Tales from the Guilds Ch. 13

Edith Bent (neé Drapes) lightly kissed her husband Malvolio at the front doors of the Royal Bank, waved good-bye to him as he entered and then strode purposefully down the street. She continued to the very severe front of the newly designated House of the Guild of Auditors, Bookkeepers and Forensic Accountants. Edith noted with satisfaction that people walking by made a deliberate attempt to go around the doorway—and almost eagerly moved out of her way as she turned to enter. She walked through the lobby, nodding in response to several greetings of, "Good morning, Mrs. Bent" and climbed the stairs to her office. She opened the door marked Guildmistress, went to her desk, hung up her coat and sat down. Picking up the morning Times, she looked in astonishment at the headline, IS THIS THE MOST DREADED MAN IN ANKH-MORPORK? Below the leader was a picture of Inspector A. E. Pessimal, Adjutant to His Grace, Commander Vimes of the City Watch and Head Auditor.

"Well," she whispered to herself, "I wonder what he'll think of this."

In the office next to Vimes', Inspector Pessimal opened the paper. He stared at the headline and at his photo and blinked a couple of times. And then, in what would have been a surprise to the Guildmistress, a slow, satisfied smile spread across the small man's face. He knew, of course, that the headline was silly. Why, he could name at least five more men and a woman who would strike more terror into the hearts of his fellow citizens than he. Let's see, there's the Patrician, naturally, Commander Vimes, Chrysoprase—possibly Harry King, and certainly Captain Angua. Hmm, maybe it was only four men more terrifying men than he. Still, in a teeming metropolis the size of Ankh-Morpork, being number five was pretty impressive—and gratifying.

In the Oblong Office with its commanding view of the city, the Patrician saw the same headline and read the same story. His feelings were decidedly mixed. Pessimal had been one of his clerks, a decidedly civilian clerk, and one who was very useful 'investigating' other organized bodies in the city—especially ones that somehow irritated Vetinari. Then Vimes had, to use a rather impolite phrase, poached his clerk! His Lordship had not been pleased about that. However, having Pessimal as his adjutant had improved Vimes' own efficiency which, in turn, further reduced crime. Additionally, once the man had been promoted to Inspector and assigned to run down 'creative' bookkeeping throughout the realm, word had gotten out through the business community. All of a sudden tax revenue had miraculously swelled. Despite his personal feelings, His Lordship had to admit that the city had benefitted. And whatever he was, the Patrician was a realist. Si fractum non sit, noli id reficere, (if it works, don't fix it) had long been the family motto and A.E. Pessimal definitely worked. Of course, there was the corollary, if it doesn't work break it quick, but for the present things were turning out nicely. Havelock turned his attention to the daily crossword.

A polite but extremely firm knock sounded on the Inspector's door followed by the very large form of Sergeant Detritus, ranking troll on the City Watch. "Good mornin' to youse, Inspector," he rumbled, "Sergeant Haddock want to know if youse is ready to go patrollin'."

"Thank-you, Sergeant," Pessimal replied amiably, "please tell him I shall be down momentarily."

"Yessir." Detritus closed the door and knuckled down the steps. Despite the formality of their speech, there was a close bond between the 2,000 lb. troll and the 120 lb. human, a fact that would surprise many. During the 'rumble' in Sator Square that helped eventually set the stage for the Koom Valley Accord, a young, drug-addled troll had struck Commander Vimes with his club and would have killed him had not the reluctantly recruited A.E. Pessimal insanely attacked the troll with both hands and his teeth. While this did the assailant no harm, it distracted him long enough for Sgt. Detritus arrive and end the battle with one massive fist. Not only did it save the Commander's life but through a series of peculiar circumstances it resulted in Sgt. Detritus acquiring an adopted son, Brick, (the attacker!).

Pessimal looked at his image in the mirror, gave his gleaming breastplate one last swipe with the polishing cloth, and headed out the door. "A man born to the Watch" His Grace had called him the day he was hired, and Inspector Pessimal was every inch that¹. His rank of Inspector and Head Auditor required that he spent most of his working days in the same sort of very neat brown suit he'd been wearing the day he first entered Pseudopolis Yard (though today they were of much better quality), a fact that A.E. regretted. However, his duties as Adjutant to the Commander required that, at least twice a month, he join the other Watch officers on patrol. These were the days he lived for!

