"He told me Igors heal very fast," said Lady Sybil.
"They"d have to."
"Mister Skimmer said they"re very gifted surgeons, Sam."
"Except cosmetically, perhaps."
The coach slowed.
"Do you come up here a lot, Igor?" said Vimes.
"Mithter Thleep uthed to have me drive over onthe a week to collect methageth, marthter."
"I"d have thought it"d be easier to have a pickup tower in Bonk."
"The counthil are dead againtht it, thur."
"And you?"
"I am very modern in my outlook, thur."
The tower loomed quite close now. The first twenty feet or so were of stone with narrow, barred windows. Then there was a broad platform from which the main tower grew. It was a sensible arrangement. An enemy would find it hard to break in or set fire to it, there was enough storage room inside to see out a siege, and the enemy would be aware that the lads inside would have signalled for help thirty seconds after the attack began. The company had money. They were like the coaching agents in that respect. If a tower went out of action, someone would be along to ask expensive questions. There was no law here; the kind of people who"d turn up would be inclined to leave a message to the world that towers were not to be touched.
Everyone should know this, and therefore it was odd to see that the big signal arms were stationary.
The hairs rose on Vimes"s neck. "Stay in the carriage, Sybil," he said.
"Is there something wrong?"
"I"m not sure," said Vimes, who was sure. He stepped down and nodded to Igor.
"I"m going to have a look inside," he said. "If there is any... trouble, you"re to get Lady Sybil back to the embassy, all right?"
Vimes leaned back into the coach and, trying not to look at Sybil, lifted up one of the seats and pulled out the sword he had hidden there.
"Sam!" she said accusingly.
"Sorry, dear. I thought I ought to carry a spare."
There was a bellpull by the door of the tower. Vimes tugged at it and heard a clang somewhere above.
When nothing else happened he tried the door. It swung open.
"Hello?"
There was silence.
"This is the Wa - " Vimes stopped. It wasn"t the Watch, was it? Not out here. The badge didn"t work. He was just an inquisitive trespassing bastard.
"Anyone there?"
The room was piled high with sacks, boxes and barrels. A wooden stairway led up to the next floor. Vimes climbed up into a combined bedroom and mess room; there were only two bunks, their covers pulled back.
A chair was on the floor. A meal was on the table, knife and fork laid down carefully. On the stove something had boiled dry in an iron pot. Vimes opened the firebox door, and there was a whoomph as the inrushing air rekindled the charred wood.
And, from above, the chink of metal.
He looked at the ladder and trapdoor to the next floor. Anyone climbing it would be presenting their head at a convenient height for a blade or a boot