Jingo

checked everything last night? Magic?”

“Couldn't say, sir.”

Carrot, still staring straight ahead, blinked.

“Your people did check the Barbican, I assume?”

“No, sir.”

“They didn't?”

“No, sir. I did that myself.”

“You physically checked it yourself, Vimes?” said Boggis of the Thieves' Guild.

Captain Carrot could feel Vimes's thoughts at this point.

“That is correct… Boggis,” said Vimes, without turning his head. “But… we think someone got in where the windows are boarded up and pulled the boards back after him. Dust has been disturbed and—”

“And you didn't spot this, Vimes?”

Vimes sighed. “It'd be hard enough to spot the nailed-back boards in daylight, Boggis, let alone in the middle of the night.” Not that we did, he added to himself. Angua smelled the scent on them.

Lord Vetinari sat down at his desk. “The situation is grave, Vimes.”

“Yes, sir?”

“His Highness is very seriously injured. And Prince Cadram, we understand, is beside himself with rage.”

“They insist on keeping his brother in the embassy,” said Lord Rust. “A studied insult. As if we haven't good surgeons in this city.”

“That's right, of course,” said Vimes. “And many of them could give him a decent shave and a haircut too.”^{29}

“Are you making fun of me, Vimes?”

“Certainly not, my lord,” said Vimes. “In my opinion, no surgeons anywhere have cleaner sawdust on their floors than the ones in this city.”

Rust glared at him.

The Patrician coughed.

“You have identified the assassin?” said the Patrician.

Carrot was expecting Vimes to say, “Alleged assassin, sir,” but instead he said:

“Yes. He is— He was called Ossie Brunt, sir. No other name that we know. Lived in Market Street. Did odd jobs from time to time. Bit of a loner. No relatives or friends that we can find. We are making enquiries.”

“And that's all you fellows know?” said Lord Downey.

“It took some time to identify him, sir,” said Vimes stolidly.

“Oh? Why should that be?”

“Couldn't give you the technical answer, sir, but it looked to me like they wouldn't need to make him a coffin, they could just have posted him between two barn doors.”

“Was he acting alone?”

“We only found the one body, sir. And a lot of recently fallen masonry, so it looks as—”

“I meant does he belong to any organization? Any suggestion that he's anti- Klatchian?”

“Apart from him trying to kill one? Enquiries are continuing.”

“Are you taking this seriously, Vimes?”

“I have put my best men on the job, sir.” Who's looking worried? “Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs.” Who's looking relieved? “Very experienced men. The keystones of the Watch.”^{30}

“Colon and Nobbs?” said the Patrician. “Really?”

“Yes, sir.”

Their gazes met, very briefly.

“We're getting some very threatening noises, Vimes,” said Vetinari.

“What can I say, sir? I saw someone up on the tower, I ran, someone shot the Prince with an arrow and then I found the man at the bottom of the tower very obviously dead, with a broken bow and a lot of rock beside him. The storm last night probably loosened things up. I can't make up facts that don't exist, sir.”

Carrot watched the faces round the table. The general expression was one of relief.

“A lone bowman,”^{31} said Vetinari. “An idiot with some kind of mad grudge. Who died in the execution of the, uh, attempted execution. And, of course, valiant action by our watchmen probably at least prevented an immediately fatal shot.”

“Valiant action?” said Downey. “I know Captain Carrot here ran towards the VIPs and Vimes headed for the tower, but frankly, Vimes, your strange behaviour beforehand—”

“Somewhat immaterial now,” said Lord Vetinari. Once again he adopted a slightly faraway voice, as if reporting to somebody else. “If Commander Vimes had not slowed down the procession, the wretch would undoubtedly have got a much better shot. As it was, the man panicked. Yes… the Prince, possibly, would accept that.”

“Prince?” said Vimes. “But the poor devil—”

“His brother,” said the Patrician.

“Ah. The nice one?”

“Thank you, commander,” said the Patrician. “Thank you, gentlemen. Do not let me detain you. Oh, Vimes… just a brief word, if you would be so good. Not you, Captain Carrot. I'm sure someone is committing some crime somewhere.”

Vimes remained staring at the far wall while the room emptied. Vetinari left his chair and went over to the window.

“Strange days indeed, commander,” he said.

“Sir.”

“For example, I gather that this afternoon Captain Carrot was on the roof of the Opera House firing arrows down towards the archery butts.”

“Very keen lad, sir.”

“It could well be that the distance between the Opera House and the targets is about the same, you know, as the distance between the top of the Barbican and the spot where the Prince was hit.”

“Just fancy that, sir.”

Vetinari sighed. “And why was he doing this?”

“It's a funny thing, sir, but he was telling me the other day that in fact it is still law that every citizen should do one hour's archery practice every day. Apparently the law was made in 1356 and it's never been—”^{32}

“Do you know why I sent Captain Carrot away just now, Vimes?”

“Couldn't say, sir.”

“Captain Carrot is an honest young man, Vimes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did you know that he winces when he hears you tell a direct lie?”

“Really, sir?” Damn.

“I can't stand to see his poor face twitch all the time, Vimes.”

“Very thoughtful of you, sir.”

“Where was the second bowman, Vimes?”

Damn! “Second bowman, sir?”

“Have you ever had a hankering to go on the stage, Vimes?”

Yes, at the moment I'd leap on it wherever it's heading, thought Vimes.

“No, sir.”

“Pity. I am certain you're a great loss to the acting profession. I believe you said the man had put the boards back after him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nailed them back?”