More Tales From The Guilds Ch 14

The Watch Igor opened the door to his crime lab with a happy whistle and a lop-sided smile. He checked on several experiments, noting with considerable pride that his "fishied chips" had spawned and that there was a small school of tiny swimming potatoes clustered about the floating pond weed. He lifted an enormous magnifying glass and peered in at them. Excellent. Just as he'd hoped, the new species bred true. Now all he needed to do was negotiate the use of an empty warehouse and he could go into the vegan fast food business. All Jolson would be delighted.

Patting the tank in satisfaction he turned and went through the door into the central greenhouse section and stopped dead in his tracks. As usual, half of the conservatory was taken up by the monstrous Venus Cow Trap but most unusually, one of the leaf traps in the center was closed. Not only was it closed, but the light shining down through the glass roof silhouetted something inside the trap. Something very human shaped and very, very still.

"Oh, bugger!"

Igor shook his head, turned, left the lab (carefully locking the door) and marched with determination up the stairs and into the office Captains Carrot and Angua shared. The two looked up at him quizzically.

"We have a problem. Thomeone hath managed to get into the crime lab and the Venuth Cow Trap ate them."

"Eww!" Angua was appalled. "He isn't still alive is he--or she?"

"That'th highly unlikely, I'm afraid. Oneth the trap clotheth, digethtive enthymes immediately begin to flow. They're highly corrothive and can ditholve a quarter of a horthe in thomething around three or four dayth. They're pretty toxic, too, tho I imagine our intruder hath not only pathed the final veil but ith unfit for thpare partths. Pity."

"Gosh," Captain Carrot still looked puzzled, "I don't suppose you have any way of identifying him?"

Igor shook his head. "He mutht have come down from the theiling becauthe he'th in the thenter of the plant. It'th grown tho big now that I'm not thure even how to get to him. And even if we did, I have no idea how to open the leaf. We'd probably have to cut it off. Come look at it. Maybe we can come up with thome ideath."

Still carrying his freshly poured mug of tea, Carrot followed Igor back down the stairs with Angua close behind. Once in the conservatory, they walked around the plant, noting with some unease that the leaves seemed to follow them and lean outwards. After some minutes of this, Carrot looked quizzically at the plant and tossed his now empty mug into one of the traps. It closed with an audible 'thunk' and then about half a minute later, reopened and let the ceramic drop to the floor with what might be interpreted as vegetable disgust. Carrot nodded.

"Oh, good thinking, Carrot," Angua murmured, "This is obviously a job for the golems. The plant can't eat them and if it tries, they can probably rip it open. And I'll bet they would have no trouble detaching the--occupied leaf. You two wait here. I think Dorfl is in the building and probably Hammer 12. We should be back in less than 10 minutes."

After she left Igor turned to the Watch Captain. "Do you thee anything thuspicious about that thilhouette, Captain? To me it lookth like itth handth are tied behind itth back and the feet look bound."

Carrot nodded slowly with a grim expression on his honest face. "I'm afraid you're right, Igor. We really do need to get it down and out of there. Was someone just disposing of a body or did they deliberately drop it down into the leaf alive? Either way, it looks like murder to me."

Igor shuddered. "What a ghathtly way to die! I hope Hith Lordthip doethn't decide that the punithment thould fit the crime. Hanging is tho much more merthiful than being digethted alive."

The captain nodded again. That was one of the Patrician's traits that made him (to Carrot, at least) rather likeable. The man preferred not having to have anyone killed but if it was necessary, it should be quick and clean. His years in the Assassins' Guild School had had a lasting impact. An exception was made, however, for mime artists.

The tramp of heavy steps reverberated through the laboratory door as two golem constables descended the stairway closely following Angua. She held the door for them and gestured toward the huge plant.

Hammer 12 looked up at the 'occupied' leaf from several directions then turned to Carrot. "It Doesn't Like The Flavor Of Ceramic?" it asked.

"Either it doesn't like the taste or detects that it can't consume inorganics. I tossed a mug into a leaf and even though it closed on it, it quickly spat it out."

The golem's red eyes banked and glowed brighter again, rather as though it was blinking. It took a couple of steps closer and stuck a massive fist into the trap which promptly closed and reopened.

"Mm-hm. This Should Not Be Hard."

