'Do? Nothing, I suppose. She just brought up nine kids in a couple of rooms you couldn't stretch out in and she sewed shirts for tuppence an hour, every hour the bloody gods sent, and all she did was work and keep herself to herself and she is dead, Captain. And so's her grandson. Aged fourteen months. Because her granddaughter took them some grub from the palace! A bit of a treat for them! And d'you know what? Mildred thought I was going to arrest her for theft! At the damn funeral, for gods' sake!' Vimes's fists opened and closed, his knuckles showing white. 'It's murder now. Not assassination, not politics, it's murder. Because we're not asking the right damn questions!'

The door opened.

'Oh, good afternoon, squire,' said Sergeant Colon brightly, touching his helmet. 'Sorry to bother you. I expect it's your busy time, but I've got to ask, just to eliminate you from our enquiries, so to speak. Do you use any arsenic around the place?'

'Er... don't leave the officer standing there, Fanley,' said a nervous voice, and the workman stepped aside. 'Good afternoon, officer. How may we help you?'

'Checking up on arsenic, sir. Seems some's been getting where it shouldn't.'

'Er... good heavens. Really. I'm sure we don't use any, but do come inside while I check with the foremen. I'm certain there's a pot of tea hot, too.'

Colon looked behind him. The mist was rising. The sky was going grey. 'Wouldn't say no, sir!' he said.

The door closed behind him.

A moment later, there was the faint scrape of the bolts.

'Right,' said Vimes. 'Let's start again.' He picked up an imaginary ladle.

'I'm the cook. I've made this nourishing gruel that tastes like dog's water. I'm filling up three bowls. Everyone's watching me. All the bowls have been well washed, right? Okay. The tasters take two, one to taste, and these days the other's for Littlebottom to check, and then a servant - that's you, Carrot - takes the third one and...'

'Puts it in the dumbwaiter, sir. There's one up to every room.'

'I thought they carried them up?'

'Six floors? It'd get stone-cold, sir.'

'All right... hold on. We've gone too far. You've got the bowl. D'you put it on a tray?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Put it on a tray, then.'

Carrot obediently put the invisible bowl on an invisible tray.

'Anything else?' said Vimes.

'Piece of bread, sir. And we check the loaf.'

'Soup spoon?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, don't just stand there. Put them on...'

Carrot detached one hand from the invisible tray to take an invisible piece of bread and an intangible spoon.

'Anything else?' said Vimes. 'Salt and pepper?'

'I think I remember salt and pepper pots, sir.'

'On they go, then.'

Vimes stared hawk-like at the space between Carrot's hands.

'No,' he said. 'We wouldn't have missed that, would we? I mean... we wouldn't, would we?'

He reached out and picked up an invisible tube.

Tags: Terry Pratchett Discworld Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net