Rust glared at him.

The Patrician coughed.

“You have identified the assassin?” said the Patrician.

Carrot was expecting Vimes to say, “Alleged assassin, sir,” but instead he said:

“Yes. He is– He was called Ossie Brunt, sir. No other name that we know. Lived in Market Street. Did odd jobs from time to time. Bit of a loner. No relatives or friends that we can find. We are making enquiries.”

“And that's all you fellows know?” said Lord Downey.

“It took some time to identify him sir,” said Vimes stolidly.

“Oh? Why should that be?”

“Couldn't give you the technical answer, sir, but it looked to me like they wouldn't need to make him a coffin, they could just have posted him between two barn doors.”

“Was he acting alone?”

“We only found the one body, sir. And a lot of recently fallen masonry, so it looks as—”

“I meant does he belong to any organization? Any suggestion that he's anti-Klatchian?”

“Apart from him trying to kill one? Enquiries are continuing.”

“Are you taking this seriously, Vimes?”

“I have put my best men on the job, sir.” Who's looking worried? “Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs.” Who's looking relieved? “Very experienced men. The keystones of the Watch.”

“Colon and Nobbs?” said the Patrician. “Really?”

“Yes, sir.”

Their gazes met, very briefly.

“We're getting some very threatening noises, Vimes,” said Vetinari.

“What can I say, sir? I saw someone up on the tower, I ran, someone shot the Prince with an arrow and then I found the man at the bottom of the tower very obviously dead, with a broken bow and a lot of rock beside him. The storm last night probably loosened things up. I can't make up facts that don't exist, sir.”

Carrot watched the faces round the table. The general expression was one of relief.

“A lone bowman,” said Vetinari. “An idiot with some kind of mad grudge. Who died in the execution of the, uh, attempted execution. And, of course, valiant action by our watchmen probably at least prevented an immediately fatal shot.”

“Valiant action?” said Downey. “I know Captain Carrot here ran towards the VIPs and Vimes headed for the tower, but frankly, Vimes, your strange behaviour beforehand—”

“Somewhat immaterial now,” said Lord Vetinari. Once again he adopted a slightly faraway voice, as if reporting to somebody else. “If Commander Vimes had not slowed down the procession, the wretch would undoubtedly have got a much better shot. As it was, the man panicked. Yes… the Prince, possibly, would accept that.”

“Prince?” said Vimes. “But the poor devil—”

“His brother,” said the Patrician.

“Ah. The nice one?”

“Thank you, commander,” said the Patrician. “Thank you, gentlemen. Do not let me detain you. Oh, Vimes… just a brief word, if you would be so good. Not you, Captain Carrot. I'm sure someone is committing some crime somewhere.”

Vimes remained staring at the far wall while the room emptied. Vetinari left his chair and went over to the window.

“Strange days indeed, commander,” he said.

“Sir.”

“For example, I gather that this afternoon Captain Carrot was on the roof of the Opera House firing arrows down towards the archery butts.”

“Very keen lad, sir.”

“It could well be that the distance between the Opera House and the targets is about the same, you know, as the distance between the top of the Barbican and the spot where the Prince was hit.”

“Just fancy that, sir.”

Vetinari sighed. “And why was he doing this?”

“It's a funny thing, sir, but he was telling me the other day that in fact it is still law that every citizen should do one hour's archery practice every day. Apparently the law was made in 1356 and it's never been—”

“Do you know why I sent Captain Carrot away just now, Vimes?”

“Couldn't say, sir.”

“Captain Carrot is an honest young man, Vimes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did you know that he winces when he hears you tell a direct lie?”

“Really, sir?” Damn.

“I can't stand to see his poor face twitch all the time, Vimes.”

“Very thoughtful of you, sir.”

“Where was the second bowman, Vimes?”

Damn! “Second bowman, sir?”

“Have you ever had a hankering to go on the stage, Vimes?”

Yes, at the moment I'd leap on it wherever it's heading, thought Vimes.

“No, sir.”

“Pity. I am certain you're a great loss to the acting profession. I believe you said the man had put the boards back after him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nailed them back?”

Blast. “Yes, sir.”

“From the outside.”

Damn. “Yes, sir.”

“A particularly resourceful lone bowman, then.”

Vimes didn't bother to comment. Vetinari sat down at his desk, raised his steepled fingers to his lips and stared at Vimes over the top of them.

“Colon and Nobbs are investigating this? Really?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If I were to ask you why, you'd pretend not to understand?”

Vimes let his forehead wrinkle in honest perplexity “Sir?”

“If you say ‘Sir?’ again in that stupid voice, Vimes, I swear there will be trouble.”

“They're good men, sir.”

“However, some people might consider them to be unimaginative, stolid and… how can I put this? …possessed of an inbuilt disposition to accept the first explanation that presents itself and then bunk off somewhere for a quiet smoke? A certain lack of imagination? An ability to get out of their depth on a wet pavement? A tendency to rush to judgement?”

“I hope you are not impugning my men, sir.”

“Vimes, Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs have never been pugn'd in their entire lives.”

“Sir?”

“And yet… in fact, we do not need complications, Vimes. An ingenious lone madman… well, there are many madmen. A regrettable incident.”

“Yes, sir.” The man was looking harassed and Vimes felt there was room for a pinch of sympathy.

“Fred and Nobby don't like complications either, sir.”

“We need simple answers, Vimes.”

“Sir. Fred and Nobby are good at simple.”

The Patrician turned away and looked out over the city.

“Ah,” he said, in a quieter voice. “Simple men to see the simple truth.”

“This is a fact, sir.”

“You are learning fast, Vimes.”

“Couldn't say about that, sir.”

“And when they have found the simple truth, Vimes?”

“Can't argue with the truth, sir.”

“In my experience, Vimes, you can argue with anything.”

When Vimes had gone Lord Vetinari sat at his desk for a while, staring at nothing. Then he took a key from a drawer and walked across to a wall, where he pressed a particular area.

There was a rattle of a counterweight. The wall swung back.

The Patrician walked softly through the narrow passageway beyond. Here and there it was illuminated by a very faint glow from around the edges of the little panels which, if gently slid back, would allow someone to look out through the eyesockets of a handy portrait.

They were a relic of a previous ruler. Vetinari never bothered with them. Looking out of someone else's eyes wasn't the trick.

There was a certain amount of travel up dark stairways and along musty corridors. Occasionally he'd make movements the meaning of which might not be readily apparent. He'd touch a wall here and here, apparently without thinking, as he passed. Along one stone-flagged passage, lit only by the grey light from a window forgotten by everyone except the most optimistic flies, he appeared to play a game of hopscotch, robes flying around him and calves twinkling as he skipped from stone to stone.

These various activities did not seem to cause anything to happen. Eventually he reached a door, which he unlocked. He did this with some caution.