¹Despite a decided lack of inches.

"Good morning, Big Man," Senior Constable Haddock greeted the Inspector warmly. To some, it might have seemed one of those ironic 'Lad' nicknames, given that the Inspector was barely taller than the dwarf Sgt. Littlebottom. However, everyone on the watch knew that, like a Jack Russell terrier, A.E. was only little on the outside. In heart and courage, he was the equal of any.

"And a very good morning to you, Kipper²," Pessimal responded with a grin, "what's on the agenda for the day, a trip 'round the docks?"

² Vetinari has yet to get over the humanizing comradery Pessimal had experienced since he joined the Watch. The man actually has friends now!

Haddock shook his head. "Sorry to disappoint you, Inspector, but my guess is that His Lordship is disappointed in last quarter's tax revenue so you and I are going to 'show the flag' on the Street of Cunning Artificers this morning. Then you are to join Constable Thighbiter for the same kind of thing through the Undertaking. I think he wants the city to know that he has ways of making them pay. And since you are now the Times proclaimed 'most dreaded man in Ankh-Morpork' who better to drive the point home, eh?"

Haddock was right. Pessimal was mildly disappointed at not having a day on the docks. That part of town, like the Shades, was nearly always good for a bit of truncheon play and A. E. hated to have all the hours he spent on the butts go to waste. Besides, he prided himself on his skill. Even Constable Bluejohn, who could clear a street just by walking down the middle, was impressed. However, the sign on his desk read, "The red pencil is mightier than the club" and quite a number of highly chastised³ citizens regretfully agreed. Like the witches of far Lancre, Pessimal knew that Respect was golden.

³ and now monetarily distressed.

As the two Watchmen proceeded down the Street of Cunning Artificers, nodding and greeting everyone they encountered, Haddock's habit of obsessively writing things down began to bear fruit. They surreptitiously jotted down the names and shops where the proprietor either greeted them too effusively or studiously looked away. These were obvious candidates for a more studied and prolonged visit. The ones of more concern, though, were those makers and builders who managed to imitate perfect innocence. It took a rare kind of self-control to maintain a poker face in light of the ever present threat of the Patrician's scorpion pits. The whole idea was to not attract attention. Anyone who could do that in the face of Inspector Pessimal's diligent pursuit of numbers was dangerous.

Thomas Stronginthearm, proprietor of Stronginthearm's Iron Founders, Beaters and General Forging, looked up from his accounts and saw the pair proceeding into Five-and-Seven-Yard. He clapped on the helmet he wore for public activities⁴ and strolled out to meet them.

⁴ Thomas was born 'Smith' but upon becoming a journeyman grew a beard and changed his name. Everyone thought that dwarf-made was better and who was he to argue? Besides, it allowed him to raise all his prices by the twenty pence on the dollar. When the Committee for Equal Heights complained, Thomas pointed out that Captain Carrot, an acknowledged dwarf, was a good five inches taller than he was, so what was their question again?

"Good morning, Inspector, Sergeant. Fine day we're having, isn't it?"

Stronginthearm vaguely worried Pessimal. There was never any hint of subterfuge about the foundry (besides the dwarvish name) and the owner seemed as straightforward appearing a businessman as any in the city. A.E. figured that meant either he was 'so sharp he'd cut himself' or the man was getting away with fiscal murder. However, repeated inspections of his tax returns always came away clean. There hadn't even been any errors! It was all most suspicious.

"Good morning, Mr. Stronginthearm," the pair responded politely, "it certainly looks like business is booming."

"Banging, more like, but thanks for asking. This whole Undertaking the Patrician is driving has been great for trade. Makes me feel good to see my taxes coming back to me, even though I know they'll just turn around and go back to the Palace. But so long as the money keeps circulating, things are good, so they tell me."

"I've heard the same thing," Haddock nodded, "I guess this means you'll be hiring new staff next eighth?"

"Have to. What I want is another golem or two but the free ones out-bid me every time I want to buy one. I may have to break down an' hire a free and that will cut into the revenue somethin' fierce. They don't work cheap, you know."

"No, they don't," Pessimal agreed, "but they do work around the clock so your production will increase accordingly. And, as you know, wages are deductible . . ."