Both golems waded into the Cow Trap, shoving aside huge stalked leaves as they strode. Initially the plant leaned out their way but when it 'realized' where they were going, put up a fight. The clay juggernauts were inexorable, however, and soon reached the base of the leaf with the body inside. Grabbing the stem, they pulled the leaf down to where the others stood and then squeezed the base of the leaf, choking it until it grudgingly opened and disgorged the semi-digested corpse.

By then, Igor had retrieved a gurney to carry the repulsive burden out of the greenhouse and out into the main laboratory.

"Thank-you, Conthtabelth. I have no idea how we would have retrieved thith poor thoul without you. Now, if the retht of you would mathk up, we will begin the protheth of determining the identity--or at least the thpethies--and the cauthe of death."

Igor handed everyone (except the golems, of course) a surgical mask and pulled on a white coat. Though it was common knowledge that his clan were renowned surgeons the others in the room were quite surprised to discover that this one also had some skill as a pathologist. He measured the corpse from every viewpoint establishing without a doubt that the victim was neither dwarf nor goblin and then rolled it face down. The cause of death was immediately apparent.

"Hmmm, thabbed expertly through the heart from behind. I would even venture to thugjetht that it was done after he wath tied up. A very profethional executhion thith."

"Which means," Carrot looked up from the copious notes he'd been taking, "that this fellow was dumped into the Cow Trap to dispose of the evidence. If you'd stayed out of the greenhouse for a couple of days, it would have worked, too. All that would have been left would be the cloth and, I suppose, his teeth."

"Nope, the teeth would have digethted, too, just like the boneth. Thtill, I am thurprithed that anyone would be tempted to gamble on my being abthent long enough to get away with it. From my experienthe feeding this monthter, he wath probably dumped thometime after midnight."

Angua bent down and took a long sniff of the corpse. Then she looked up at the ceiling.

"He must have been lowered down through the manhole we left when we expanded the cellar for Igor. If he's only been dead since very early this morning, he should be easy to track back to the place of death. Carrot, I'm going to take these two constables with me and see what I can find. The track should be pretty easy to follow. He's been eating nothing but Auriental food for at least a week."

"That Is Logical," Lance Sergeant Dorfl rumbled, "It Would Be Unlikely That A Common Criminal Would Have Known What The Venus Cow Trap Was. Only An Immigrant From Bhang-Bhang Duc Would Have Recognized One If He Saw It. This Reduces Our Suspect List Considerably."

"And," Hammer 12 added, "There Is No Question But That We Have A Murder On Our Hands. Commander Vimes Will Not Be Pleased."

"No," Angua replied "he won't. You tell him, Carrot, while 'the boys' and I go tracking."

*****

His Grace, His Excellency, The Duke of Ankh; Commander Sir Samuel Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch sat down at his desk, opened the drawer and took out a pad of foolscap, a pencil and one of the new-fangled sharpeners that the goblins had come up with. Much as he disliked innovation, this worked so much better than a pen knife that he was persuaded.

"So," he muttered, "we have a murder to solve."

Murder, as such, was uncommon in Ankh-Morpork. Oh, people (of various species) died frequently. They could be inhumed by the Assassins' Guild, it was true, but that was perfectly legal. And the ways one could commit suicide were astounding. Walking into The Mended Drum and declaring yourself Vincent the Invincible was a guarantee. Calling a dwarf short stuff or a troll a stupid rock was even quicker. And the gods forbid that you should go up to a witch, werewolf, vampire (or Susan Sto Helit), leering, and proclaim, "I likes me a girl with spirit!" The only real question then was how messy your demise would be.

Admittedly, things were much worse twenty years ago. Now you could go about your business secure in the knowledge that mayhem and robbery were only a possibility rather that a sure thing. But murder, per se, was rare. However rare does not mean non-existent and now that one had been committed it was up to the Watch to determine who the Patrician should have hanged. Much might have changed in the last couple of decades but the stubborn plodding of police work hadn't. And with Vimes, it all began with a pencil, a sheet of paper and pattern. What related to what, to whom, and why did it?

