Vimes handed it to him. The Ideas Taster walked back down the corridor. When he was halfway a gong boomed and two metal grilles dropped down out of the ceiling. A few seconds after that guards appeared at the far grille, peering in suspiciously.

Dee said a few words to them. The faces vanished. After a while the grilles rose slowly.

"The mechanism is complex and quite old, but we keep it in good working order," he said, handing Vimes his helmet. "If you weigh more going out than going in, the guards will want to know why. It"s unavoidable, it is still accurate to within a few ounces, and does not violate privacy. The only way to beat it would be to fly. Can thieves fly, your excellency?"

"Depends on which sort," said Vimes absently. "Who else goes in there?"

"Once every six days the chamber is inspected by myself and two guards. The last inspection was five days ago."

"Does anyone else go in there?" said Vimes. He noticed that Cheery had picked up a handful of the off-white sand that formed the floor of the Scone Cave and was letting it run between her fingers.

"Not lately. When the new king is crowned, of course, the Scone will often be brought forth for ceremonial purposes."

"Do you only get that white sand in here?"

"Yes. Is that important?"

Vimes saw Cheery nod. "I"m not... sure," he said. "Tell me, what intrinsic value has the Scone?"

"Intrinsic? It"s priceless!"

"I know it"s valuable as a symbol, but what is its value in itself?"

"Priceless!"

"I"m trying to work out why a thief might want to steal it," said Vimes, as patiently as he could.

Cheery had lifted up the flat round stone and was looking underneath it. Vimes pursed his lips.

"What is... she doing?" said Dee. The pronoun dripped with distaste.

"Corporal Littlebottom is looking for clues," said Vimes. "They are what we call signs, which may help us. It"s a skill."

"Would this letter speed your search?" said Dee. "It has writing on it. That is what we call... signs, which may help you."

Vimes looked at the proffered paper. It was brown and quite stiff, and covered in runes.

"I, er, can"t read those," he said.

"It"s a skill," said Dee solemnly.

"I can, sir," said Cheery. "Allow me?"

She took the paper and read it. "Er, it appears to be a ransom note, sir. From... the Sons of Agi Hammerthief. They say they have the Scone and will... They say they"ll destroy it, sir."

"Where"s the money?" said Vimes.

"They say Rhys must renounce all claim to be Low King," said Dee. "There are no other conditions. The note turned up on my desk. But everyone puts paperwork on my desk these days."

"Who are the Sons of Agi Hammerthief?" said Vimes, looking at Dee. "And why didn"t you tell me about this before?"

"We don"t know. It"s just a made-up name. Some malcontents, we assume. And I was told you would ask me questions."

"But this isn"t a real crime any more, is it?" said Vimes. "This is politics. Why can"t the King just renounce all claim, get the Scone back, and then say he had his fingers crossed? If it"s done under duress - "

"We take our ceremonies seriously, your excellency. If Rhys renounces the throne, he cannot change his mind next day. If he allows the Scone to be destroyed, then the kingship has no legitimacy and there will - "

" - be trouble," said Vimes. And it"ll spread to Ankh-Morpork, he added to himself. At the moment it"s only riots.

"Who"ll become King if he abdicates?"

"Albrecht Albrechtson, as everyone knows."

"And that will be trouble, too," said Vimes. "Civil war, from what I hear."

"The King says," said Dee quietly, "that he is minded to step down nevertheless. Better any king than chaos. Dwarfs do not like chaos."

"It"s going to be chaos either way, though," said Vimes.

"There"ve been rebellions against kings before. Dwarfdom survives. The Crown continues. The lore abides. The Scone remains. There is... a sanity to come back to."

Oh, my gods, thought Vimes. Thousands of dwarfs die but that"s all right if a lump of rock survives. "I"m not a policeman here. What can I do?"

"This hasn"t happened!" shrieked Dee, his nerve cracking. "But everyone knows that foreigners from Ankh-Morpork do not mind their own business!"

"Ah, you mean... given that you don"t want people to know about this... it would look bad if you appeared to be too excited, but you can"t be blamed if a stupid flatfoot pokes his nose into things?"

