'Captain Vimes—'
'Sir?'
'I know that you are retiring the day after tomorrow and feel, therefore, a little . . . restless. But while you are captain of the Night Watch I am asking you to follow two very specific instructions . . .'
'Sir?'
'You will cease any investigations connected with this theft from the Assassins' Guild. Do you understand? It is entirely Guild business.'
'Sir.' Vimes kept his face carefully immobile.
'I'm choosing to believe that the unspoken word in that sentence was a yes, captain.'
'Sir.'
'And that one, too. As for the matter of the unfortunate Mr Hammerhock . . . The body was discovered just a short while ago?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Then it's out of your jurisdiction, captain.'
'What? Sir?'
'The Day Watch can deal with it.'
'But we've never bothered with that hours-of-daylight jurisdiction stuff!'
'Nevertheless, in the current circumstances I shall instruct Captain Quirke to take over the investigation, if it turns out that one is necessary.'
If one is necessary. If people don't end up with half their
chest gone by accident. Meteorite strike, perhaps, thought Vimes.
He took a deep breath and leaned on the Patrician's desk.
'Mayonnaise Quirke couldn't find his arse with an atlas! And he's got no idea about how to talk to dwarfs! He calls them gritsuckers! My men found the body! It's my jurisdiction!'
The Patrician glanced at Vimes' hands. Vimes removed them from the desk as if it had suddenly grown red-hot.
'Night Watch. That's what you are, captain. Your writ runs in the hours of darkness.'
'It's dwarfs we're talking about! If we don't get it right, they'll take the law into their own hands! That usually means chopping the head off the nearest troll! And you'll put Quirke on this?'
'I've given you an order, captain.'
'But—'
'You may go.'
'You can't—'
'I said you may go, Captain Vimes!'
'Sir.'
Vimes saluted. Then he turned about, and marched out of the room. He closed the door carefully, so that there was barely a click.
The Patrician heard him thump the wall outside. Vimes wasn't aware, but there were a number of barely perceptible dents in the wall outside the Oblong Office, their depths corresponding to his emotional state at the time.