First he wrote 'Venus C0w Trap' and drew a circle around it. Then he wrote Bhang-Bhang Duc and circled it and connected the circles. Now what? Auriental food seemed to be a factor so he circled that and since the most prominent restaurant that served such was the Counterweight Palace it, too, was written down and circled. So far, nothing. Though he was inclined to agree with Igor that only someone from Bhang-Bhang Duc would have known about the plant, that was an idea that needed checking. He'd pass the question on to Sergeant Colon because though the old copper was just as fat, lazy and stupid as he looked, he also had a sense of the street and a web of contacts that could (and had) surprised not only the Commander but a number of criminals who couldn't believe their bad luck. (Who knew? The Watch knew!)

Vimes, however, didn't believe that only the street types were capable of crime. From prior experience he knew better so he needed someone who knew the upper classes of Ankh like he, himself, knew the cobbles of its streets. Lady Sybil, his beloved wife, knew positively everyone. Not just in Ankh-Morpork but clear across the Sto Plains, she maintained a correspondence with every one of her old chums at Quirm College for Young Ladies. Inquiries were now proceeding so he folded up the paper, stuck it in his pocket and left for home and supper.

Dinner was digested, young Sam (with dog and dragon) was in bed and Willikins had gone off to the Guild of Butlers, Valets and Gentlemen's Gentlemen. Having recently been elected (by acclimation) to the governing board he was attending the monthly meeting and would return when business and its following social hour were complete. So having the house to themselves, Sir Samuel and Lady Sybil sat in front of the fireplace in the master bedroom suite with nightcaps to review the day's events.

Sybil's, as usual, dealt mostly with dragons and young Sam's progress in his lessons and her husband listened contentedly to the litany. It took his mind off Ankh-Morpork's normal chaos and provided an illusion of tranquil normality within the oasis of his home.

Once she had run through everything, Lady Sybil asked, as was her custom, "And how did your day go, dear?"

Taking a sip of his Sam Vimes Special, the Commander related the events in the Crime Lab. "So," he continued, "I hope that the key to solving this revolves around just who would know that what Igor has in his greenhouse. Is there anyone you can think of who would suspect the existence of the Venus Cow Trap? Who, outside of the Agatean community would have any idea that it's there?"

Sybil finished darning a sock, folded it up with its mate and thought for a few moments.

"Well," she replied, "I have no doubt that everyone in the Royal Botanical Society knows that Megadionea bovilpula exists. The question then becomes who among them knows that Igor has one. Does he happen to belong? I hear that they are quite the scientifically inquisitive bunch. He would, I imagine, fit right in."

Vimes was disappointed. If even his wife knew the Latitian name for the trap there was a very good possibility that its existence was somewhat common knowledge. However, that chances that any of the city's upper classes would put it to use as a sarcophagus seemed remote. He said so.

"Well, I should jolly well think not!" Sybil replied adamantly, "When anyone in the aristocracy wants to remove a rival, they simply call Lord Downey's young people. It saves embarrassment and removes the need to hide any bodies. The receipt pinned to the shirt front solves everything nicely. However, that doesn't let the Botanists off the hook. It's a very egalitarian organization. The ribbon awarded for the best potted geranium is the same as the one for the best Agatean orchid so I think, Sam, that you will have to investigate them, as well."

"Seven damned Hells," Vimes muttered. For a second he had held out hope that this wouldn't turn out to be a convoluted puzzle with one edge missing. Not for the first time the Commander wished he believed in a god of policing so he could curse it for not making his life easier. "Well, if Igor doesn't belong, I'll just send someone to one of their meetings for a surreptitious snoop. Which of my constables looks the most harmless--and don't say Nobby!"

Sybil looked hurt. For reasons of her own (which no one else understood) she liked Corporal Nobbs, considering him a loveable scamp and diamond in the rough. "How about your newest dwarf, Cuddi? She's so feminine I'm sure no one would ever expect she was as good at taking other species off at the knee as any other dwarf."

Vimes thought about that. Given a choice, he'd have dispatched Captain von Humperding. The vampire Watchman so radiated refinement and polish that it was a rare criminal who did not make the mistake of thinking that she was just one more flighty nob. Getting lifted up and thrown across the room usually disabused them of such notions.

However, Sally had been sent back to Bonk where she very competently ran the Überwald Watch. No, Lady Sybil was right. Cuddi was the most likely candidate. He'd talk to her and Igor the next day.

*****

Madame Lotus Blossom, entrepreneur and owner of the Counterweight Palace sat at her desk with her fingers steepled in front of her elegantly sculptured features. The expression thereon was stern.