Dee waved his hands in the air. "This wasn"t my idea!"

"Look, the security you"ve got here would disgrace a children"s piggybank. I can think of two or three ways of getting the Scone out of here. What about the secret passage into this room?"

"I know of no secret passage into this room!"

"Oh, good. At least we"ve ruled out something. Go and wait by the boat. Corporal Littlebottom and I have to talk about some things."

Dee left reluctantly. Vimes waited until the dwarf was visible in the glow of the candles beyond the weighbridge.

"What a mess," he said. "Locked-room mysteries are even worse when they leave the room unlocked."

"You"re thinking that Dozy might have worn bags of sand under his robes, aren"t you, sir?" said Cheery.

No, thought Vimes, I wasn"t. But now I know how a dwarf would solve this.

"Possibly," he said aloud. "Grubby white sand can"t be uncommon. You"d add a bit of sand every day, yes? Just enough not to trigger the scales. Finally you"ve got... How much does the Scone weigh?"

"About sixteen pounds, sir."

"All right. Dump the sand on the floor, shove the Scone under your robes, and... it might just work."

"Risky, sir."

"But no one thinks anyone is really going to try to steal the Scone. Would you try to tell me that four guards sitting in that little guardhouse on a twelve-hour shift will be alert all the time? That"s enough for a hand of poker!"

"I suppose they rely on the fact that they know when a boat comes up, sir."

"Right. Big mistake. And you know what? I bet that when a boat"s just gone down that"s the time they"re least alert. Cheery, if a human could get in here they could get into the Scone Cave. They"d have to be nimble and a good swimmer, but they could do it."

"The guards on the gates were pretty keen, sir."

"Well, yes. Guards always are, just after a theft. Smart as foxes and sharp as knives, just in case anyone wonders if it was them who dropped off to sleep at the wrong time. I"m a copper, Cheery. I know how dull guarding can be. Especially when you know that no one is ever going to steal what you"re guarding." He scuffed the sand with his boot.

"They were looking hard at every cart that went in or out this morning. But that was because the Scone had been stolen. It"s at times like this you get very official, very efficient and very pointless activity. Don"t try to tell me that last week they opened every barrel and prodded every load of hay. Even the stuff coming in? Can you see Dee? Is he looking at me?"

Cheery peered around Vimes.

"No, sir."

"Good."

Vimes walked over to the tunnel, pressed his back against a wall, took a deep breath and walked his legs up the opposite wall. Then he eased his way out over the plates of the weighbridge, inched along with feet and shoulderblades and, wincing at every protest from his knees, eventually dropped down. He walked across to Dee, who was talking to the guards.

"How did - "

"Never. mind," said Vimes. "Let"s just say I"m longer than a dwarf, shall we?"

"Have you solved it?"

"No. But I have an idea."

"Really? Already?" said Dee. "And what is that?"

"I"m still working it out," said Vimes. "But it"s lucky the King told you to ask me, Dee. One thing I have found out is that no dwarf will give you the right answer."

The opera was near the end as Vimes slipped into the seat beside Sybil. "Have I missed anything?" he said.

"It"s very good. Where have you been?"

"You wouldn"t believe me."

He stared, unseeing, at the stage. A couple of dwarfs were engaged in a very careful mock battle.

All right, then. If it was politics it was... well, politics. There was nothing he could do about politics. So, think about it as a crime...

What was the simple solution? Best to start with the first rule of policing: suspect the victim. Vimes wasn"t quite sure who the victim was here, though. So suspect the witness. That was another good rule. That meant the late Dozy. He could have walked out with the Scone days before he "discovered" the loss. He could have done just about anything. The way the thing was guarded was a joke. Nobby and Colon could have done it better. Much better, he corrected himself, because they had devious little minds and that was what made them coppers. The guards of the Scone were honourable dwarfs, the last people you wanted to entrust with anything. You wanted sneaky people for a job like this.

