail varnish?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Er … fine, fine. Funny, I thought it would be green.'

'Wouldn't look good on the fingers, sir.'

'I meant the arsenic, Littlebottom.'

'Oh, you can get all sorts of colours of arsenic, sir. The sulphides — that's the ores, sir — can be red or brown or yellow or grey, sir. And then you cook them up with nitre and you get arsenous acid, sir. And a load of nasty smoke, really bad.'

'Dangerous stuff,' said Vimes.

'Not good at all, sir. But useful, sir,' said Cheery. 'Tanners, dyers, painters … It's not just poisoners that've got a use for arsenic.'

'I'm surprised people aren't dropping dead of it all the time,' said Vimes.

'Oh, most of them use golems, sir—'

The words stayed in the air even after Cheery stopped speaking.

Vimes caught Carrot's eye and started to whistle hoarsely under his breath. This is it, he thought. This is where we've filled ourselves up with so many questions that they're starting to overflow and become answers.

He felt more alive than he had for days. The recent excitement still tingled in his veins, kicking his brain into life. It was the sparkle you got with exhaustion, he knew. You were so bone-weary that a shot of adrenalin hit you like a falling troll. They must have it all now. All the bits. The edges, the corners, the whole picture. All there, just waiting to be pieced together …

'These golems,' said Carrot. 'They'd be covered in arsenic, would they?'

'Could be, sir. I saw one at the Alchemists' Guild building in Quirm and, hah, it'd even got arsenic plated on its hands, sir, on account of stirring crucibles with its fingers …'

'They don't feel heat,' said Vimes.

'Or pain,' said Carrot.

'That's right,' said Cheery. She looked uncertainly from one to the other.

'You can't poison them,' said Vimes.

'And they'll obey orders,' said Carrot. 'Without speaking.'

'Golems do all the really mucky jobs,' said Vimes.

'You could have mentioned this before, Cheery,' said Carrot.

'Well, you know, sir … Golems are just there, sir. No one notices golems.'

'Grease under his fingernails,' said Vimes, to the room in general. 'The old man scratched at his murderer. Grease under his fingernails. With arsenic in it.'

He looked down at the notebook, still on his desk. It's there, he thought. Something we haven't seen. But we've looked everywhere. So we've seen the answer and haven't seen that it is the answer. And if we don't see it now, at this moment, we'll never see it at all …

'No offence, sir, but that's probably not a help,' said Cheery's voice somewhere in the distance. 'So many of the trades that use arsenic involve some kind of grease.'

Something we don't see, thought Vimes. Something invisible. No, it wouldn't have to be invisible. Something we don't see because it's always there. Something that strikes in the night …

And there it was.

He blinked. The glittering stars of exhaustion were causing his mind to think oddly. Well, thinking rationally hadn't worked.

'No one move,' he said. He held up a hand for silence. 'There it is,' he said softly. There. On my desk. You see it?'

'What, sir?' said Carrot.

'You mean you haven't worked it out?' said Vimes.

'What, sir?'

'The thing that's poisoning his lordship. There it is … on the desk. See?'

'Your notebook?'

'No!'

'He drinks Bearhugger's whisky?' said Cheery.

'I doubt it,' said Vimes.

'The blotter?' said Carrot. 'Poisoned pens? A packet of Pantweeds?'

'Where're they?' said Vimes, patting his pockets.

'Just sticking out from under the letters in the In Tray, sir,' said Carrot. He added reproachfully, 'You know, sir, the ones you don't answer.'

Vimes picked up the packet and extracted another cigar. 'Thanks,' he said. 'Hah! I didn't ask Mildred Easy what else she took! But of course they're a servant's little bonus, too! And old Mrs Easy was a seamstress, a proper seamstress! And this is autumn! Killed by the nights drawing in! See?'

Carrot crouched down and looked at the surface of the desk. 'Can't see it myself, sir,' he said.

'Of course you can't,' said Vimes. 'Because there's nothing to see. You can't see it. That's how you can tell it's there. If it wasn't there you'd soon see it!' He gave a huge manic grin. 'Only you wouldn't! See?'

'You all right, sir?' said Carrot. 'I know you've been overdoing it a bit these last few days—'

'I've been underdoing it!' said Vimes. 'I've been running around looking for damn Clues instead of just thinking for five minutes! What is it I'm always telling you?'

'Er … er … Never trust anybody, sir?'

'No, not that.'

'Er … er … Everyone's guilty of something, sir?'

'Not that, either.'

'Er … er … Just because someone's a member of an ethnic minority doesn't mean they're not a nasty small- minded little jerk, sir?'

'N— When did I say that?'

'Last week, sir. After we'd had that visit from the Campaign for Equal Heights, sir.'

'Well, not that. I mean … I'm pretty sure I'm always saying something else that's very relevant here. Something pithy about police work.'

'Can't remember anything right now, sir.'

'Well, I'll damn well make up something and start saying it a lot from now on.'

'Jolly good, sir.' Carrot beamed. 'It's good to see you're your old self again, sir. Looking forward to kicking ar — to prodding buttock, sir. Er … What have we found, sir?'

'You'll see! We're going to the palace. Fetch Angua. We might need her. And bring the search warrant.'

'You mean the sledgehammer, sir?'

'Yes. And Sergeant Colon, too.'

'He hasn't signed in again yet, sir,' said Cheery. 'He should have gone off-duty an hour ago.'

'Probably hanging around somewhere, staying out of trouble,' said Vimes.

Wee Mad Arthur peered over the edge of the wall. Somewhere below Colon, two red eyes stared up at him.

'Heavy, is it?'

'S!'

'Kick it with your other foot!'

There was a sucking sound. Colon winced. Then there was a plop, a moment of silence, and a loud crash of pottery down in the street.