Snuff (Discworld 39)

Billy turned his granny’s brandy bottle upside down and not a drop came out.

“One last thing, please, madam: how can we help our friend? By the sound of it he’s dreaming that he’s a goblin!”

Little black eyes shone as the goblin said, “I trusting you for tobacco. Now trusting you for another bottle of brandy. Find goblin cave! Find goblin maiden! Only such a one will be able to grasp the pot, in hope one day of having child! So it goes, no other way. And big problem for you, Mr. Po-leess-man, is that goblin girl these days are hard to find. None here. Maybe none anywhere. We shrivel and shrink like old leaves. Goodbye until more brandy. No! Make that Cognac from Quirm. Special reserve. Sixty dollars if bought from Horrids on Broadway or two for one deal at Twister Boote’s bottle shop in the Shades. Slight taste of anchovy, but no questions asked and none answered.”

The old voice went silent, and gently the watchmen came back to the stuff of reality around them, troubling images fading into recent memory.

Carrot managed to say, “I’m so sorry to have to ask, but will this harm my sergeant? He seems to be having continuous nightmares and we can’t get the pot out of his hand!”

“Three bottle of brandy, Mr. Po-leess-man?” translated Billy.

Carrot nodded. “Okay.”

“How long pot had him?”

Carrot looked at Angua. “About two days, madam.”

“Then get your man to a goblin cave as quick as you can, Mr. Po-leess-man. He may live. He may die. Either way, three bottle of brandy, Mr. Po-leess-man.” Small black eyes twinkled at Carrot. “So nice to meet a real gentleman. Hurry up, Mr. Po-leess-man.”

The old lady slumped back into her mound of pillows and rugs. The audience was over, just like the brandy.

“Granny likes you,” said Billy, his voice full of awe as he ushered them out. “I can tell. She never threw anything at you. Better get her the snuff and the brandy pretty soon, however, otherwise she might get a bit stroppy in an occult sort of way, if you hear what I’m saying, or rather, of course, what I ain’t saying. Nice to meet you folks, but old man King doesn’t like to see people not working.”

“Excuse me, Billy,” said Carrot, grabbing him by his skinny arm. “Are there any goblin caves anywhere around here?”

“You got what you wanted, officer. There ain’t none, as far as I know. I don’t care. You could try up-country, that’s my advice, but I really don’t care. If you find a goblin cave on a map you can bet your teeth there won’t be any goblins there anymore, not live ones, at least.”

“Thank you very much for your assistance, Mr. Slick, and may I congratulate you on having a grandmother with such good grasp of contemporary vocabulary?” said Carrot.

There was a delighted shriek from the direction of the dome, the walls of which were very thin.

“Damn right! Granny Slick ain’t so thick!”

“Well, perhaps we have a result,” said Carrot as they headed back into the city, “but, well, I know Ankh-Morpork is a melting pot of a city, but don’t you think it’s rather sad when people come here and forget their ancestry?”

“Yes,” said Angua, not looking at him. “It is.”

When they were back in Pseudopolis Yard, Carrot filled in Cheery with as much information as he could. “I’d like you to go and see the tobacconist. Ask him where his tobacco comes from. We know there’s lots of smuggling going on anyway, so he’ll be worried. It might be a nice idea to take along an officer whose mere presence will worry him a little more. Wee Mad Arthur is back from leave.”

Cheery grinned. “In that case, I’ll take him. He worries everybody.”

Mr. Bewilderforce Gumption was having a good day so far. He had been to the bank to deposit the takings and had bought two tickets to the opera. Mrs. Gumption would be very pleased about that and certainly more pleased than she was to be called a Gumption. She was always urging him into high society or, at least, higher society, but in some ways the name Gumption always held you back. And now he held open the door to his emporium and saw the policeman sitting patiently in the chair.

Cheery Littlebottom stood up. “Mr. Bewilderforce Gumption?”

He tried to smile. “I generally see Fred Colon, officer.”

“Yes. And it’s Sergeant Littlebottom. But strangely enough it’s about Sergeant Colon that I’m visiting you today. Do you remember giving him a cigar?”

Mr. Gumption was suffering from the illusion that many people have that policemen don’t see people lying all the time, so he said, “Not as I recall,” to which Cheery replied, “Mr. Gumption, it is a well-known fact that Sergeant Colon buys or otherwise procures his tobacco requirements from your noble establishment.”

Once again Bewilderforce led off on the wrong note. “I want to see my lawyer!”

“I’d like to see your lawyer as well, Mr. Gumption. Perhaps you’d send someone to collect him while I and my colleague wait here?”

Bewilderforce looked around bewildered. “What colleague?”

“Oh, aye, that’ll be me well enough,” said the constable known, sometimes briefly, as Wee Mad Arthur, who had been lurking behind a packet of cigarettes.