But it made no sense. He"d be the prime suspect. Vimes wasn"t well up on dwarf law, but he figured there was not a huge friendly future in store for a prime suspect, especially if no other solution was forthcoming.

Maybe he"d snapped after sixty years of changing candles? That didn"t sound right. Anyone who could put up with a job like that for ten years would probably run in their groove for the rest of eternity. Anyway, Dozy had now gone to the great big goldmine in the sky or deep underground or whatever it was dwarfs believed in. He wasn"t going to be answering any questions.

He could solve this, Vimes told himself. Everything he needed was there, if only he asked the right questions and thought the right way.

But his Vimish instincts were trying to tell him something else.

This was a crime - if holding a piece of property to ransom was technically a crime - but it wasn"t the crime.

There was another crime here. He knew it in the same way that a fisherman spots the shoal by the ripple on the water.

The fight on stage continued. It was slowed by the need to stop after every gingerly exchanged axe blow for a song, probably about gold.

"Er, what"s this all about?" he said.

"It"s nearly over," whispered Sybil. "They"ve only performed the bit concerning the baking of the Scone, really, but at least they"ve included the Ransom Aria. Ironhammer escapes from prison with the help of Skalt, steals the truth that Agi has hidden, conceals it by baking it into the Scone, and persuades the guards around Bloodaxe"s camp to let him pass. The dwarfs believe that truth was once a, a thing... a sort of ultimate rare metal, really, and the last bit of it is inside the Scone. And the .guards can"t resist, because of the sheer power of it. The song is about how love, like truth, will always reveal itself, just as the grain of truth inside the Scone makes the whole thing true. It"s actually one of the finest pieces of music in the world. Gold is hardly mentioned at all."

Vimes stared. He got lost in any song more complex than the sort with titles like "Where Has All The Custard Gone (Jelly"s Just Not The Same)?"

"Bloodaxe and Ironhammer," he muttered, aware that dwarfs around them were giving him annoyed looks. "Which one was - "

"Cheery told you. They were both dwarfs," said Sybil sharply.

"Ah," said Vimes glumly.

He was always a little out of his depth in these matters. There were men, and there were women. He was clear on that. Sam Vimes was an uncomplicated man when it came to what poets called "the lists of love". In some parts of the Shades, he knew, people adopted a more pick-and-mix approach. Vimes looked upon this as he looked upon a distant country; he"d never been there, and it wasn"t his problem. It amazed him what people got up to when they had time on their hands.

He just found it hard to imagine a world without a map. It wasn"t that the dwarfs ignored sex, it really didn"t seem important to them. If humans thought the same way, his job would be a lot simpler.

There seemed to be a deathbed scene now. It was a little hard for Vimes, with his shaky command of , Ankh-Morpork street dwarfish, to follow what was going on. Someone was dying, and someone else was very sorry about it. Both the main singers had beards you could hide a chicken in. They weren"t bothering to act, apart from infrequently waving an arm in the direction of the other singer.

But there were sobs all around him, and occasionally the trumpeting of a blown nose. Even Sybil"s lower lip was trembling.

It"s just a song, he wanted to say. It"s not real. Crime and streets and chases... they"re real. A song won"t get you out of a tight corner. Try waving a large bun at an armed guard in Ankh-Morpork and see how far it gets you...

He shouldered his way through the throng after the performance, which from the humans present had received the usual warm reception that such things always got from people who hadn"t really understood what was going on but rather felt that they should have done.

Dee was talking to a black-clad, heavily built young man who looked vaguely familiar to Vimes. Vimes must have looked familiar to him as well because he gave him a nod just short of offensiveness.

"Ah, your grace Vimes," he said. "And did you enjoy the opera?"

"Especially the bit about the gold," said Vimes. "And you are - ?"

The man clicked his heels. "Wolf von Uberwald!"

Something went "bing" in Vimes"s head. And his eyes picked up details - the slight lengthening of the incisors, the way the blond hair was so thick around the collar

"Angua"s brother?" he said.

"Yes, your grace."

"Wolf the wolf, eh?"

