who I am, constable?” to which you will reply, “Yes, sir, or, as it may be, madam, you are the person I am interviewing in connection with the aforesaid crime,” or similar appropriate wording, which should not include such phrases as “You are going down, chummy” or “I’ve got you bang to rights and no mistake”. Ignore, but remember, all threats made. The law is one and immutable. It does not care who anybody is and at that moment you, in a very real way, are it, and therefore nor do you.’
Vimes sat with his mouth open as Feeney continued. ‘We don’t often get the
Vimes remembered that speech. He’d had to write it for the passing-out parade of some newly trained officers from the Watch School. He had spent hours trying to get it down, hampered by the fact that for him any form of literature was in every sense a closed book.
He had shown it to Sybil and asked her whether she thought he should get somebody to help him with it, and she had patted him on the head and said, ‘No, dear, because then it would look like something written by somebody for somebody else, whereas right now the pure Vimes shows through, like a radiant beacon.’ That had quite cheered him up, because he had never been a radiant beacon before.
But now his heart sank as his train of thought was interrupted by a very polite cough and the voice of Willikins, who said, ‘Excuse me, commander, I thought it right at this time to introduce the young gentleman to my friends Mister Burleigh and Mister Stronginthearm. Lady Sybil would not be happy to see you arrested, commander. I fear that you would find her a bit … acerbic, sir.’
Vimes found his voice. ‘You’re a bloody fool, man! Put that damn thing down! You keep it on a hair trigger! Put it down right now!’
Willikins wordlessly set down the shining crossbow on the parapet of the staircase like a mother putting her baby to bed. There was a twang, and seventeen yards away a geranium was decapitated. This passed without notice, except by the geranium and a raggedy figure hiding in the rhododendrons, that said ‘Snack!’ to itself, but resolutely carried on staring at Vimes.
The tableau of shock on the steps was interrupted by Lady Sybil, who could walk very quietly for a large woman. ‘Gentlemen, what is going on here?’
‘This young man, allegedly the local policeman, wishes to take me into custody on a charge of suspicion of murder, my dear.’
There passed between husband and wife a look that deserved the status of telepathy. Sybil stared at Feeney. ‘Ah, you would be young Upshot, I suppose. I was sorry to hear about the death of your father, and I do trust that your mother continues well. I used to visit her when I was a girl. And you want to arrest my husband, do you?’
Feeney, goggle-eyed, managed an unprofessional ‘Yes, ma’am’.
Sybil sighed and said sternly, ‘Well, then, can I hope that at least this can be done without further vegetable carnage?’ She looked at Vimes. ‘Is he taking you to prison?’
She turned her attention back to Feeney, a man now confronted by a cannon loaded with a thousand years of upper-class self-assurance. ‘He’ll need fresh clothing, constable. If you tell me where you’re taking him, and you
Lady Sybil took a step forward and Feeney took a step backwards to escape the wrath of the impending bosom. She said, ‘May I wish you the best of luck in your undertaking, young man. You’ll need it. Now please excuse me. I have to go and talk to the cook.’
She swept away, leaving the incredulous Feeney staring after her. Then the doors that had just closed behind her opened again, and she said, ‘Are you still a bachelor, young man?’
Feeney managed a ‘Yes’.
‘Then you are invited to tea,’ she said cheerfully. ‘There are some very eligible young ladies coming, and I’m sure that they will be most excited to see a young man who is prepared to dance on the very
Vimes let the silence curdle. After too much of it, Feeney said, ‘Your wife is a very remarkable woman, sir.’
Vimes nodded. ‘You have no idea. What do you want to do now, chief constable?’
The boy hesitated. That was Sybil for you. Just by speaking calmly and confidently she could leave you believing that the world had turned upside down and dropped on to your head.
‘Well, sir, I believe I must take you before the magistrates?’
Vimes noted the little question mark. ‘Who is your boss, Feeney?’
‘The aforesaid bench of magistrates, sir.’
Vimes began to walk down the steps, and Feeney hurried after him. Vimes waited until the boy was racing, and then stopped dead so that Feeney ran into him. ‘Your boss is the law, chief constable, and don’t you forget it. In fact, one of the jobs of the magistrates is to make certain that you do not! Did you ever take an oath? What did it say? Who was it to?’
‘Oh, I remember that all right, sir. It was to the bench of magistrates, sir.’
‘It … was … what? You made an oath to obey the magistrates? They can’t make you do that!’ He stopped. Remember, in the country there is always somebody watching you, he thought, and probably listening too.
Feeney looked shocked, so Vimes said, ‘Get me down to your lock-up, kid, and lock me in. And while you’re about it, lock yourself in with me. Don’t rush, don’t ask questions, and keep your voice down, apart from possibly saying things like “I have you bang to rights, you miscreant”, and other rubbish of that general nature, because, young man, I believe somebody is in real difficulties here and I believe that person is you. If you have any sense, you’ll keep quiet and take me to your lock-up, okay?’
Eyes wide, Feeney nodded.
