'No-one 'd want to kill young Beano,' said the down, in a quiet voice. 'He was a friendly soul. Friends everywhere.'
Almost everywhere,' said Colon.
The funeral was over. The jesters, jokers and clowns were going about their business, getting stuck in door-ways on the way. There was much pushing and shoving and honking of noses and falling of prats. It was a scene to make a happy man slit his wrists on a fine spring rang.
'All I know is,' said Boffo, in a low voice, 'that when I saw him yesterday he was looking very . . . odd. I called out to him when he was going through the gates and—'
'How do you mean, odd?' said Colon. I am detector-ing, he thought, with a faint touch of pride. People are Helping me with My Inquiries.
'Dunno. Odd. Not quite himself—'
'This was yesterday?'
'Oh, yes. In the morning. I know because the gate rota—'
'Yesterday morning?'
'That's what I said, mister. Mind you, we were all a bit nervous after the bang—'
'Brother Boffo!'
'Oh, no—' mumbled the clown.
A figure was striding towards them. A terrible figure.
No downs were funny. That was the whole purpose of a clown. People laughed at clowns, but only out of nervousness. The point of clowns was that, after watching them, anything else that happened seemed enjoyable. It was nice to know there was someone worse off than you. Someone had to be the butt of the world.
But even clowns are frightened of something, and that is the white-faced clown. The one who never gets in the way of the custard. The one in the shiny white clothes, and the deadpan white make-up. The one with the little pointy hat and the thin mouth and the delicate black eyebrows.
Dr Whiteface.
'Who are these gentlemen?' he demanded.
'Er—' Boffo began.
'Night Watch, sir,' said Colon, saluting.
'And why are you here?'
'Investigating our inquiries as to the fatal demise of the down Beano, sir,' said Colon.
'I rather think that is Guild business, sergeant. Don't you?'
'Well, sir, he was found in the—'
'I am sure it is something we don't need to bother the Watch with,' said Dr Whiteface.
Colon hesitated. He'd prefer to face Dr Cruces than this apparition. At least the Assassins were supposed to be unpleasant. Clowns, were only one step away from mime artists, too.
'No, sir,' he said. 'It was obviously an acddent, right?'
'Quite so. Brother Boffo will show you to the door,' said the head clown. 'And then,' he added, 'he will report to my office. Does he understand?'
'Yes, Dr Whiteface,' mumbled Boffo.
'What'll he do to you?' said Nobby, as they headed for the gate.
'Hat full of whitewash, probably,' said Boffo. 'Pie inna face if I'm lucky.'