"Thank you, your grace," said Wolf solemnly. "That is very funny. Indeed, yes! It is quite some time since I heard that one! Your Ankh-Morpork sense of humour!"

"But you"re wearing silver on your... uniform. Those... insignias. Wolf heads biting the lightning..."

Wolf shrugged. "Ah, the kind of thing a policeman would notice. But they are nickel!"

"I don"t recognize the regiment."

"We are more of a... movement," said Wolf.

The stance was Angua"s, too. It was the poised, fight-or-flight look, as if the whole body was a spring eager to unwind and "flight" wasn"t an option. People in the presence of Angua when she was in a bad mood tended to turn up their collars without quite knowing why. But the eyes were different. They weren"t like Angua"s. They weren"t even like the eyes of a wolf.

No animal had eyes like that, but Vimes saw them occasionally in some of Ankh-Morpork"s less salubrious drinking establishments, where if you were lucky you"d get out the door before the drink turned you blind.

Colon called that sort of person a "bottle covey", Nobby preferred "soddin" nutter" but whatever the name Vimes recognized a headbutting, eye-gouging, down-and-dirty bastard when he saw one. In a fight you"d have no alternative but to lay him out or cut him down, because otherwise he"d do his very best to kill you. Most bar fighters wouldn"t usually go that far, because killing a copper was known to be bad news for the murderer and anyone else who knew him, but your true nutter wouldn"t worry about that because, while he was fighting, his brain was somewhere else.

Wolf smiled. "There is a problem, your grace?"

"What? No. Just... thinking. I feel I"ve met you before... ?"

"You called on my father this morning."

"Ah, yes."

"We don"t always change for visitors, your grace," said Wolf. There was an orange light in his eyes now. Until then Vimes had thought that "glowing eyes" was just a figure of speech.

"If you"ll excuse me, I do need to talk to the Ideas Taster for a moment," said Vimes. "Politics."

Dee followed him into a quiet spot. "Yes?"

"Did Dozy go to the Scone Cave at the same time every day?"

"I believe so. It depended on his other duties."

"So he didn"t go in at the same time every day. Right. When does the guard change?"

"At each three o"clock."

"Did he go in before the guards change or afterwards?"

"That would depend on - "

"Oh dear. Don"t the guards write anything down?"

Dee stared at Vimes. "Are you saying he could have gone in twice in one day?"

"Very good. But I"m saying someone might have. A dwarf comes up in a boat alone, carrying a couple of candles. Would the guards take that much interest? And if another dwarf carrying a couple of candles came up an hour or so later, when the new guards were there... well, is there any real risk? Even if our faker was noticed he"d just have to mutter something about... oh, bad candles or something. Damp wicks. Anything."

Dee looked distant. "It"s still a great risk," he said at last.

"If our thief was keeping an eye on the guard changes, and knew where the real Dozy was, it"d be worth it, wouldn"t it? For the Scone?"

Dee shuddered and then nodded. "In the morning the guards will be closely questioned," he said.

"By me."

"Why?"

"Because I know what kind of questions get answers. We"ll set up an office here. We"ll find out the movements of everyone and talk to all the guards, Okay? Even the ones on the gates. We"ll find out who went in and out."

"You already think you know something."

"Let"s say some ideas are forming, shall we?"

"I will... see to matters."

Vimes straightened up and walked back to Lady Sybil, who stood like an island in a sea of dwarfs. She was talking animatedly to several of them who Vimes vaguely recognized as performers in the opera.

"What have you been up to, Sam?" she said.

"Politics, I"m afraid," said Vimes. "And trusting my instincts. Can you tell me who"s watching. us?"

"Oh, it"s that game, is it?" said Sybil. She smiled happily, and in the tones of someone chatting about inconsequential things said, "Practically everyone. But if I was handing out prizes I"d choose the rather sad lady in the little group just off to your left. She"s got fangs, Sam. And pearls, too. They don"t exactly accessorize."

"Can you see Wolfgang?"

"Er, no, not now you come to mention it. That"s odd. He was around a moment ago. Have you been upsetting people?"