He watched the 'dwarf's' eyes to see the reaction but got only a thoughtful nod. Mentally shrugging his shoulders, the Inspector decided that either Stronginthearm really was an honest man or the best criminal in the city. Making polite withdrawals, the Watchmen continued on their way.

Half the day's patrol completed, they stopped in for lunch at All Jolson's on Broad Way. Ever since his daughter Precious joined the Watch, this had been the lunch stop of choice for patrols. Not only did it shell out the finest food in the City but All himself took it as a personal affront if any of his baby's comrades tried to pay. Great food in huge quantities—for free? What was there not to like? And for anyone accompanying Inspector Pessimal there was the added value of entertainment. For a human of such small stature, A.E. could eat.

All welcomed them boisterously and sat them down at the chef's bar. Haddock was in for a double show this day, getting to watch Jolson cook while Pessimal consumed would be good for days of bar stories.

"Today's special is Chicken Dobi over rice with greens and peanut sauce," the chef proclaimed and A.E.'s eyes lit up. "Will the Inspector be wanting his usual portion?"

"I will be most grateful, Mr. Jolson," Pessimal was already starting to drool. Most people would have thought that unlikely given his impeccably neat appearance away from the table but it would be a funny old world if we were all alike and the Inspector's single vice was an excessive enthusiasm for food. "In fact, that sounds so good I may be tempted into seconds."

"Oh, no you won't, Inspector, because I got sweet potato pie for dessert, with pralines and cream ice cream on top."

"Pralines—and cream?" Tears of joy began to leak from the little Watchman's eyes making Jolson beam. These two were kindred spirits, brothers of the knife and fork, comrades in consumption. Haddock shook his head mentally. If it had been anyone other than Pessimal, he'd have written off the afternoon's patrol for a prolonged nap. But Mr. Vimes would have no cause to worry. Even with a gargantuan rich lunch, Pessimal would somehow find the energy to complete his round underground and return to Pseudopolis Yard with plenty of grist for the Criminal Intelligence mill.

Constable Hrolf Thighbiter met the pair at Jolson's front door. Seeing the contentment on the Sergeant's and the Inspector's faces he nodded knowingly behind his luxurious beard. Lunches at Jolson's ranged from superb to legendary and he suspected that today's might have set new depths⁵.

⁵ Dwarfs, being a generally subterranean species, consider 'down' to be superior to 'up'.

"Good afternoon, Inspector. Might you be ready for a tour of the Undertaking?"

"I am, indeed, Constable. Mr. Vimes says that His Lordship's insistence on this project's success is unnerving. I shall have to be exceptionally scrupulous in my assessment."

Thighbiter's expression might have changed but with only about two inches of face showing between the culturally required iron helmet and the natural duck blind of a beard it would have been hard for another species to know. However, inside that bullet skull the words 'exceptionally scrupulous' flashed alarms. The detail and precision of the Inspector's normal work was recounted with shudders and cold sweat by certain circles within the Guild of Merchants, the Guild of Spirits Brokers, the Countryside Landowners League and anyone else who was tempted to 'cook their books'. That he might be bringing even greater meticulousness to the Undertaking could be nothing but bad news to the contractors involved. It made Hrolf glad he'd decided to join the Watch instead of going into a more traditional dwarfish trade.

The Long Dark mine sign was still visible over the main entrance to the Undertaking where Sgt. Fred Colon was standing guard in the shade. The Undertaking was expected to bring great wealth to the city and he was there to make sure no one tried to make off with it.

Acknowledging the Sergeant's casual salute, Inspector Pessimal returned the courtesy and leaning close whispered, "Fred, Jolson has Chicken Dovi with greens and peanut sauce plus sweet potato pie with pralines and cream ice cream for lunch. Better take your lunch break now before the word gets out and he runs out."

Sgt. Colon straightened up and snapped a much more precise salute.

"Yessir, Inspector, instructions received!"

And he marched off. It was regrettable, Fred thought, that Nobby would miss this but since his marriage to Shine of the Rainbow the Corporal resolutely took every single meal at home. Despite simply everyone's bafflement at her choice, the goblin took good care of her man and she was a marvelous cook with an especial talent for snails.

Pessimal and Thighbiter proceeded into the entrance. Well-fed vurms lit the tunnels making it easy for all species involved in the construction to see what they're doing. It was, Pessimal decided, an acceptable expense for increased safety. All seemed to be in good order until Constable Thighbiter stopped suddenly and pointed. On the wall, very faintly drawn in crushed vurms, was a mine sign.