"Clarify, please. One Ginger Root has simply disappeared? He was at his station in the kitchen two nights ago and now no one knows where he is? This is disturbing."

"Especially, my lady, as he was our best known mole from the Five Noble Families," Two Razors replied, "I have no doubt that they either will or possibly already have replaced him and we shall have to go to the trouble of finding out who it may be all over again. Most vexing."

Lotus Blossom sighed. "Indeed. Keeping track of who is shadowing us is one of the least amusing parts of espionage. My sister's directive was to keep her informed of the machinations of Ankh-Morpork which is no small job in its own right. Having the added burden of avoiding assassination from her enemies at home rather spoils the game. Well, internal security is your job, Two Razors, so focus your attention on detecting his replacement. I will see what I can find out about our chef's disappearance."

*****

In an alley two blocks from the Counterweight Palace, Angua and the two golem constables had now been joined by Sgt. Littlebottom and her crime site bag. They were examining a rather large bloodstain on the pavement surrounded by yellow tape.

"So what does your nose tell you, Captain," Sgt Littlebottom asked.

"I can detect four Agateans, one of them probably unconscious since he was dragged out of that building over there. He's also the one who left this very large bloodstain. So Dorfl and I will follow the scent to where we presume they lowered him through Igor's roof and see if there's anything else we can learn. You and Hammer 12 go look in that warehouse and see if there is any other information you can locate. Probably better have your ax out. I doubt that you will be interrupting the Royal Botanical Society monthly meeting."

Cheri nodded grimly and unslung her traditional ax. When dwarfs and trolls first joined the Watch there was considerable disagreement over the use of 'ethnic weapons', i.e. axes and clubs. The argument had been resolved by changing the definition. Now a large club with a nail in it is referred to as 'truncheon (ethnic), augmented, for use by troll officers, one each' and the axes have become 'sword (ethnic), short (dwarf variant) one each' so now everyone was happy--except anyone who was on the receiving end of either. She twitched the edge with her fingernail making a sinister tsing.

"Whatever we interrupt will be brought to a close, a very quick close," Cheri was in no mood to be thwarted, "Come on, Constable, let's prod buttock!"

Golems aren't very fast but they are relentless so Angua and Dorfl set off in what to the clay constable was probably a lope but which to the werewolf was an easy stroll. This was beneficial because it gave her time to zero in on the enticing smell of blood. It was also problematical because it gave her time to zero in on the enticing smell of blood and the sworn vegetarian began to perspire. Fortunately, full moon was only a week away and she would Change and go chicken hunting--keeping in mind the addresses so she could go back the next morning and pay for them. For now, though, it made concentrating on anything else very difficult.

Cheri had no such problem. She marched over to the door, pounded on it yelling, "City Watch. Open up!"

When there was no response, she nodded at Constable Hammer 12 who went through the door. Brushing splinters off his shoulders, he looked around.

"It Appears That They Have Done A Runner And Probably Right After They Disposed Of The Corpse."

Cheri had to agree. There hadn't been much in the building in the first place, just some boxes and packing crates with some random trash but Commander Vimes insisted that every crime scene needed careful examination so the two constables went over the room thoroughly. They found the remnants of a length of rope which they put in a bag and labeled. Back at Pseudopolis Yard, Igor could compare it with the one that bound the victim. There was nothing much more until Hammer 12 found a crumpled piece of paper with Agatean ideograms on it.

"This May Be A Clue."

"Or someone's laundry list. But we'll take it back to the Yard. Maybe we can send it to the University for Professor Rincewind to translate."

There was nothing else so the pair returned to Pseudopolis Yard to compare notes with Angua and Dorfl.

*****

In the afternoon two days later, Amos Cordwinder threw back his shoulders to straighten his back and ran his hand through his hair in an attempt to neaten it. Holding his cap respectfully in front of his chest, he rang the bell to the Servants' Entrance of Ramkin House, swallowed and waited for someone to pay attention. To his great unsettlement, instead of a cook or kitchen girl, the door was thrown open by the imposing figure of Her Grace, The Duchess of Ankh, Lady Sybil Deidre Olgivanna Vimes (née Ramkin) who looked down at him kindly and said, "Well, hello. What can we do for you, young man?"