"I think I may let people upset themselves," said Vimes.

"Good for you. You do that so well."

Vimes half turned, like someone just taking in the view. In amongst the human guests the dwarfs moved and clustered. Five or six would come together and talk animatedly. Then one would drift away and join another group. He might be replaced. And sometimes an entire group would spread out like the debris of an explosion, each member heading towards another group.

Vimes got the impression that there was a kind of structure behind all this, some slow, purposeful dance of information. Mineshaft meetings, he thought. Small groups, because there wouldn"t be room for more. And you don"t talk too loudly. And then when the group decides, every member is an ambassador for that decision. The word spreads out in circles. It"s like running a society on formal gossip.

It occurred to him that it was also a way in which two plus two could be debated and weighed and considered and discussed until it became four-and-a-bit, or possibly an egg.

Occasionally a dwarf would stop and stare before hurrying away.

"We"re supposed to go in for supper, dear," said Sybil, indicating the general drift towards a brightly lit cave.

"Oh dear. Quaffing, do you think? Rats on sticks? Where"s Detritus?"

"Over there, talking to the cultural attache from Genua. That"s the man with the glazed expression."

As they got closer Vimes heard Detritus"s voice in full expansive explanation:

" - and den der"s dis big room wid all seats in it, wid red walls and dem big gold babies climbin" up der pillar, only don"t worry, "cos dey"re not real gold babies, dey"re only made of plaster or somethin"..." There was a pause as Detritus considered matters. "An" also I don"t reckon it"s real gold, neither, "cos some bugger"d have pinched it if it was... and in front of der stage der"s dis big pit where all der musicians sits. And days about it for dat room. In der next room der"s all dese marble pillars, an" on der floor dey got red carpeting - "

"Detritus?" said Lady Sybil. "I do hope you"re not monopolizing this gentleman."

"No, I bin tellin" him all about der culture we got in Ankh-Morpork," said Detritus airily. "I know just about every inch of der op"ra house."

"Yes," said the cultural attache in a stunned voice. "And I must say I"m particularly interested in visiting the art gallery and seeing - " he shuddered -  " "der picture of dis woman, I don"t reckon der artist knew how to do a smile prop"ly, but der frame"s got to be worth a bob or two." It sounds like the experience of a lifetime. Good evening to you."

"You know, I don"t fink he knows a lot of culture," said Detritus as the man strode away.

"Do you think people will miss us if we slip away?" said Vimes, looking around. "It"s been a long day and I want to think about things - "

"Sam, you are the ambassador, and Ankh-Morpork is a world power," said Sybil. "We can"t just sneak off! People will comment."

Vimes groaned. So Inigo was right: when Vimes sneezes, Ankh-Morpork blows its nose.

"Your excellency?"

He looked down at two dwarfs.

"The Low King will see you now," said one of them.

"Er..."

"We will have to be officially presented," Lady Sybil hissed.

"What, even Detritus?"

"Yes!"

"But he"s a troll!" It had seemed amusing at the time.

Vimes was aware of a drift in the crowds across the floor of the huge cave. There was a certain movement to them, a flow in the current of people towards one end of the cave. There was really no option but to join it.

The Low King was on a small throne under one of the chandeliers. There was a metal canopy over it, already encrusted with marvellous stalactites of wax.

Around him, watching the crowd, were four dwarfs, tall for dwarfs, and looking rather menacing in their dark glasses. Each one was holding an axe. They spent all their time staring hard at people.

The King was talking to the Genuan ambassador. Vimes looked sideways at Cheery and Detritus. Suddenly, bringing them here wasn"t such a good idea. In his official robes the King looked a lot more... distant, and a lot harder to please.

Hang on, he told himself. They are Ankh-Morpork citizens. They"re not doing anything wrong. And then he argued: they"re not doing anything wrong in Ankh-Morpork.

The line moved along. Their party was almost in the presence. The armed dwarfs were all watching Detritus now, and holding their axes in a slightly less relaxed way. Detritus appeared not to notice.