"What's that?" Pessimal asked.

Thighbiter tapped his truncheon meaningful into his palm. "It's a mine sign, Inspector, but it's wrong. That's the sign for the Breathing Dark—but it's upside down."

"And that means?"

"Well, the Breathing Dark is normally a perfectly fine sign, but upside down? I've never seen or heard of that before and I don't like it. This is grag work, Inspector. I think tomorrow you need to talk to Grag Bashfullsson. He's become the local authority on the more obscure aspects ever since the Deep Downer Rebellion. Something's going on here. It's not so bad as, for example, the Following Dark, but if I were a miner working down that shaft, I'd have real questions about whether I should report for work the next day."

Pessimal took out his notebook and carefully noted the location and drew a perfect image of the sign. The Commander needed to know and would probably call in Captain Carrot. And Grag Bashfullsson? Oh, yes!

*****

In Vimes' office the next afternoon, he, Pessimal, Carrot and the Watch's consultant grag sat around a makeshift conference table. Bashfullsson had brought along a couple of ancient, dusty books and laying them on the table with obvious reverence and no little anxiety, he opened them to marked pages.

"It took me most of the night to find the proper references, gentlemen, but it appears that there is precedent for an inverted Breathing Dark. Centuries ago, back before we perfected our ability to exclude water from our tunnels it was an unfortunately common sign. It's called the Drowning Dark."

"Well, I don't like the sound of that!" Vimes took a draw on his cigar and frowned, "The city is built mostly on mud anyway and one of the primary tasks of the Undertaking is to dry out the land. Was this deliberately drawn, do you think?"

Carrot and Bashfullsson both shook their heads.

"You remember Helmclever," Carrot explained, "did he ever look like he was deliberately drawing the Following Dark?"

"No, no he didn't," Vimes was pensive, "It was more like his hand was drawing the sign without bothering to consult his brain. Is this the normal thing? A dwarf sees something and automatically reacts with mine sign if he needs to?"

"Exactly," Bashfullsson was emphatic, "I would suspect that an experienced miner has seen a weakness in that tunnel and in subconscious reaction drew the sign as a warning to others. I suggest that we send someone down there who really knows what to look for before we have a disaster on our hands. If the Ankh broke through during flood time . . .?"

Vimes leaned back in his chair. "And of course His Lordship would get the blame for pushing the project in the first place. Someone is willing to sacrifice half the city for the opportunity to replace the Patrician. Okay, Carrot, get up an inspection team to locate the flaw in that tunnel. A.E., figure out who would be most likely to benefit from Vetinari's catastrophic collapse. Grag Bashfulson, the city is most grateful for your assistance. Let's the rest of us get to work!"

*****

Skallesplitter Väljmanson ran experienced eyes and hands over the stonework in the suspicious tunnel. Turning up to Captain Carrot he nodded with what would have been a sour look had anyone been able to see it.

"Your suspicions are confirmed, Headbanger. Though it appears sound, the next time the Ankh floods this wall would have failed catastrophically."

He turned to the quaking foreman. "Well?"

"I—I don't understand, Honored One. We followed the blueprint to the letter. Here, you can see for yourself."

"Hmmpf!" Väljmanson snorted derisively after looking at the plans, "This comes from letting humans attempt dwarf work. Any skilled miner would have seen this and would have reported it to the Chief Engineer. Headbanger, the next things which must be examined are the automatic flood doors. This single failure in this single tunnel would not be disastrous if the flood doors operate properly but if they, too, have been sabotaged . . ."

*****

In a darkened room in one of the city's most elegant homes a voice whined, "This is all your fault, Accumulata! If you properly paid off that annoying Inspector no one would have been any the wiser. Now those wretched dwarfs will correct all the faults, ruin all our plans and we won't get our bank back."

"Our bank? Is that all you can think about Cupiditas?" the other voice in the dark was scornful, "This wasn't about just the bank. Why fuss over a bank when the entire city could be ours? You have no imagination, no drive, Cupiditas. And one does not 'pay off' Inspector Pessimal. He is like the rest of the miserable Watch hierarchy. Money doesn't mean that much to him. Though that does bring the question of what does?"