Feet of Clay

'But it's your evidence, right? You see, I don't think he's got noble blood in him. Nobby's as common as muck. It's one of his better points. I don't set any score by the ring. The amount of stuff his family's nicked, you could probably prove he's the Duke of Pseudopolis, the Seriph of Klatch and the Dowager Duchess of Quirm. He pinched my cigar case last year and I'm damn certain he's not me. No, I don't think Nobby is a nob. But I think he was convenient.'

It seemed to Vimes that Dragon was getting bigger, but perhaps it was only a trick of the candlelight. The light flickered as the candles hissed and popped.

'You made good use of me, eh?' Vimes carried on. 'I'd been ducking out of appointments with you for weeks. I expect you were getting quite impatient. You were so surprised when I told you about Nobby, eh? Otherwise you'd've had to send for him or something, very suspicious. But Commander Vimes discovered him. That looks good. Practically makes it official.

'And then I started thinking: who wants a king? Well, nearly everyone. It's built in. Kings make it better. Funny thing, isn't it? Even those people who owe everything to him don't like Vetinari. Ten years ago most of the guild leaders were just a bunch of thugs and now … well, they're still a bunch of thugs, to tell the truth, but Vetinari's given 'em the time and energy to decide they never needed him.

'And then young Carrot turns up with charisma writ all over him, and he's got a sword and a birthmark and everyone gets a funny feeling and dozens of buggers start going through the records and say, 'Hey, looks like the king's come back.' And then they watch him for a while and say, 'Shit, he really is decent and honest and fair and just, just like in all the stories. Whoops! If this lad gets on the throne we could be in serious trouble! He might turn out to be one of them inconvenient kings from long ago who wanders around talking to the common people—' '

'You are in favour of the common people?' said Dragon mildly.

'The common people?' said Vimes. 'They're nothing special. They're no different from the rich and powerful except they've got no money or power. But the law should be there to balance things up a bit. So I suppose I've got to be on their side.'

'A man married to the richest woman in the city?'

Vimes shrugged. 'The watchman's helmet isn't like a crown. Even when you take it off you're still wearing it.'

'That's an interesting statement of position, Sir Samuel, and I would be the first to admire the way you've come to terms with your family history, but—'

'Don't move!' Vimes shifted his grip on the crossbow. 'Anyway … Carrot wouldn't do, but the news was getting around, and someone said, 'Right, let's have a king we can control. All the rumours say the king is a humble watchman so let's find one.' And they had a look and found that when it comes to humble you can't beat Nobby Nobbs. But … I think people weren't too sure. Killing Vetinari wasn't an option. As I said, too many things would happen too fast. But to just gently remove him, so that he's there and not there at the same time, while everyone tried out the idea … that was a good wheeze. That's when someone got Mr Carry to make poisoned candles. He'd got a golem. Golems can't talk. No one would know. But it turned out to be a bit… erratic.'

'You seem to wish to involve me,' said Dragon King of Arms. 'I know nothing about this man other than that he's a customer—'

Vimes strode across the room and pulled a piece of parchment from a board. 'You did him a coat of arms!' he shouted. 'You even showed me when I was here! 'The butcher, the baker and the candlestick-maker!' Remember?'

There was no sound now from the hunched figure.

'When I first met you the other day,' said Vimes, 'you made a point of showing me Arthur Carry's coat of arms. I thought it was a bit fishy at the time, but all that business with Nobby put it out of my mind. But I do remember it reminded me of the one for the Assassins' Guild.'

Vimes flourished the parchment.

'I looked and looked at it last night, and then I wound my sense of humour down ten notches and let it go out of focus and looked at the crest, the fish-shaped lamp. Lampe au poisson, it's called. A sort of bilingual play on words, perhaps? 'A lamp of poison?' You've got to have a mind like old Detritus to spot that one. And Fred Colon wondered why you'd left the motto in modern Ankhian instead of putting it into the old language, and that made me wonder so I sat up with the dictionary and worked it out and, you know, it would have read 'Ars Enixa Est Candelam'. Ars Enixa. That must have really cheered you up. You'd said who did it and how it was done and gave it to the poor bugger to be proud of. It didn't matter that no one else would spot it. It made you feel good. Because we ordinary mortals just aren't as clever as you, are we?' He shook his head. 'Good grief, a coat of arms. Was that the bribe? Was that all it took?'

Dragon slumped in his chair.

'And then I wondered what was in it for you,' continued Vimes. 'Oh, there's a lot of people involved, I expect, for the same old reasons. But you? Now, my wife breeds dragons. Out of interest, really. Is that what you do? A little hobby to allow the centuries to fly by? Or does blue blood taste sweeter? Y'know, I hope it was some reason like that. Some decent mad selfish one.'

'Possibly — if someone were so inclined, and I certainly' make no such admission, ah-ha — they might simply be thinking of improving the race,' said the shape in the shadows.

'Breeding for receding chins or bunny teeth, that sort of thing?' said Vimes. 'Yes, I can see where it'd be more straightforward if you had the whole king business. All those courtly balls. All those little arrangements which see to it that the right kind of gel meets only the right kind of boy. You've had hundreds of years, right? And everyone consults you. You know where all the family trees are planted. But it's all got a bit messy under Vetinari, hasn't it? All the wrong people are getting to the top. I know how Sybil curses when people leave the pen gates open: it really messes up her breeding programme.'

'You are wrong about Captain Carrot, ah-ha. The city knows how to work around … difficult kings. But would it want a future king who might really be called Rex?'

Vimes looked blank. There was a sigh from the shadows. 'I am, ah-ha, referring to his apparently stable relationship with the werewolf.'

Vimes stared. Understanding eventually dawned. 'You think they'd have puppies?'

'The genetics of werewolves are not straightforward, ah-ha, but the chance of such an outcome would be considered unacceptable. If someone were thinking on those lines.'

'By gods, and that's it?'

The shadows were changing. Dragon was still slumped in his chair, but his outline seemed to be blurring.

'Whatever the, ah-ha, motives, Mr Vimes, there is no evidence other than supposition and coincidence and your will to believe that links me with any attempt on Vetinari's, ah-ha, life …'

The old vampire's head was sunk even further in his chest. The shadows of his shoulders seemed to be getting longer.

'It was sick, involving the golems,' said Vimes, watching the shadows. 'They could feel what their 'king' was doing. Perhaps it wasn't very sane even to begin with, but it was all they had. Clay of their clay. The poor devils didn't have anything except their clay, and you bastards took away even that—'

Dragon leapt suddenly, bat-wings unfolding. Vimes's wooden bolt clattered somewhere near the ceiling as he was borne down.

'You really thought you could arrest me with a piece of wood?' said Dragon, his hand around Vimes's neck.

'No,' Vimes croaked. 'I was more… poetic… than that. All I had … to do … was keep you talking. Feeling … weak, are you? The biter bit … you might say …?' He grinned.

The vampire looked puzzled, and then turned his head and stared at the candles. 'You … put something in the candles? Really?'

'We … knew garlic … would smell but … our alchemist reckoned that… if you get… holy water… soak the