"Dis place is even more cult"ral than the op"ra house," he said, gazing around respectfully. "Dem chandeliers must weigh a ton."

He reached up and rubbed his head, and then inspected his fingers.

Vimes glanced up. Something warm, like a buttered raindrop, hit his cheek. As he brushed it away he saw the shadows move...

Things happened with treacle slowness. He saw it as if he was watching himself from a little way away. He saw himself push Cheery and Sybil roughly, heard himself shout something, and watched himself dive towards the King, snatching the dwarf up as an axe clanged into his backplate.

Then he was rolling, with the angry dwarf in his arms, and the chandelier was halfway through its fall, candle flames streaming, and there was Detritus, raising his hands with a calculating look on his face...

There was a moment of stillness and silence as the troll caught the descending mountain of light. And then physics returned, in an exploding cloud of dwarfs, debris, molten wax and tumbling, flaring candles.

Vimes woke up in darkness. He blinked and touched his eyes to make sure that they were open.

Then he sat up and his head thumped against stone, and then there was light, vicious yellow and purple lights, filling his life very suddenly. He lay back until they went away.

He took a personal itinerary. His cloak, helmet, sword and armour had all gone. He was left in his shirt and breeches, and while this place was not freezing it had a clamminess that was already working its way through to his bones.

Right...

He wasn"t sure how long it took him to get a feel for the cell, but a feel it was. He moved by inches, waving his arms ahead of him like a man practising a very slow martial art against the darkness.

Even then the senses became unreliable in the total black. He followed the wall carefully, followed another wall, followed a wall which yielded, under his fingertips, the outline of a small door with a handle, and found the wall which had the stone slab against it on which he"d awoken.

What made this all the harder was having to do it with his head sunk against his chest. Vimes wasn"t a very tall man. If he had been, he"d probably have cracked his skull when he woke up.

Without any other aids to rely on, he walked the length of the walls using his copper"s pace. He knew exactly how long it took him, swinging his legs easily, to walk across the Brass Bridge back home. A little bit of muzzy mental arithmetic was needed, but eventually he decided that the room was ten feet square.

One thing that Vimes did not do was shout "Help! Help!" He was in a cell. Someone had put him in a cell. It was reasonable to assume, therefore, that whoever had done this wasn"t interested in his opinions.

He groped his way to the stone slab again and lay down. As he did so something rattled.

His patted his pockets and brought out what felt and sounded very much like a box of matches. There were only three left.

So... resources: the clothes he stood up in and a few matches. Now to work out what the hell was going on.

He remembered seeing the chandelier. He thought he remembered seeing Detritus actually catch the thing. And there had been a lot of screaming and shouting and running around, while in his arms the King had sworn at Vimes as only a dwarf could swear. Then someone had hit him.

There was also an ache across his back where an axe had been turned aside by his armour. He felt a twitch of national pride at that thought. Ankh-Morpork armour had stood up to the blow! Admittedly it was probably made in

Ankh-Morpork by dwarfs from Uberwald, using steel smelted from Uberwald iron, but it damn well was Ankh-Morpork armour, just the same.

There was a pillow on the slab, made in Uberwald. As Vimes turned his head the pillow went, very faintly, clink. This was a sound he didn"t associate with feathers.

In the darkness he picked up the sack and, after resorting to his teeth, managed to rip a hole in the heavy material.

If what he drew out had ever been part of a bird, it wasn"t one Vimes would like to meet. It felt very much like Inigo"s one-shot. A finger inserted very gingerly into the end told Vimes that it was loaded, too.

Just one shot, he remembered. But it was one people didn"t know you had... On the other hand, the Tooth Fairy probably wasn"t responsible for putting it in the pillow, unless she"d been having to face some particularly difficult children lately.

He slipped it back into the bag when he became aware of a light. It was the faintest glow, showing that the door contained a barred window and that there were shadowy figures on the other side of it.

"Are you awake, your grace? This is very unfortunate."

"Dee?"

"Yes."

"And you"ve come to tell me this has all been some terrible mistake?"

"Alas, no. I am convinced of your innocence, of course."

"Really? Me too," growled Vimes. "In fact I"m so convinced of my innocence I don"t even know what it is I"m innocent of! Let me out or - "

" - or you will stay in, I am afraid," said Dee. "It is a very strong door. You are not in Ankh-Morpork, your grace. I will of course communicate your predicament to your Lord Vetinari as soon as possible, but I understand that the message tower has been badly damaged - "

"My predicament is that you"ve locked me up! Why? I saved your king, didn"t I?"

"There is... conflict."

"Someone let that chandelier down!"

"Yes, indeed. A member of your staff, it appears."

"You know that can"t be true! Detritus and Littlebottom were with me when - "

"Mister Skimmer was on your staff?"

"He... Yes, but... I... he wouldn"t - "

"I believe you have such a thing in Ankh-Morpork as the Guild of Assassins?" said Dee calmly. "Correct me if I am wrong."

"He was up at the tower!"

"The damaged tower?"

"It was damaged before he - " Vimes stopped. "Why would he smash up one of the towers?"

"I did not say he would," said Dee. The flat calm was still there. "And then, your grace, it has been suggested that you gave a signal just before the thing came down..."

"What?"

"A hand to the cheek, or something. It has been suggested that you anticipated the event."

"The thing was swaying! Look, let me talk to Skimmer!"

"Do you have supernatural powers, your grace?"

Vimes hesitated. "He"s dead?"

"We believe he became entangled in the winch mechanism in the process of releasing the chandelier. Three dwarfs were dead around him."

"He wouldn"t - " Vimes stopped again. Of course he wouldn"t. It"s just that he"s a member of this Guild we have, and you certainly know that, don"t you -

Dee must have seen his expression. "Quite so, quite so. Everything will be investigated thoroughly. The innocent have nothing to fear."

The news that they have nothing to fear is guaranteed to strike terror into the hearts of innocents everywhere.

"What have you done with Sybil?"

"Done, your grace? Why nothing. We are not barbarians. We have heard nothing but good reports of your wife. She is upset, of course."

Vimes groaned. "And Detritus and Littlebottom?"

"Well, of course they were under your command, your grace. And one is a troll and the other is... dangerously different. And that is why, and precisely for that reason, they are under house arrest in your own embassy. We do respect the traditions of diplomacy and we will not have it said that we have acted out of malice." Dee sighed. "And then, of course, there is the other matter - "

"Are you going to accuse me of stealing the Scone, too?"

"You laid hands on the King."

Vimes stared. "Huh? A ton of candlestick was about to fall on him!"

"This has been pointed out - "

"And I"m imprisoned for saving him from an assassination attempt I planned?"

"Are you?"

"No! Look, the thing was coming down, what else should I have done? Tugged at the carpet and tried to drag him away?"

"Yes, yes, I understand. But precedent in this area is very clear. In 1345, when the king at the time fell into a lake, not one member of his staff dared touch him because of the ruling, and the subsequent finding was that they had acted correctly. It is forbidden to touch the King. I have of course explained to the conclave that this is not the Ankh-Morpork way, but this is not Ankh-Morpork."

"I don"t need everyone reminding me about that!"

"You will remain... our guest while investigations continue. Food and drink will be brought to you."

"And light?"

"Of course. Excuse our lack of consideration. Stand back from the door, please. The guards with me are armed and they are... uncomplicated people."

The grille on the door was swung back. A glowing cage was put on the ledge.

"What"s this? A sick glow-worm?"

"It is a kind of beetle, yes. You"ll find that it will very soon seem quite bright. We are very accustomed to darkness."

"Look," said Vimes, as the grille was shut again, "you know this is ridiculous! I don"t know what the position is with Mister Skimmer, but I damn well intend to find out! And there"s the Scone theft, I"m pretty certain I"m close to working that out, too. If you let me return to the embassy where else could I go?"

"We would not wish to find out. You may just feel that life would be more pleasant in Ankh-Morpork."

"Really? And how would we get there?"

"You may have friends in unexpected places."

Vimes thought of the evil little weapon in the pillow.